Purple Sanderson lived in this room, but he usually dined out. At a certain time in his life, before he came to be a great artist, he had learned the gas-fitter's trade, and when his opinions were not identical with the opinions of the art managers of the greater number of New York publications he went to see a friend who was a plumber, and the opinions of this man he was thereafter said to respect. He frequented a very neat restaurant on Twenty-third Street. It was known that on Saturday nights Wrinkles, Grief, and Pennoyer frequently quarreled with him. As Florinda ceased speaking Purple entered. "Hello, there, Splutter!" As he was neatly hanging up his coat, he said to the others, "Well, the rent will be due in four days." "Will it?" asked Pennoyer, astounded. "Certainly it will," responded Purple, with the air of a superior financial man. "My soul!" said Wrinkles. "Oh, shut up, Purple!" said Grief. "You make me weary, coming around here with your chin about rent. I was just getting happy." "Well, how are we going to pay it? That's the point," said Sanderson. Wrinkles sank deeper in his chair and played despondently on his guitar. Grief cast a look of rage at Sanderson, and then stared at the wall. Pennoyer said, "Well, we might borrow it from Billie Hawker." Florinda laughed then. "Oh," continued Pennoyer hastily, "if those Amazement people pay me when they said they would I'll have the money." "So you will," said Grief. "You will have money to burn. Did the Amazement people ever pay you when they said they would? You are wonderfully important all of a sudden, it seems to me. You talk like an artist." Wrinkles, too, smiled at Pennoyer. "The Eminent Magazine people wanted Penny to hire models and make a try for them, too. It would only cost him a stack of blues. By the time he has invested all his money he hasn't got, and the rent is three weeks overdue, he will be able to tell the landlord to wait seven months until the Monday morning after the day of publication. Go ahead, Penny." After a period of silence, Sanderson, in an obstinate manner, said, "Well, what's to be done? The rent has got to be paid." Wrinkles played more sad music. Grief frowned deeper. Pennoyer was evidently searching his mind for a plan. Florinda took the cigarette from between her lips that she might grin with greater freedom. "We might throw Purple out," said Grief, with an inspired air. "That would stop all this discussion." "You!" said Sanderson furiously. "You can't keep serious a minute. If you didn't have us to take care of you, you wouldn't even know when they threw you out into the street." "Wouldn't I?" said Grief. "Well, look here," interposed Florinda, "I'm going home unless you can be more interesting. I am dead sorry about the rent, but I can't help it, and----" "Here! Sit down! Hold on, Splutter!" they shouted. Grief turned to Sanderson: "Purple, you shut up!"