"Perhaps you don't approve of him." "Oh, Michael Angelo was not me!" said Roderick, with sublimity.

There was a great laugh; but after all, Roderick had done some fine things.
Rowland had bidden one of the servants bring him a small portfolio of prints, and had taken out a photograph of Roderick's little statue of the youth drinking.

It pleased him to see his friend sitting there in radiant ardor, defending idealism against so knowing an apostle of corruption as Gloriani, and he wished to help the elder artist to be confuted.

He silently handed him the photograph.
"Bless me!" cried Gloriani, "did he do this ?" "Ages ago," said Roderick.
Gloriani looked at the photograph a long time, with evident admiration.
"It 's deucedly pretty," he said at last.

"But, my dear young friend, you can't keep this up." "I shall do better," said Roderick.
"You will do worse! You will become weak.