[CHAPTER XII—JEFF ROBERTS]
“Do you think I’ll be able to put it across?” Paul asked, despondently, stepping back from the half finished picture and eyeing it with his head on one side and a frown on his brow.
Jane, perched on an old barrel, her chin on her fists, studied the embryo masterpiece with a grave, judicial air.
“I think it is going to be very good,” she observed at length.
“Do you, honestly?” Paul knew of course that Jane was about as capable of judging as Anna, but he had reached the point where encouragement from any source was sweet. “Lord, I hope I get it done in time.”
“You will,” said Jane. Paul grinned at her.
“You’re about the most optimistic character I ever knew. I suppose you think I’m certain to win a first prize.”
“Don’t you think so?”
“No, my child. I don’t think there’s a chance in the world.”
“Oh, Paul! But you’ll win something.”