In Bohemia.
“Look here, Hugh, what is the cause of this confounded gloominess?”
“Nothing that concerns anybody, except myself,” was the morose reply.
“Well, you needn’t snarl like that at an old friend. Come, out with it, and let’s have no secrets.”
“There’s not much to tell, old fellow, beyond the fact that I’m ruined.”
“What!” exclaimed John Egerton, open-mouthed in amazement. “Ruined?”
“Yes.”
“Are you really serious; or is this another of your confoundedly grim jokes?”
“It’s too true, alas!” the other replied, with a sigh. The artist, laying his palette and mahlstick aside, turned and faced his visitor, exclaiming—
“Sit down and relate the circumstances; we must see what can be done.”