"Don't rub it in about my rotten miniatures, Benlian," I asked him. "You've heard them say that; but they're charlatans, professional artists, all, Pudgie. They haven't got any souls bigger than a sixpence to put into it.... You know, Pudgie, that Force and Matter are the same thing--that it's decided nowadays that you can't define matter otherwise than as 'a point of Force'?" "Yes," I found myself saying eagerly, as if I'd heard it dozens of times before. "So that if they could put their souls into it, it would be just as easy for them to put their _bodies_ into it?..." I had drawn very close to him, and again--it was not fancy--I felt as if somebody, not me, was using my mouth. A flash of comprehension seemed to come into my brain. "_Not that, Benlian_?" I cried breathlessly. He nodded three or four times, and whispered. I really don't know why we both whispered. "_Really that, Benlian_?" I whispered again. "Shall I show you?... I tried my hardest not to, you know,..." he still whispered. "Yes, show me!" I replied in a suppressed voice. "Don't breathe a sound then! I keep them up there...." He put his finger to his lips as if we had been two conspirators; then he tiptoed across the studio and went up to his bedroom in the gallery. Presently he tiptoed down again, with some rolled-up papers in his hand. They were photographs, and we stooped together over a little table. His hand shook with excitement. "You remember this?" he whispered, showing me a rough print. It was one of the prints from the fogged plates that I'd taken after that first night. "Come closer to me if you feel frightened, Pudgie," he said. "You said they were old plates, Pudgie. No no; the plates were all right; it's _I_ who am wrong!" "Of course," I said. It seemed so natural. "This one," he said, taking up one that was numbered "1," "is a plain photograph, in the flesh, before it started; _you_ know! Now look at this, and this--" He spread them before me, all in order. "2" was a little fogged, as if a novice had taken it; on "3" a sort of cloudy veil partly obliterated the face; "4" was still further smudged and lost; and "5" was a figure with gloved hands held up, as a man holds his hands up when he is covered by a gun. The face of this one was completely blotted out. And it didn't seem in the least horrible to me, for I kept on murmuring, "Of course, of course." Then Benlian rubbed his hands and smiled at me. "I'm making good progress, am I not?" he said. "Splendid!" I breathed. "Better than you know, too," he chuckled, "for you're not properly under yet. But you will be, Pudgie, you will be--" "Yes, yes!... Will it be long, Benlian?" "No," he replied, "not if I can keep from eating and sleeping and thinking of other things than the statue--and if you don't disturb me by having girls about the place, Pudgie." "I'm awfully sorry," I said contritely.