In the Quarter | Page 2

and something more that the rest of us have not. But you
are very young yet."
This time Gethryn colored with surprise and pleasure. In all their long
and close friendship Braith had never before given him any other
encouragement than a cool, "Go ahead!"
He continued: "Your curse thus far has been want of steady application,
and moreover you're too easily scared. No matter what happens this
time, no knocking under!"
"Oh, I'm not going to knock under. No more is Clifford, it seems," Rex
added with a laugh, as Clifford threw down his cue and took a step of
the devil's quadrille.
"Oh! Elliott!" he crowed, "what's the matter with you?"
Elliott turned and punched a sleepy waiter in the ribs.
"Emile -- two bocks!"
The waiter jumped up and rubbed his eyes. "What is it, monsieur?" he
snapped.
Elliott repeated the order and they strolled off toward a table. As
Clifford came lounging by, Carleton said, "I hear you lead with a
number one at the Salon."
"Right, I'm the first to be fired."
"He's calm now," said Elliott, "but you should have seen him yesterday
when the green card came."
"Well, yes. I discoursed a little in several languages."

"After he had used up his English profanity, he called the Jury names in
French, German and Spanish. The German stuck, but came out at last
like a cork out of a bottle -- "
"Or a bung out of a barrel."
"These comparisons are as offensive as they are unjust," said Clifford.
"Quite so," said Braith. "Here's the waiter with your beer."
"What number did you get, Braith?" asked Rhodes, who couldn't keep
his mind off the subject and made no pretense of trying.
"Three," answered Braith.
There was a howl, and all began to talk at once.
"There's justice for you!" "No justice for Americans!" "Serves us right
for our tariff!" "Are Frenchmen going to give us all the advantages of
their schools and honors besides while we do all we can to keep their
pictures out of our markets?"
"No, we don't, either! Tariff only keeps out the sweepings of the
studios -- "
"If there were no duty on pictures the States would be flooded with
trash."
"Take it off!" cried one.
"Make it higher!" shouted another.
"Idiots!" growled Rhodes. "Let 'em flood the country with bad work as
well as good. It will educate the people, and the day will come when all
good work will stand an equal chance -- be it French or be it
American."
"True," said Clifford, "Let's all have a bock. Where's Rex?"

But Gethryn had slipped out in the confusion. Quitting the Café des
Écoles, he sauntered across the street, and turning through the Rue de
Vaugirard, entered the rue Monsieur le Prince. He crossed the dim
courtyard of his hôtel, and taking a key and a candle from the lodge of
the Concierge, started to mount the six flights to his bedroom and
studio. He felt irritable and fagged, and it did not make matters better
when he found, on reaching his own door, that he had taken the wrong
key. Nor did it ease his mind to fling the key over the banisters into the
silent stone hallway below. He leaned sulkily over the railing and
listened to it ring and clink down into the darkness, and then, with a
brief but vigorous word, he turned and forced in his door with a crash.
Two bull pups which had flown at him with portentous growls and
yelps of menace now gamboled idiotically about him, writhing with
anticipation of caresses, and a gray and scarlet parrot, rudely awakened,
launched forth upon a musical effort resembling the song of a rusty
cart-wheel.
"Oh, you infernal bird!" murmured the master, lighting his candle with
one hand and fondling the pups with the other. "There, there, puppies,
run away!" he added, rolling the ecstatic pups into a sort of dog divan,
where they curled themselves down at last and subsided with squirms
and wriggles, gurgling affection.
Gethryn lighted a lamp and then a cigarette. Then, blowing out the
candle, he sat down with a sigh. His eyes fell on the parrot. It annoyed
him that the parrot should immediately turn over and look at him
upside down. It also annoyed him that "Satan," an evil-looking raven,
was evidently preparing to descend from his perch and worry "Mrs
Gummidge."
"Mrs Gummidge" was the name Clifford had given to a large sad-eyed
white tabby who now lay dozing upon a panther skin.
"Satan!" said Gethryn. The bird checked his sinister preparations and
eyed his master. "Don't," said the young man.
Satan weighed his chances and came to the conclusion that he could
swoop down, nip Mrs Gummidge, and get back to his