“We met in Europe, but saw a good deal of one another. A friend of mine, a fellow artist, was ill in Munich and—well, Dr. Paul pulled him through mentally, physically and financially. I appeared on the scene during the convalescing period and that’s how I came to know him so well. Poor old Crackers was pretty well done out before Dr. Paul got hold of him.”
“What names you do have for one another. Pinch and Crackers, for example. Why Crackers?”
“Oh, because he used to live on broken crackers and swear he liked them better than anything you could give him. Poor old chap! I knew him first in Paris. He has the stuff in him all right if he can only hold out till he gets recognition.”
“Is he over there still?”
“Yes, working away as faithfully as his strength will allow. He had a pretty bad breakdown, but he is coming out all right. Some of the boys who know of it are watching him to see that he has a stronger diet than crackers.”
“And your own recognition?”
“Oh, I’ll never have any. I don’t have to live in a garret and stir my tea with a stick of charcoal, so I shall probably never arrive. However, life is pretty good to me. I am not made of such fine clay as Crackers or Dr. Paul.”
“That is modest of you, so you can be accredited with at least one virtue.”
“It doesn’t take much modesty to place myself below such men.”
“Don’t you love your profession?”