"Why not?"
"It's not representative of Montgomery. You ought to do something representative! What pictures have you made here?"
"I made one of those negroes driving in to market," said my companion, "and one of the dancing cowgirls in the tent across the way—the ones who kept us awake last night."
"My God!" cried the secretary, turning to me. "You intend to print such pictures and say that they represent the normal life of this city?"
"No, I won't say anything about it."
"But—" the secretary arose and looked wanly at the illustrator—"but you haven't drawn any of our pretty homes! You didn't draw the golf clubs—not either one of them! You didn't draw the State House, or the Confederate Monument, or the Insane Asylum, or anything!"
"I haven't had time."
"Well, you have time now! I tell you what: We'll let this luncheon go. I'll take you to the top of our tallest building, and you can draw a panoramic bird's-eye view of the entire city. That will be worth while."
My companion reached out, helped himself to a French roll, and put it in his pocket.
"No," he said. "I will not go to the top of a high building with you."