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Updated: June 8, 2025
I don't think that they concern me. I don't think they concern this business, except in so far as they may affect it unfavorably, but I would like to know if it is true. Is it?" "Yes," said Eugene. "Mrs. Dale is an old friend of mine. I've known her for years. I know Mrs. Witla, of course, but not quite in the same way. I haven't seen as much of her as I have of you.
This Art Institute atmosphere was something so refreshing after his days rambling among poor neighborhoods collecting, that he could hardly believe that he, Eugene Witla, belonged there. These were exceptional young people; some of them, anyhow. If they weren't cut out to be good artists they still had imagination the dream of the artist.
His self-reliance, coolness under fire, ability to work long and ardently even when his heart was scarcely in it, were all strengthened and developed. "Well, luck to you, Witla," he said, when Eugene informed him one morning that he was going to leave and wished to give him notice. "You needn't take me into consideration. I don't want you to stay if you're going to go. The quicker the better.
I know what I am doing. I love Mr. Witla, and I am going to live with him. Mrs. Witla understands. She knows how it is. You will. I don't care anything at all about what people think. I don't care what any society friends do. They are not making my life. They are all just as narrow and selfish as they can be, anyhow. Love is something different from that. You don't understand me.
He went out with Summerfield into the art room and was there introduced by him to the various men employed. "Mr. Davis, Mr. Witla; Mr. Hart, Mr. Witla; Mr. Clemens, Mr. Witla," so it went, and the staff was soon aware of who he was.
He, Eugene Witla, to deceive her this way. No wonder he wanted to get rid of her when he came to New York. He would have treated her as he had this Ruby. And Christina! This Christina!! Where was she? Who was she? What was she doing now? She jumped up prepared to go to Eugene and charge him with his iniquities, but remembered that he was out of the studio that he had gone for a walk.
I usually have a few people there, and the house is roomy. I'll name you a special day if you wish." "Do. We'll be delighted. Mrs. Witla will enjoy it, I'm sure." Mrs. Dale wrote to Angela ten days later as to a particular date, and in this way the social intimacy began. It was never of a very definite character, though. When Mrs.
Eugene Witla, an artist, temporarily incapacitated by neurasthenia," and went on to say that he was "desirous of being appointed to some manual toil in some construction corps. The president's office recommends this request to your favor." When he read this he knew it meant a position. It roused curious feelings as to the nature and value of stratification.
Fredericks explained elaborately over the phone as though it was necessary that he had been about the work of finding an advertising manager for some time, as Mr. Kalvin knew, and that he had some difficulty in finding the right man. "I have been talking to Mr. Witla, whom you met here today, and he is interested in what I have been telling him about the Weekly.
Eugene rose. "I'm in your way, I think. Won't you have this chair?" "No, thanks. The one in the corner will do. But I might as well introduce myself, since there isn't anyone here to do it. I'm Mrs. Wilson, Mrs. Hibberdell's daughter. You're Mr. Witla?" "Yes, I answer to that," said Eugene, smiling. He was not very much impressed at first.
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