"Good! That's the stuff! Book pictures will be your line, old man. Will you accept?"
"I'm afraid I'd be a failure," said Jud, gloomily.
"Is that what's the matter with you?"
"What do you mean?" demanded the other, quickly.
"O, your grumpiness. You've been all out of sorts for a couple of weeks, you know—or maybe you don't. But you have, anyway. I never saw a fellow change as you have in—in, well, ten days."
"I don't understand why you think so. Everything is all right with me," said Jud, shortly.
"Maybe you're off your feed a bit."
"Never was better in my life."
"Well, it's darned queer. You act like a man whose liver is turning mongrel. Why, you ought to be satisfied. You've made a big hit here and you'll soon be getting the biggest salary of any newspaper artist in town. You have been elected to the Athletic Club, you have been invited to lecture before some of the clubs, you've got plenty of coin to throw at birds, so why don't you rub those wrinkles from between your eyes?"
Jud laughed rather mirthlessly, without taking his eyes from the coffee which he was stirring.