Needless to say, the young artist never got a chance to carry out his work, although they were obliged to give him his prize money. Speaking of competitions, I once entered one for the decoration of a prominent New York hotel. There were three members on the jury. I lost, in spite of the fact that all three of them came to me, separately, and told me in strictest confidence that he had voted for my proposition. Some of my most humorous experiences have happened when working for women. Two or three things almost always occur. Women either insist upon having the kind of work their social set considers the fashion for the moment, or they try to control the color scheme, or the composition, and always the meaning. A well-known interior decorator and I spent the better part of two years in attempting to make beautiful the reception room of a magnate’s wife, only to have our efforts frustrated at the last moment. She hung up two pairs of very handsome damask curtains of a deep orange color lined with cold pink. The windows faced to the south and the light coming through them made an effect of rotten eggs—for the rest of the room was lilac, ivory, and old gold. When we remonstrated we were met with: “Now I have you artist men! At the sale, when I bought these, Mr. Whistler bought an identical set. I suppose that his taste is as good as yours?” It was useless to explain that Whistler had a very different setting for his. This same lady was almost inclined to treat me as a workman and seemed rather put out when her husband invited me to luncheon. The only reference she ever made to my painting was to say that it was a pity my name was not “Simoni.” It would make such an interesting signature!