It was in the third year of the White Hope's life that the placidevenness of Kirk's existence began to be troubled. The orderlyprocession of the days was broken by happenings of unusual importance,one at least of them extraordinarily unpleasant. This was the failureof a certain stock in which nearly half of Kirk's patrimony wasinvested, that capital which had always seemed to him as solid a partof life as the asphalt on which he walked, as unchangeable a part ofnature as the air he breathed. He had always had it, and he couldhardly bring himself to realize that he was not always to have it.

　　It gave him an extraordinary feeling of panic and discomfort when atlength he faced the fact squarely that his private means, on thepossession of which he had based the whole lazy scheme of his life,were as much at the mercy of fate as the stake which a gambler flingson the green cloth. He did not know enough of business to understandthe complicated processes by which a stock hitherto supposed to be asimpregnable as municipal bonds had been hammered into a ragged remnantin the course of a single day; but the result of them was unpleasantlyclear and easily grasped.

　　His income was cut in half, and instead of being a comfortably offyoung man, idly watching the pageant of life from a seat in the grandstand, he must now plunge into the crowd and endeavour to earn a livingas others did.

　　For his losses did not begin and end with the ruin of this particularstock. At intervals during the past two years he had been nibbling athis capital, and now, forced to examine his affairs frankly andminutely, he was astonished at the inroads he had made upon it.

　　There had been the upkeep of the summer shack he had bought inConnecticut. There had been expenses in connection with WilliamBannister. There had been little treats for Ruth. There had been cigarsand clothes and dinners and taxi-cabs and all the other trifles whichcost nothing but mount up and make a man wander beyond the bounds ofhis legitimate income.

　　It was borne in upon Kirk, as he reflected upon these things, that theonly evidence he had shown of the possession of the artistictemperament had been the joyous carelessness of his extravagance. Inthat only had he been the artist. It shocked him to think how littlehonest work he had done during the past two years. He had lived in agolden haze into which work had not entered.

　　He was to be shocked still more very soon.

　　Stung to action by his thoughts, he embarked upon a sweeping attack onthe stronghold of those who exchange cash for artists' dreams. Heransacked the studio and set out on his mission in a cab bulging withlarge, small, and medium-sized canvases. Like a wave receding from abreakwater he returned late in the day, a branded failure.

　　The dealers had eyed his canvases, large, small, and medium-sized, and,in direct contravention of their professed object in life, had refusedto deal. Only one of them, a man with grimy hands but a moderatelygolden heart, after passing a sepia thumb over some of the moreambitious works, had offered him fifteen dollars for a little sketchwhich he had made in an energetic moment of William Bannister crawlingon the floor. This, the dealer asserted, was the sort of "darned mushystuff" the public fell for, and he held it to be worth the fifteen, butnot a cent more. Kirk, humble by now, accepted three battered-lookingbills and departed.

　　He had a long talk with Ruth that night, and rose from it in the frameof mind which in some men is induced by prayer. Ruth was quitemarvellously sensible and sympathetic.

　　"I wanted you," she said in answer to his self-reproaches, "and here weare, together. It's simply nonsense to talk about ruining my life anddragging me down. What _does_ it matter about this money? We havegot plenty left.""We've got about as much left as you used to spend on hats in the olddays.""Well, we can easily make it do. I've thought for some time that wewere growing too extravagant. And talking of hats, I had no right tohave that last one you bought me. It was wickedly expensive. We caneconomize there, at any rate. We can get along splendidly on what youhave now. Besides, directly you settle down and start to paint, weshall be quite rich again."Kirk laughed grimly.

　　"I wish you were a dealer," he said. "Fifteen dollars is what I havemanaged to extract from them so far. One of the Great Unwashed on SixthAvenue gave me that for that sketch I did of Bill on the floor.""Which took you about three minutes to do," Ruth pointed outtriumphantly. "You see! You're bound to make a fortune if you stick toit."Kirk put his arm round her and gave her a silent hug of gratitude. Hehad dreaded this talk, and lo! it was putting new life into him.

　　They sat for a few moments in silence.

　　"I don't deserve it," said Kirk at last. "Instead of comforting me likethis, and making me think I'm rather a fine sort of a fellow, you oughtto be lashing me with scorpions. I don't suppose any man has ever madesuch a criminal idiot of himself in this city before.""You couldn't tell that this stock was going to fail.""No; but I could have done some work these last three years and madeit not matter whether it failed or not. You can't comfort me out ofthat knowledge. I knew all along that I was being a waster and a loafer,but I was so happy that I didn't mind. I was so interested in seeingwhat you and the kid would do next that I didn't seem to have time towork. And the result is that I've gone right back.

　　"There was a time when I really could paint a bit. Not much, it's true,but enough to get along with. Well, I'm going to start it again inearnest now, and if I don't make good, well, there's always Hank'soffer."Ruth turned a little pale. They had discussed Hank's offer before, butthen life had been bright and cloudless and Hank's offer a thing tosmile at. Now it had assumed an uncomfortably practical aspect.

　　"You will make good," said Ruth.

　　"I'll do my best," said Kirk. But even ............