In the first place, he's not a painter--" "John," interrupted Kenny hotly, "you are no judge of that.

I, Kennicott O'Neill, am his father." "And more's the pity," said Whitaker bluntly, "for you've made a mess of it.

That's another reason." Kenny turned a dark red.
"You mean ?" "I mean, Kenny," said Whitaker, his glance calm and level, "that as a parent for Brian, you are an abject failure." The word stung.

It was the first time in his life that Kenny had faced it.

That he, Kennicott O'Neill, Academician, with Heaven knows how many medals of distinction, could fail at anything, was a new thought, bewildering and bitter.