“Do you notice how the dawn slowly materialises the landscape?” said the artist to the boy beside him.
The boy saw nothing wonderful about that. Daylight always did it.
“Then it is not unusual in these parts? You see, I am very seldom up at this hour.”
The boy wished that was his case.
“Does it not remind you of a photographer in a dark room carefully developing a landscape plate? Not one of those rapid plates, you know, but a slow, deliberate plate.”
No, it didn’t remind him of anything of the kind. He had never seen either a slow or a rapid plate developed.
“Then you have no prejudices as to which is the best developer, pyrogallic acid or ferrous oxalate, not to mention such recent decoctions as eikonogen, quinol, and others?”
No, the boy had none.
“Well, that’s what I like. I like a young man whose mind is open to conviction.”
The boy was not a conversational success. He evidently did not enter into the spirit of the artist’s remarks. He said most people got off at that point and walked to warm up, and asked Trenton if he would not like to follow their example.