The girls heard a hum of voices as they entered the exhibition hall. After all they were not late. Artists, sculptors, society women and art critics were moving about the room in stately groups, peering curiously at the various statues which were displayed along the walls. Penny and Susan felt slightly ill at ease in such company. Save for one other girl who appeared to be about their own age, they were the only young people present.
After showing their cards of admission, Penny and Susan joined the milling throng. They peered at first one statue and then another, but were not really enthusiastic until they came to a tiny figure which seemed to be attracting more than its share of attention.
It was an unusual piece; a small, dejected imp of clay who sat hunched over a woodland log. The work had rhythm and grace.
The girls studied the placard beneath the figure and Penny read aloud:
"The Black Imp by Amy Coulter."
"Sort of cute, isn't it?" Susan commented.
From the conversation which flowed about them they quickly gathered that the Black Imp was considered by artists and critics to be one of the most promising entries in the contest. They heard several distinguished appearing persons say that they expected the figure to win first prize.
"I am not so sure of that," another gentleman disagreed. "The work deserves to win—but judges have strange opinions sometimes."
"Especially a judge such as Hanley Cron," the other added dryly. As he spoke, he jerked his head in the direction of a tall, thin man who stood at the opposite side of the room.
Until that moment, Penny and Susan had not noticed him. It was the same driver who had caused them so much annoyance.