Eugene was not given to scraping odd acquaintances, though he made friends fast enough when the balance of intellect was right. In Chicago he had become friendly with several young artists as a result of working with them at the Institute, but here he knew no one, having come without introductions. He did become acquainted with his neighbor, Philip Shotmeyer. He wanted to find out about local art life from him, but Shotmeyer was not brilliant, and could not supply him with more than minor details of what Eugene desired to know. Through him he learnt a little of studio regions, art personalities; the fact that young beginners worked in groups. Shotmeyer had been in such a group the year before, though why he was alone now he did not say. He sold drawings to some of the minor magazines, better magazines than Eugene had yet had dealings with. One thing he did at once for Eugene which was very helpful: he admired his work. He saw, as had others before him, something of his peculiar distinction as an artist, attended every show and one day he gave him a suggestion which was the beginning of Eugene's successful magazine career. Eugene was working on one of his street scenes--a task which he invariably essayed when he had nothing else to do. Shotmeyer had drifted in and was following the strokes of his brush as he attempted to portray a mass of East Side working girls flooding the streets after six o'clock. There were dark walls of buildings, a flaring gas lamp or two, some yellow lighted shop windows, and many shaded, half seen faces--bare suggestions of souls and pulsing life. "Say," said Shotmeyer at one point, "that kind o' looks like the real thing to me. I've seen a crowd like that." "Have you?" replied Eugene. "You ought to be able to get some magazine to use that as a frontispiece. Why don't you try _Truth_ with that?" "Truth" was a weekly which Eugene, along with many others in the West, had admired greatly because it ran a double page color insert every week and occasionally used scenes of this character. Somehow he always needed a shove of this kind to make him act when he was drifting. He put more enthusiasm into his work because of Shotmeyer's remark, and when it was done decided to carry it to the office of _Truth_. The Art Director approved it on sight, though he said nothing, but carried it in to the Editor. "Here's a thing that I consider a find in its way." He set it proudly upon the editorial desk. "Say," said the Editor, laying down a manuscript, "that's the real thing, isn't it? Who did that?" "A young fellow by the name of Witla, who has just blown in here. He looks like the real thing to me." "Say," went on the Editor, "look at the suggestion of faces back there! What? Reminds me just a little of the masses in Dore stuff--It's good, isn't it?" "It's fine," echoed the Art Director. "I think he's a comer, if nothing happens to him. We ought to get a few centre pages out of him." "How much does he want for this?"