Chester Rand | Page 5

sketches for books and magazines."
"And does that pay?"
"Fairly well. I earn a comfortable living."
"I didn't know one could get money for making pictures. I like to draw, myself."
"I will see what you can do this evening; that is, if you accept my cousin's invitation."
Before the walk was over Chester had become much interested in his new friend. He listened eagerly to his stories of the great city, and felt that life must be much better worth living there than in Wyncombe.
CHAPTER III.
A NOTEWORTHY EVENING.
Chester enjoyed his supper. Mr. Morris, though a minister, had none of the starched dignity that many of his profession think it necessary to assume. He was kindly and genial, with a pleasant humor that made him agreeable company for the young as well as the old. Mr. Conrad spoke much of New York and his experiences there, and Chester listened to him eagerly.
"You have never been to New York, Chester?" said the young artist.
"No, sir, but I have read about it--and dreamed about it. Sometime I hope to go there."
"I think that is the dream of every country boy. Well, it is the country boys that make the most successful men."
"How do you account for that, Herbert?" asked the minister.
"Generally they have been brought up to work, and work more earnestly than the city boys."
When the supper table was cleared, Mr. Conrad took from his valise two or three of the latest issues of Puck, Judge and Life. He handed them to Chester, who looked over them eagerly.
"Do you ever contribute to these papers, Mr. Conrad?" he asked.
"Yes; here is a sketch in Judge, and another in Life, which I furnished."
"And do you get good pay for them?"
"I received ten dollars for each."
Chester's eyes opened with surprise.
"Why," he said, "they are small. It couldn't have taken you long to draw them."
"Probably half an hour for each one."
"And you received ten dollars each?"
"Yes, but don't gauge such work by the time it takes. It is the idea that is of value. The execution is a minor matter."
Chester looked thoughtful.
"I should like to be an artist," he said, after a pause.
"Won't you give me a specimen of your work? You have seen mine."
"I have not done any comic work, but I think I could."
"Here is a piece of drawing paper. Now, let me see what you can do."
Chester leaned his head on his hand and began to think. He was in search of an idea. The young artist watched him with interest. At last his face brightened up. He seized the pencil, and began to draw rapidly. In twenty minutes he handed the paper to Mr. Conrad.
The latter looked at it in amazement.
"Why, you are an artist," he said. "I had no idea you were capable of such work."
"I am glad you like it," said Chester, much pleased.
"How long have you been drawing?"
"Ever since I can remember. I used to make pictures in school on my slate. Some of them got me into trouble with the teacher."
"I can imagine it, if you caricatured him. Did you ever take lessons?"
"No; there was no one in Wyncombe to teach me. But I got hold of a drawing book once, and that helped me."
"Do you know what I am going to do with this sketch of yours?"
Chester looked an inquiry.
"I will take it to New York with me, and see if I can dispose of it."
"I am afraid it won't be of much use, Mr. Conrad. I am only a boy."
"If a sketch is good, it doesn't matter how old or young an artist is."
"I should like very much to get something for it. Even fifty cents would be acceptable."
"You hold your talent cheap, Chester," said Mr. Conrad, with a smile. "I shall certainly ask more than that for it, as I don't approve of cheapening artistic labor."
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly.
When Chester rose to go, Mr. Conrad said:
"Take these papers, Chester. You can study them at your leisure, and if any happy thoughts or brilliant ideas come to you, dash them off and send them to me. I might do something with them."
"Thank you, sir. What is your address?"
"Number one ninety-nine West Thirty-fourth Street. Well, good-by. I am glad to have met you. Sometime you may be an artist."
Chester flushed with pride, and a new hope rose in his breast. He had always enjoyed drawing, but no one had ever encouraged him in it. Even his mother thought of it only as a pleasant diversion for him. As to its bringing him in money, the idea had never occurred to him.
It seemed wonderful, indeed, that a little sketch, the work of half an hour, should bring ten dollars. Why compare with this the hours of toil in a grocery store--seventy, at least--which had been necessary to earn the