has had an offer from a newspaper in Denver to take the position of cartoonist. His ability for caricature is good. See these of Allan." Mrs. Fabian laughed as she examined the small sheets. "I haven't seen your husband for ten years, Mary, but these recall his clean-cut face better than a photograph would, I believe. Phil rather gets back at his father in these, doesn't he?" [13] [13] "Oh, Allan laughed at them too. He's secretly proud of Phil's cleverness, even while he discourages it. He tells him it is all right for an accomplishment, but a forlorn hope for a living." "And right he is," responded Mrs. Fabian, laying down the sketches. "Look at Aunt Mary's experience. There she has lived alone all these years and given her life to the attempt to make a name in the artistic world. I go sometimes to see her, of course, for there she is right in town, but her pictures"—Mrs. Fabian lifted her eyes to the rafters—"they're daubs!" "I know," returned Mary Sidney, looking back into the fire. "She sent me one on my last birthday. She never forgets her name-child." Mrs. Fabian laughed. "I fancy you wished she would, for that time." "No," returned the hostess, slowly, "I think Aunt Mary sees more than she has the technique to express. She gets an effect." Mrs. Fabian raised her eyebrows. "She certainly does. She makes me want to run a mile." "The gift led to our having a little correspondence. I sent her a couple of Phil's sketches and she was delighted with them." [14] [14] "She might well be," was the answer. There was a brief silence, then the visitor continued: "So Phil is something of a bone of contention between you and his father?" "It is our only difference. Yet it can scarcely even be called that, because it is a fact that we haven't the money to give him the start he should have." Mrs. Fabian looked at her cousin curiously. "So this new calmness of yours—this repose. It is resignation, at least, if not despair."
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