He did not know how many days he had been at work on it; he ate what the cleaning-woman brought him; his face was bristled with a stubby growth; the cigarette boxes strewed the floor. Men appeared at the door, and he urged them peevishly to go away; people brought messages, and he said he was not in town, and returned the notes unread. In the morning he smiled and breathed hard and patted the easel; at night he bit his nails and cursed himself for a colour-blind fool. There was a white birch, strained and bent in the wind, that troubled him still, and as he was giving it the last touches, in the cold, strong afternoon light, the door burst open. "Look here, the thing closes at six! Are you crazy?" they called to him, exasperatedly. "Aren't you going to send it?" "That's all right, that's all right," he muttered vaguely, "shut up, can't you?" They stood over behind him, and there was a stillness in the room. He laid down his palette carefully and turned to them, a worried look on his drawn, bristled face. "That's meant to be the ocean beyond the cliff there," he said, an almost childlike fear in his eyes, "did--did you know it?" The older man drew in a long breath. "Lord, yes! I hear it!" he returned, "do you think we're deaf?" The younger one squinted at various distances, muttering to himself. "Dryad? Undine? No, she frightens you, but she's sweet! George! He's painted the wind! He's actually drawn a wind! My, but it's stunning! My!" Willard sank into a chair. He was flushed and his legs shook. He patted the terrier unsteadily and talked to her. "Well, then! Well, then! So she was, iss, so she was!" The older man snapped his watch. "Five-thirty," he said. "Put something 'round it, and whistle a cab--we'll have to hurry!" Willard fingered some dead crocuses on the stand beside him. "Look out, you fool, it's wet!" he growled. The older man patted his shoulder. "All right, boy, all right!" he said soothingly. "It's all done, now--never mind!" They shouldered it out of the door while he pulled the terrier's ears. "Where you going?" they called. "Turkish bath. Restaurant. Vaudeville," he answered, and they nodded. "All alone?" "Yes, thanks. Drop in to-morrow!" "----And drive like thunder!" he heard them through the open window. A week later he was walking up Broadway between them, sniffing the fresh, sweet air comfortably, the terrier at his heels. At intervals they read him bits from the enthusiastic comments of the critics.