"Oh, I don't know," replied Eugene pessimistically. "It's all right to obtain a big reputation, but you can't live on that, you know. Pictures don't sell very well over here. I have most of mine left. A grocer with one delivery wagon has the best artist that ever lived backed right off the board for financial results." "Not quite as bad as that," said Dula smilingly. "An artist has something which a tradesman can never have--you want to remember that. His point of view is worth something. He lives in a different world spiritually. And then financially you can do well enough--you can live, and what more do you want? You're received everywhere. You have what the tradesman cannot possibly attain--distinction; and you give the world a standard of merit--you will, at least. If I had your ability I would never sit about envying any butcher or baker. Why, all the artists know you now--the good ones, anyhow. It only remains for you to do more, to obtain more. There are lots of things you can do." "What, for instance?" asked Eugene. "Why, ceilings, mural decorations. I was saying to someone the other day what a mistake it was the Boston Library did not assign some of their panels to you. You would make splendid things of them." "You certainly have a world of faith in me," replied Eugene, tingling warmly. It was like a glowing fire to hear this after all the dreary days. Then the world still remembered him. He was worth while. "Do you remember Oren Benedict--you used to know him out in Chicago, didn't you?" "I certainly did," replied Eugene. "I worked with him." "He's down on the _World_ now, in charge of the art department there. He's just gone there." Then as Eugene exclaimed over the curious shifts of time, he suddenly added, "Why wouldn't that be a good idea for you? You say you're just about to knock off. Why don't you go down and do some pen work to get your hand in? It would be a good experience for you. Benedict would be glad to put you on, I'm sure." Dula suspected that Eugene might be out of funds, and this would be an easy way for him to slip into something which would lead back to studio work. He liked Eugene. He was anxious to see him get along. It flattered him to think he had been the first to publish his work in color. "That isn't a bad idea," said Eugene. "I was really thinking of doing something like that if I could. I'll go up and see him maybe today. It would be just the thing I need now,--a little preliminary practise. I feel rather rusty and uncertain." "I'll call him up, if you want," said Dula generously. "I know him well. He was asking me the other day if I knew one or two exceptional men. You wait here a minute." Eugene leaned back in his chair as Dula left. Could it be that he was going to be restored thus easily to something better? He had thought it would be so hard. Now this chance was coming to lift him out of his sufferings at the right time.