Again, the other laughed shortly. Watching him closely, Conrad Lagrange said, in his most sneering tones, "I trust, young man, that you are not failing to make good use of your opportunities. Let's see--dinner and the evening five times--afternoon calls as many--with motor trips to points of interest--and one theater party to Los Angeles--believe me; it is not often that struggling genius is so rewarded--before it has accomplished anything bad enough to merit such attention." "I _have_ been idling most shamefully, haven't I?" said the artist. "Idling!" rasped the other. "You have been the busiest hay-maker in the land. These scientific, intensive cultivation farmers of California are not in your class when it comes to utilizing the sunshine. Take my advice and continue your present activity without bothering yourself by any sentimental thoughts of your palette and brushes. The mere vulgar tools of your craft are of minor importance to one of your genius and opportunity." Then, in a half embarrassed manner, Aaron King made his announcement. "That may all be," he said, "but just the same, I am going to work." "I knew it"--returned the other, in mocking triumph--"I knew it the moment you came up the steps there. I could tell it by your walk; by the air with which you carried yourself; by your manner, your voice, your laugh--you fairly reek of prosperity and achievement--you are going to paint her portrait." "And why not?" retorted the young man, rather sharply, a trifle nettled by the other's tone. "Why not, indeed!" murmured the novelist. "Indeed, yes--by all means! It is so exactly the right thing to do that it is startling. You scale the heights of fame with such confident certainty in every move that it is positively uncanny to watch you." "If one's work is true, I fail to see why one should not take advantage of any influence that can contribute to his success," said the painter. "I assure you I am not so wealthy that I can afford to refuse such an attractive commission. You must admit that the beautiful Mrs. Taine is a subject worthy the brush of any artist; and I suppose it _is_ conceivable that I _might_ be ambitious to make a genuinely good job of it." The older man, as though touched by the evident sincerity of the artist's words, dropped his sneering tone and spoke earnestly; "The beautiful Mrs. Taine _is_ a subject worthy a master's brush, my friend. But take my word for it, if you paint her portrait _as a master would paint it_, you will sign your own death warrant--so far as your popularity and fame as an artist goes." "I don't believe it," declared Aaron King, flatly. "I know you don't. If you _did_, and still accepted the commission, you wouldn't be fit to associate with honest dogs like Czar, here." "But why"--persisted the artist--"why do you insist that my portrait of Mrs. Taine will be disastrous to my success, just to the degree that it is a work of genuine merit?"