“How are you going at it?” said Dangerfield, peering into the confusion of colors.
“Diving in, head foremost, I guess,” said Tootles, rather discouraged.
“Have you made any sketches, charcoal sketches?”
“Oh, yes; dozens.”
He returned with heaped-up arms.
Dangerfield sorted them rapidly, humming to himself. Bits of drawing caught his attention, a free, felicitous line here and there evoking an approving grunt.
“Not so bad—this is more like it—too worked over—this means something—good! But you must get your composition first, my boy.”
“I know that,” said Tootles ruefully; “but then, I’m new to decoration, you see.”
“Harder than you thought, eh?”