PROF. HAZLITT AT HOME.
Chester did not forget his engagement to call upon Prof. Hazlitt on
Wednesday evening.
He was shown at once into the professor’s study. It was a large room,
the sides lined with bookcases crowded with volumes. There seemed to be
more books than Chester had ever seen before.
In the center of the room was a study table, covered with books, open
as if in use. On one side was a desk, at which Prof. Hazlitt himself
was seated.
“Good-evening, my young friend,” he said, cordially, as Chester entered
the room. “You did not forget your appointment.”
“No, sir. I was not likely to forget such an engagement.”
“Have you grown to feel at home in the city?”
“Not entirely, sir, but I am getting a little used to it.”
“I think you mentioned that you were going into a real estate office?”
“Yes, sir. I have commenced my duties there.”
“I hope you find them agreeable.”
“I might, sir, but that the bookkeeper seems to have taken a dislike to
me.”
“I suspect that you would like better to devote yourself to art work.”
“I think I should, sir, but Mr. Conrad thinks it better that I should
only devote my leisure to drawing.”
“No doubt his advice is wise, for the present, at least. Now, suppose
we come to business. I believe I told you I am writing a book on
ethnology.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I find a good deal of help in rare volumes which I consult at the
Astor Library. These I cannot borrow, but I have the use of anything I
find suited to my needs in the library of Columbia College. Then I
import a good many books. I shall spare no pains to make my own work
valuable and comprehensive. Of course, I shall feel at liberty to copy
and use any illustrations I find in foreign publications. It is here
that you can help me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here, for instance,” and the professor opened a French book, “are some
sketches illustrating the dress and appearance of the natives of
Madagascar. Do you think you can copy them?”
“I have no doubt of it, sir,” he answered.
“Sit down in that chair and try. You will find pencils and drawing
paper before you. I will mention one or two particulars in which I want
you to deviate from the original.”
Chester sat down and was soon deep in his task. He felt that it was
important for him to do his best. He could understand that, though the
professor was a kind-hearted man, he would be a strict critic.
He therefore worked slowly and carefully, and it was nearly an hour
before he raised his head and said:
“I have finished.”
“Show the sketch to me,” said the professor.
Chester handed it to him.
He examined it with critical attention. Gradually his face lighted up
with pleasure.
“Admirably done!” he exclaimed. “You have carried out my wishes.”
“Then you are satisfied, sir?”
“Entirely.”
“I am very glad,” said Chester, with an air of relief.
He felt now he could do all that was required of him, and, as the
contract would pay him two hundred dollars, this success to-night was
an important one.
“I won’t ask you to do any more this evening, but I will give you some
work to do at home. I believe I agreed to pay you two dollars for each
sketch?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Probably you are not over well provided with money, and I will pay you
as you go on. Or, rather, I will give you ten dollars as an advance for
future work.”
“Thank you, sir. You are very kind.”
“Only considerate. I have seen the time when a ten-dollar-bill would
have been welcome to me. Now, thanks to a wealthy relative, who left me
a fortune, I am amply provided for.”
At this moment the study door opened and a bright-looking boy of about
fifteen entered.
“May I come in, uncle?” he asked, with a smile.
“Yes. Chester, this is my nephew, Arthur Burks. Arthur, this is Chester
Rand, a young artist, who is assisting me.”
Arthur came forward and gave Chester his hand cordially.
“You ought to wear spectacles,” he said, “like uncle Edgar. You don’t
look dignified enough to be his assistant.”
“That may come in time,” said Chester, with a smile.
“Arthur, I am done with Chester for this evening,” said the professor.
“You may carry him off and entertain him. You may bring me the other
two sketches whenever you are ready.”
“Come up to my den,” said Arthur. “I have the front room on the third
floor.”
As they went upstairs, a prolonged, melancholy shriek rang through the
house.
Chester stopped short in dismay, and an expression of pain succeeded
the gay look on Arthur’s face.