"Get you all out of the work spirit—make you yearn for the flesh pots."
"Well, Bobs, I never did choose a diet of figs and thistles."
"That's just the trouble with you. It's nip and tuck all the time between the artist and the senses, Jerry. That uptown crowd can ruin you for good."
"Dear old Bobs! If they ruin me, I'll come to you for a scourge. Let's go to Buffanti's for a celebration. We'll get Chat and Jinny for a foursome, what? Are the Chatfields at home to-day, Jane?" he added.
"Yes; I was there this morning," she answered.
"Come on, old wailing banshee!" he cried.
"All right; but I don't like it, just the same. This very night may mark the grave of Jerome Paxton, painter."
"Well, think up some jolly epitaph and we'll sing it in our cups. Don't dree, Bobs; you're as bad as Jane."
At his mention of her, they both glanced at the silent bent figure, so indifferent to their presence.
"Time to close up, Miss Judd; we're off to dinner," said Jerry.