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Updated: May 10, 2025
"I reckon I'd like it, all right," he said, "and I'll bring you back some ducks, if I'm lucky." So, Lescott arranged the outfit, and Samson awaited the news of the coming flights. That same evening, Farbish dropped into the studio, explaining that he had been buying a picture at Collasso's, and had taken the opportunity to stop by and hand Samson a visitor's card to the Kenmore Club.
His companions were various, numbering among them a group of those pygmy celebrities of whom one has never heard until by chance he meets them, and of whom their intimates speak as of immortals. To Collasso's studio, Samson was called one night by telephone.
The door opened, and he saw the figure of a woman on the threshold. The boy rose somewhat shyly from his seat, and stood looking at her. She was as richly dressed as Miss Starr had been, but there was the same difference as between the colors of the sunset sky and the exaggerated daubs of Collasso's landscape.
"The life here has a tendency to make us cynical in our speech, even though we may be quite the reverse in our practices. In point of fact, I fancy we were both rather out of our element at Collasso's studio." At the steps of a Fifth Avenue club, Farbish halted. "Won't you turn in here," he suggested, "and assuage your thirst?" Samson declined, and walked on.
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