toonist in the cheapest Sunday supplement sui generis? And when he compared his own faint hopes with the sublime engrossment of a Casimir, his own dicky birds with the overpowering deep-sea dynamos of the man of genius, his flame went down and his body grew cold.
"Show me the next sketches you do," invited Casimir, with sincere fatherliness, "I will tell you truly if I see progress."
To Grover these words had the ring of a knell, but the gratitude he professed was genuine enough. However belittling the verdict might be, Casimir had at any rate thrown light on his path and distinguished his strength from his weakness. Henceforth it should be easier to see honestly, whether or not he should prove able to paint what he saw. If I could only make as pretty color combinations on my canvas, he morbidly reflected, as I can make on my shirtsleeves!
Before the sketches were restored to the portfolio, footsteps were heard and Casimir went to the door.
An incredible family of four trooped in, to the accompaniment of festive salvos on the part of Casimir.
"Quelle agréeable réunion!" he was shouting, in between crackling ceremonial kisses.
I'd be more at home in Alaska, thought Grover, marvelling at the fate that had plunged him into the heart of such queer goings on.
He was presented to Mme. Racicot, a dowdy woman who looked like a secretary bird. Her eyes were popping and sharp; so, Grover suspected, was her tongue.
