III.
IN BOHEMIA.
"Look here, Hugh, what is the cause of this confounded gloominess?"
"Nothing that concerns anybody, except myself," was the morose reply.
"Well, you needn't snarl like that at an old friend. Come, out with it, and let's have no secrets."
"There's not much to tell, old fellow, beyond the fact that I'm ruined."
"What!" exclaimed John Egerton, open-mouthed in amazement. "Ruined?"
"Yes."
"Are you really serious; or is this another of your confoundedly grim jokes?"
"It's too true, alas!" the other replied, with a sigh.
The artist, laying his palette and mahl-stick aside, turned and faced his visitor, exclaiming—
"Sit down and relate the circumstances; we must see what can be done."
"Nothing can prevent the catastrophe. I've considered the problem long enough, and can find no solution."
"Well, don't knock under without a struggle, my dear old chap. Men work for fame and fortune, but expect happiness as a gift. Confide in me, and perhaps we may arrange things."
