On going to his studio, after the occurrence we have mentioned, Ellison was far from being happy. It did not take him long to resolve to struggle on, and thus seek to maintain his independence. That he would fall into debt and become seriously embarrassed, he knew; but that was something in every way to be preferred to further and deeper humiliation on the subject of his wife’s property. The little already suffered on this score was so exceedingly painful and mortifying, that he had no wish to encounter any thing more of a like nature. Earnestly he searched about in his mind for suggestions. Many things presented themselves. As a teacher of drawing he might do something to increase his income; but his professional pride came quickly to oppose this idea—moreover, in advertising or sending around cards, Clara must necessarily become aware of the fact, and she would doubtless think it strange, after the increase in his income, that he should be compelled to resort to such a course. To propose to a number of his friends to paint them at a temptingly low price, was next pondered over. But they would naturally ask, “Why this necessity? Had he not married a little fortune?”
While in this state of doubt and anxiety, the friend who had furnished him with a couple of hundred dollars came in. Ellison, the moment he saw him, had an instinctive impression that he had come to ask a return of the money, as the loan had been only a temporary one. And he was not wrong. After sitting and chatting for some five minutes, during all of which time the young artist felt his presence exceedingly embarrassing, he said —
“Well, Alfred. How are you off for money?”
The color rose in the face of Ellison at this question, and he answered with evident distress and confusion.
“Not very well, I’m sorry to say. I have been thinking of you for the last hour.”
“I thought you would have been flush enough by this time,” said the friend.
“So did I. But it is otherwise.”
“Then you have not bettered your condition so much as you anticipated,” was remarked, with a familiarity and coarseness that stung the young artist like an insult.
“How do you mean?” asked Ellison, his brow falling as he spoke.
The other looked surprised at the change his words had produced.