He retired abruptly, or he would have burst into tears.
He ran to his mother.
“Mother,” said he, “I am a painter; I always thought so at bottom, but I suppose it is the height of my ideas makes me discontented with my work.”
“What has happened?'
“There is a critic in my room. I had no idea there was a critic in the creation, and there is one in my room.
“Has he bought your picture, my poor boy?” said Mrs. Gatty, distrustfully.
To her surprise he replied:
“Yes! he has got it; only eighty pounds for an immortal picture.”
Mrs. Gatty was overjoyed, Gatty was a little sad; but, reviving, he professed himself glad; the picture was going to a judge.
“It is not much money,” said he, “but the man has spoken words that are ten thousand pounds to me.”