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My father and mother, they have now so plenty of money; they send me some to pay my debts and come home. I start on Monday for Stolpmunde and I do not come back. Never." "But your picture, the hyaenas?" "No good. It is too big to carry to Stolpmunde. I burn it."
"Why don't you go home on a visit?" some one asked tactfully. "Ah, it cost money! There is the ship passage to Stolpmunde, and there is money that I owe at my lodgings. Even here I owe a few schillings. If I could sell some of my sketches " "Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Nougat-Jones, "if you were to offer them for a little less, some of us would be glad to buy a few.
Well, there was a ship that left Stolpmunde for London twice a month, that carried few passengers, but carried them cheaply; the railway fares to Munich or Paris were not cheap. Thus it was that he came to select London as the scene of his great adventure.
A more ambitious picture, "Wolves and wapiti fighting on the steps of the Athenaeum Club," found a purchaser at fifteen shillings. "And now what are your plans?" asked a young man who contributed occasional paragraphs to an artistic weekly. "I go back to Stolpmunde as soon as the ship sails," said the artist, "and I do not return. Never." "But your work? Your career as painter?"
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