NOW HE IS FOR THE NUMBERS.
Romeo and Juliet; ii.—4.
Mrs. Fenton's wedding reception was largely attended. However strongly the artist might savor of Bohemianism, his wife was connected with certain prominent Philistines, and he had exhibited a most remarkable readiness to have them present in force.
"Into the camp of Philistia itself," muttered Rangely to Bently, as they elbowed their way through the crowd. "By the great horn spoon, if there isn't Peter Calvin! Arthur calls him the Great Boston Art Greek. That ever I should live to see the humbug under Fenton's roof-tree!"
"Pshaw!" returned Bently with an oath. "What a set of rubbishy old fobs and dowagers there is here anyway. Is this the kind of people Fenton means to know?"
"Means to know," echoed Rangely. "He's got to go down on his marrow bones to get them to consent to know him. They patronize art, and that means that they snub artists."
"Humph!" exclaimed Bently. "Is he sycophant enough to do that?"
"That's as you look at it. His wife probably decides the matter for him. She very naturally likes to know what she would call 'nice people.' How those women chatter! I wonder what they find to talk about."
"Not necessarily any thing. They always talk all the same whether they've any thing to say or not."
"How much of life is wasted in enduring people for whom one does not care," philosophized Rangely, looking over the throng which filled to overflowing the Fentons' somewhat limited rooms. "Ah! There is Dr. Ashton. How do you do, Doctor?"
"As well as could be expected," the Doctor answered, "in this antiquated assembly."