They found Socrate at the café, smoking his pipe and talking art. Half hidden in a cloud of smoke, he raised his head and looked at Phil.
“You’re doing things that please. Look out—take care! You ought to do powerful things! Take any subject at all—a bottle, a pumpkin, if you wish! it doesn’t matter—only put your soul into it!”
“Put my soul into a bottle!” said Phil, amused.
Socrate did not admit any discussion of his pronouncements, and struck Phil dumb with a glance.
“I tell you, you must paint with your soul!”
“But I always do my best!” Phil said.
“Peuh! your best!” Socrate had an expression of unspeakable pity for Phil’s best.
Caracal now and then put in a brief appearance at the Deux Magots, looking from Phil to Socrate and laughing to himself.
“Socrate is right; you ought to do high art! It would be very funny—you who are lucky enough to be the lover—”
“What?” cried Phil.