"I am working honestly just now; but I have wasted more of my life lately than I can afford to waste, and I have only just awakened to the sense of my folly." "Then you are lucky," answered William Crawford. "The man who awakes to a sense of his folly at twenty-seven is a happy fellow. There are some of us who are fools for the best part of our lives. But answer my question plainly: What are you doing now?" "Mountain-scenery--an evening-storm." "And you paint your mountain-storm at Islington, with no better light than you get across London chimney-pots! That is not the way Collins painted. You must go straight to nature, my dear boy, and paint your storm amongst the mountains." "A man whose pictures won't sell, and who has only a hundred a-year to fall back upon, can't afford to go to nature. I did think of spending the summer on the Yorkshire coast, roughing it among fishermen and coast-guardsmen; but I have outrun the constable, and must stop in my Islington lodging and paint 'pot-boilers.' I can't afford to travel this year." "Yes, you can, Philip, if I lend you a couple of hundred pounds." "You, Mr. Crawford?" "Who can better afford to do so than I, who know your power to do great things in the future? However, on reflection, I won't lend you the money. Borrowed money is supposed to exercise a demoralising influence on the artistic mind. I'll give you a commission, and pay you in advance. There's a little bit of scenery on the Danube that I fell in love with a few years ago. I'll find you the description of the spot in Murray, and I'll write you a cheque for the two hundred before you leave the house to-night. Spend your summer and autumn on the Rhine and Danube, and bring me back my pet spot on a small canvas." "But--but this is too generous," stammered the landscape painter. "There's not a spark of generosity involved in the transaction. If I were a Manchester man you would take my commission without thanks or parley. But since you insist upon treating the matter as a favour, I will attach a condition to my offer." "And that is----" "That you leave England at once. These long May-days are too good to waste in lodgings at Islington." "I think I know why you do me this great kindness," said Philip. "First and foremost, because I believe in your genius." "Secondly, because you don't wish me to come to this house just now. I understand the delicacy of your kindness. I appreciate your goodness, and----" "And you accept my commission----" "As heartily as it is given. I shall start for Rotterdam by the next steamer; and when I come back----"