Of Henry James he saw comparatively little, for the novelist was in poor health, but he was immensely stimulated by the little he did see, for beginning with _Roderick Hudson_ he had been quick to discover how much this master of style had to teach a painter of what he had himself learned from painters. There was a memorable session with Mr. Sargent in his London studio. Mr. Sargent happened just then to be doing a portrait of Lord Curzon, and Fritz related with wicked glee (imitating Mr. Sargent as he backed away from his easel) how the painter had remarked: "I have not made up my mind how to finish it. If I can't get enough interest out of the face, I'll put a scarlet coat on him." * * * * * It was late in October before he sailed for home, as one of a handful of passengers on a freighter. The voyage was one of continuous foul weather which, to the mystification of the others, was vastly to the delight of Fritz. He lived on deck, begrudging time to sleep. He fraternized with the crew. One day of thin drizzle and greasy swells, getting into old togs, he helped the deck-hands greatly to their satisfaction and somewhat to the scandal of the other passengers, shovel coal down a hatch. "They didn't think I'd stick it through," said he. After that he was one of them. VI He had chosen to live in Pittsburgh, partly because it was his home and partly because it promised him more elbow room. "I want to paint," said he, "and I do not want to have to play social politics in order to get commissions, as I am afraid I would have to do in Boston. Besides, in Pittsburgh, there are fewer painters to influence me. I stand more chance of being myself." Alexander James said it was brutal of Fritz to go away to Pittsburgh. The rest of the colony agreed. But it became Fritz's delight to swoop down on us in Boston unannounced. ... It is late in a wild night of mid-winter, a furious gale of wind and snow whipping across the gables and chimney stacks of Beacon Hill: a night for tucking oneself up in a wing chair beside a fire with a book and reading lamp, roar of storm in ears.... A rap sounds on the door. "Come!" The rap is repeated. "Come in!" The door opens and framed in its blackness stands Fritz. With him is Ralph Heard in a state of jubilation. "You remember," says he, "I told you only two days ago that I sort of had a hunch that Fritz might be dropping in on us most any time now? Well, to-night I was sitting at my writing-table, when the door opened with a bang. I thought, without looking around, 'That is the way Fritz opens a door.' And there was Fritz." His one emotional luxury was this enjoyment of watching his friends fall all over their own feet in the glad surprise of seeing him.