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He thought of Jerry Mathews of the old Chicago Globe days where was he now? and Philip Shotmeyer, who would be almost ideal to work under his direction, for he was a splendid letterer, and Henry Hare, still of the World, with whom he had frequently talked on the subject of ads and posters.
There were dark walls of buildings, a flaring gas lamp or two, some yellow lighted shop windows, and many shaded, half seen faces bare suggestions of souls and pulsing life. "Say," said Shotmeyer at one point, "that kind o' looks like the real thing to me. I've seen a crowd like that." "Have you?" replied Eugene. "You ought to be able to get some magazine to use that as a frontispiece.
She had a tall perfectly rounded form, a lovely oval face, a nut brown complexion with the rosy glow of health showing in cheeks and lips, and a mass of blue black hair. Her great brown eyes were lustrous and sympathetic. Eugene met her through the good offices of Shotmeyer, who had been given by some common friend in Boston a letter of introduction to her.
Eugene visited the show room at the time the pictures were being hung, with Angela, with Smite and MacHugh, Shotmeyer and others. He had long since notified Norma Whitmore and Miriam Finch, but not the latter until after Wheeler had had time to tell her. This also chagrined her, for she felt in this as she had about his marriage, that he was purposely neglecting her.
The result of Angela's outburst was that Eugene hastened to notify those whom he had not already informed Shotmeyer, his father and mother, Sylvia, Myrtle, Hudson Dula and received in return cards and letters of congratulation expressing surprise and interest, which he presented to Angela in a conciliatory spirit.
He had concluded from his association with Jerry Mathews, Philip Shotmeyer, Peter MacHugh and Joseph Smite that they were all rather decent in respect to morals. He had never seen them under temptation but he imagined they were.
Already he was doing a whole series in his imagination, all he had ever dreamed of. He wanted to run and tell Shotmeyer to buy him a good meal. He almost loved him, commonplace hack that he was because he had suggested to him the right thing to do. "Say, Shotmeyer," he said, sticking his head in that worthy's door, "you and I eat tonight. Truth took that drawing."
Shotmeyer, vain of his notable acquaintances who in fact tolerated him for his amusing gossip described Miss Channing's voice to Eugene and asked him if he did not want to call on her some evening. "Delighted," said Eugene. The appointment was made and together they went to Miss Channing's suite in a superior Nineteenth Street boarding house.
Eugene was working on one of his street scenes a task which he invariably essayed when he had nothing else to do. Shotmeyer had drifted in and was following the strokes of his brush as he attempted to portray a mass of East Side working girls flooding the streets after six o'clock.
He wanted to find out about local art life from him, but Shotmeyer was not brilliant, and could not supply him with more than minor details of what Eugene desired to know. Through him he learnt a little of studio regions, art personalities; the fact that young beginners worked in groups. Shotmeyer had been in such a group the year before, though why he was alone now he did not say.
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