"
Neither of his companions felt inclined to enter into a general
discussion of the principles underlying art work, and, although neither
agreed with this broad statement, there was no direct response offered.
Calvin and Hubbard looked at each other, and the latter asked,--
"Have you any notion what Mrs. Greyson would do?"
"No, I have never talked with her."
"Very likely she'd give us another figure like those that are stuck all
over Boston, like pins in a pincushion," Hubbard objected. "Some
carpet-knight, with a face spread over with a grin as inane as that of
Henry Clay on a cigar-box cover."
Irons laughed contemptuously, and rose, throwing away his cigar stub.
"Well, I must go," he announced. "We don't seem to be getting ahead
very fast. I'll try and find out if she'll go into a competition, and
you two had better do the same with your folks. Then we shall at least
have something to go upon. The _Daily Observer_ has already begun to
ask why something isn't done, and I'd like to get the thing finished
up, myself."
The two others rose also, and it was thereby manifest that this
unproductive sitting of the committee was at an end.
XII
WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED.
Comedy of Errors; i.--1.
Never was a man more utterly wretched than was Arthur Fenton, after the
luckless day when Mr.
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