“It was Bliss’s idea,” Ernestine paused as if undecided how much to tell. “He is a rare soul—the jewel in the toad’s head, we call him. But he wears an armor of worldly practicability and cynicism; he must be very sure of one before he lets one know the real man.... Some years ago, when his opinions were just beginning to find favor, he met Sam Sparling and they had a fearful row—terrific—Sam said Bliss Hobart was all sorts of a fool and, after they had it out, they found that each meant the same thing when you sifted it down to the makings. So they were comrades. They were together quite a lot because Sam had him put on plays and then Sam went to London and Bliss into the opera and music field.” Here she paused again. “Anyway, they had really started the family—and when Bliss had a letter from Sam about Collin Hedley, an American starving in London, whom Sam was sending back to New York to paint Bliss’s portrait, he prepared to welcome this Collin as a brother, and so he did. The great picture was painted and Collin was made. Now Collin and Caleb came from the same little Middle West town and, lo and behold, up turns Caleb fresh from a fifteen-dollar-a-week newspaper job and keen as mustard for writing ‘big stuff.’ Inspired by Bliss’s picture and by Bliss and the whole outlay of atmosphere into which they led him, Caleb wrote his first best seller—it had heart in it, too—and although Bliss and Collin wanted to duck him in the rain barrel for degrading his talent, they loved him for himself and he joined them. Then, enter Ernestine Christian! Now this was funny—I was playing London concerts then and I met Sam: he recited at a royal benefit at which I played. We sat out between the numbers talking about ‘what I like to eat’ and ‘what you like to eat’ and ‘what color you like best’ and ‘what color I like best’ and so on, you know, the usual procedure. And when I sailed for America I had a letter of introduction to the trio—” Thurley finished the confession. “Then they all met and loved you in different ways.” “Tell me how?” “Bliss as a comrade and Collin as a big sister and Caleb as a real man loves a real woman.” “You’ve grown up, Thurley,” was Ernestine’s comment. “But I must tell you that little Polly was added quite unexpectedly. She was posing as a sprite for Collin; you know Collin does children’s portraits with pastel backgrounds of favorite fairy tales, half indistinct—very good idea and quite the rage. Polly is an ideal sprite, brownie or gnome model and Collin had run across her by accident. The first morning she posed she fainted dead away—slam bang—on the floor, and it was a real faint because she hadn’t had a square meal in two days, just samples of cereals and Hudson River elixir. They discovered her fierce pride and her tragic ambition and her adorable self, so she has been our Polly ever since—” “Loving Collin—”