"Don't you like Kelly's work ?" "Sure I do." "What's the matter with it, then ?" There was a silence.

One or two men at neighbouring tables turned partly around to listen.

There seemed to be something in the very simple and honest question of John Burleson that arrested the attention of every man at the Syrinx Club who had heard it.

Because, for the first time, the question which every man there had silently, involuntarily asked himself had been uttered aloud at last by John Burleson--voiced in utter good faith and with all confidence that the answer could be only that there was nothing whatever the matter with Louis Neville's work.

And his answer had been a universal silence.
Clive Gail, lately admitted to the Academy said: "I have never in my life seen or believed possible such facility as is Louis Neville's." "Sure thing," grunted Burleson.
"His personal manner of doing his work--which the critics and public term 'tek--nee--ee--eek,'" laughed Annan, "is simply gloriously bewildering.