When they were again in the barn, Aaron King became eagerly enthusiastic over the possibilities of the big room. “Some rightly toned burlap on the walls and ceiling,”—he pointed out,—“with floor covering and rugs in harmony; there”—rolling back the big door as he spoke—“your north light; some hangings and screens to hide the stairway to the loft, and the stable door; your entrance over here in the corner, nicely out of the way; and the window looking into the garden—it’s great man, great!”
“And,” answered Conrad Lagrange, from where he stood in the big front door, “the mountains! Don’t forget the mountains. The soft, steady, north light on your canvas, and a message from the mountains to your soul, through the same window, should make it a good place to work, Mr. Painter-man. I suppose over here”—he moved away from the window, and spoke in his mocking way—“over here, you will have a tea-table for the ladies of the circle elect—who will come to, ‘oh’, and, ‘ah’, their admiration of the newly discovered genius, and to chatter their misunderstandings of his art. Of course, there will be a page in velvet and gold. By all means, get hold of an oriental kid of some kind—oriental junk is quite the rage this year. You should take advantage of every influence that can contribute to your success, you know. And, whatever you do, don’t fail to consult the ‘Goddess’ about these essentials of your craft. Many a promising genius has been lost to fame, through inviting the wrong people to take tea in his studio. But”—he finished whimsically, looking from the window into the garden—“but what the devil do you suppose the spirit who lives out there will think about it all.”
* * * * *
The days of the two following weeks were busy days for Aaron King. He leased the place in the orange groves, and set men to work making it habitable. The lawn and grounds were trimmed and put in order; the interior of the house was renovated by painter and paper-hanger; and the barn, under the artist’s direction, was transformed into an ideal studio. There was a trip to Los Angeles—quite fortunately upon a day when Mrs. Taine must go to the city shopping—for rugs and hangings; and another trip to purchase the tools of the artist’s craft. And, at last, there was a Chinese cook and housekeeper to find; with supplies for his kitchen. It was at Conrad Lagrange’s suggestion, that, from the first, every one was given strict orders to keep out of the rose garden.
Every day, the novelist—accompanied, always, by Czar—walked out that way to see how things were progressing; and often,—if he had not been too busy to notice,—Aaron King might have seen a look of wistfulness in the keen, baffling eyes of the famous man—so world-weary and sad. And, while he did not cease to mock and jeer and offer sarcastic advice to his younger friend, the touch of pathos—that, like a minor chord, was so often heard in his most caustic and cruel speeches—was more pronounced. As for Czar—he always returned to the hotel with evident reluctance; and managed to express, in his dog way, the thoughts his distinguished master would not put in words.