"Well, he has trouble with everything—composition, tone-values, everything."
"But something not painting."
He looked up at the ceiling helplessly.
"Well, I fancy Randy Teevan worries him."
"Randall Teevan!" She was amazed and alarmed at once.
"Sometimes I get the idea that Randy badgers him, though they're thick as thieves. The boy wouldn't breathe if Randy said it was bad for the lungs."
"How long have they been friends?"
By quick, nervous, point-blank queries she drew from him all that he knew of this intimacy. She puzzled over it.
"Can he know?" She had not meant him to hear this, but he caught the words, and betrayed something like human interest.
"Trust Randy for that! I found it out myself. He had Kitty's portrait—Kitty to the life—stunning brush work. Randy has begged the picture of him for a while. I fancy he didn't want it hanging there for others to see. And he found the fellow here one afternoon. Kitty told me. She was nearly taken off her feet by his story but Randy happened in and cooled things down. It's queer, Randy's setting himself to win over the chap. It's a puzzle-mix. I wonder about it sometimes when the light goes."