was a medley of sculptured fragments, Greek, Roman, and Gothic, to remind us of the older worlds from which we trace our generation.
“Now, does this satisfy you, Mr. Dodd?” he inquired, as soon as I had explained to him the main features of the design.
“Well,” I said, “the fellows seem to think it's not a bad bonne femme for a beginner. I don't think it's entirely bad myself. Here is the best point; it builds up best from here. No, it seems to me it has a kind of merit,” I admitted; “but I mean to do better.”
“Ah, that's the word!” cried Pinkerton. “There's the word I love!” and he scribbled in his pad.
“What in creation ails you?” I inquired. “It's the most commonplace expression in the English language.”
“Better and better!” chuckled Pinkerton. “The unconsciousness of genius. Lord, but this is coming in beautiful!” and he scribbled again.
“If you're going to be fulsome,” said I, “I'll close the place of entertainment.” And I threatened to replace the veil upon the Genius.
“No, no,” said he; “don't be in a hurry. Give me a point or two. Show me what's particularly good.”
“I would rather you found that out for yourself,” said I.
“The trouble is,” said he, “that I've never turned my attention to sculpture, beyond, of course, admiring it, as everybody must who has a soul. So do just be a good fellow, and explain to me what you like in it, and what you tried for, and where the merit comes in. It'll be all education for me.”
“Well, in sculpture, you see, the first thing you have to consider is the masses. It's, after all, a kind of architecture,” I began, and delivered a lecture on that branch of art, with illustrations from my own masterpiece there present—all of
