"I am, of
course, speaking of Troyon."
"What?" asked Morris.
"The news that Roberts paid thirty thousand dollors for a picture
for which the painter was glad to get three thousand francs," a
reply which brought a roar from the group, Morris joining in
heartily.
The circle had now widened to the filling of a dozen chairs,
Morris's way of putting things being one of the features of club
nights, he, as usual, dominating the talk, calling out "Period"--
his way of notifying some speaker to come to a full stop, whenever
he broke away from the facts and began soaring into hyperbolics--
Morgan, Harrington and the others laughing in unison at his
sallies.
The clouds of tobacco smoke grew thicker. The hum of conversation
louder; especially at an adjoining table where one lean old
Academician in a velvet skull cap was discussing the new
impressionistic craze which had just begun to show itself in the
work of the younger men. This had gone on for some minutes when
the old man turned upon them savagely and began ridiculing the new
departure as a cloak to hide poor drawing, an outspoken young
painter asserting in their defence, that any technique was helpful
if it would kill off the snuff-box school in which the man under
the skull cap held first place.
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