“Nay,” said Rowland soberly, “if you were to go to Rome, you should settle down and work.  Athens might help you, but for the present I should n’t recommend Benares.”

“It will be time to arrange details when I pack my trunk,” said Hudson.

“If you mean to turn sculptor, the sooner you pack your trunk the better.”

“Oh, but I ’m a practical man!  What is the smallest sum per annum, on which one can keep alive the sacred fire in Rome?”

“What is the largest sum at your disposal?”

Roderick stroked his light moustache, gave it a twist, and then announced with mock pomposity:  “Three hundred dollars!”

“The money question could be arranged,” said Rowland.  “There are ways of raising money.”

“I should like to know a few!  I never yet discovered one.”

“One consists,” said Rowland, “in having a friend with a good deal more than he wants, and not being too proud to accept a part of it.”

Roderick stared a moment and his face flushed.  “Do you mean—­do you mean?".... he stammered.  He was greatly excited.

Rowland got up, blushing a little, and Roderick sprang to his feet.  “In three words, if you are to be a sculptor, you ought to go to Rome and study the antique.  To go to Rome you need money.  I ’m fond of fine statues, but unfortunately I can’t make them myself.  I have to order them.  I order a dozen from you, to be executed at your convenience.  To help you, I pay you in advance.”

Roderick pushed off his hat and wiped his forehead, still gazing at his companion.  “You believe in me!” he cried at last.

“Allow me to explain,” said Rowland.  “I believe in you, if you are prepared to work and to wait, and to struggle, and to exercise a great many virtues.  And then, I ’m afraid to say it, lest I should disturb you more than I should help you.  You must decide for yourself.  I simply offer you an opportunity.”

Hudson stood for some time, profoundly meditative.  “You have not seen my other things,” he said suddenly.  “Come and look at them.”

“Now?”

“Yes, we ’ll walk home.  We ’ll settle the question.”

He passed his hand through Rowland’s arm and they retraced their steps.  They reached the town and made their way along a broad country street, dusky with the shade of magnificent elms.  Rowland felt his companion’s arm trembling in his own.  They stopped at a large white house, flanked with melancholy hemlocks, and passed through a little front garden, paved with moss-coated bricks and ornamented with parterres bordered with high box hedges.  The mansion had an air of antiquated dignity, but it had seen its best days, and evidently sheltered a shrunken household.  Mrs. Hudson, Rowland was sure, might be seen in the garden of a morning, in a white apron and a pair of old gloves, engaged in frugal horticulture.  Roderick’s studio was behind, in the basement; a large, empty room,