_Our Portrait Painter_ (_heroically_). "I am afraid children's portraits are not in my line."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: AFTER THE SIXTH REJECTION BY THE R.A.--_The Prodigal._ "Well, dad, here I am, ready to go into the office to-morrow. I've given up my studio and put all my sketches in the fire."

_Fond Father._ "That's right, 'Arold. Good lad! Your 'art's in the right place, after all!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Brown_ (_as Hamlet_) _to Jones_ (_as Charles the Second_). "'Normous amount of _taste_ displayed here to-night!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: AN ART PATRON

"I'll have it if you shorten the 'orizon, and make it quids instead of guineas!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SHOW SUNDAY.--_Brown_ (_trying to find something to admire in Smudge's painting_). "By Jove, old chap, those flowers are beautifully put in!"

_Smudge._ "Yes; my old friend--Thingummy--'R.A.' you know, painted them in for me."]

[Ill.u.s.tration: ENVY.--Scene--_Miss Semple and Dawber, standing near his picture._

_Miss Semple._ "Why, there's a crowd in front of Madder's picture!"

_Dawber._ "Someone fainted, I suppose!"]

AN ARTISTIC EPISODE

["Incapacity for work has come to be accepted as the hall-mark of genius.... The collector wants only the thing that is rare, and therefore the artist must make his work as rare as he can."--_Daily Chronicle._]

Josephine found me stretched full length in a hammock in the garden.

"Why aren't you at work?" she asked; "not feeling seedy, I hope?"

"Never better," said I. "But I've been making myself too cheap."

"We couldn't possibly help going to the Joneses last night, dear."

"Tush," said I. "I mean there is too much of me."

"I don't quite understand," she said; "but there certainly will be if you spend your mornings lolling in that hammock."

The distortive wantonness of this remark left me cold.

"I have made up my mind," I continued, quite seriously, "to do no more work for a considerable time."

"But, my dear boy, just think----"

"I'm going to make myself scarce," I insisted.

"Geoffrey!" she exclaimed, "I knew you weren't well!"

I released myself.

"Josephine," I said solemnly, "those estimable persons who collect my pictures will think nothing of them if they become too common."

"How do you know there are such persons?" she queried.

"I must decline to answer that question," I replied; "but if there are none it is because my work is not yet sufficiently rare and precious. I propose to work no more--say, for six or seven years. By that time my reputation will be made, and there will be the fiercest compet.i.tion for the smallest canvas I condescend to sign."

She kissed me.

"I came out for the housekeeping-money," she remarked simply.

I went into the house to fetch the required sum, and, by some means I cannot explain, got to work again upon the latest potboiler.

MUSIC READILY ACQUIRED.--Stealing a march.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE STORM FIEND

SONGS AND THEIR SINGERS]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SUCH IS FAME!--_d.u.c.h.ess_ (_with every wish to encourage conversation, to gentleman just introduced_). "Your name is very familiar to me indeed for the last ten years."

_Minor Poet_ (_flattered_). "Indeed, d.u.c.h.ess! And may I ask what it was that first attracted you?"

_d.u.c.h.ess._ "Well, I was staying with Lady Waldershaw, and she had a most indifferent cook, and whenever we found fault with any dish she always quoted _you_, and said that _you_ liked it _so much_!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: DOMESTIC BLISS.--_Wife of your Bussum._ "Oh! I don't want to interrupt you, dear. I only want some money for baby's socks--and to know whether you will have the mutton cold or hashed."]

IN A MINOR KEY.--_Hearty Friend_ (_meeting Operatic Composer_). Hallo, old man, how are you? Haven't seen you for an age! What's your latest composition?