Venice and dabbled in the same oldmasterish waters. I give among my illustrations one or two souvenirs of Chase's earlier period. They show how, with that susceptible nature of his, he felt the impact of Duveneck's individuality. He had an extraordinary faculty of assimilation, as he was to show later in his contacts with types as different as Velasquez and Boldini. But the central point about Chase as about Duveneck was the pure painter's ardor to which I have so often alluded. Here in the East, in New York at the Art Students League, or in classes of his own on the Shinnecock Hills and in the Prado, he campaigned through precept and example for the probity of art. He trained a whole generation of our painters in a respect for the traditions of a noble craft. And he, again like Duveneck, was a well-spring of wise enthusiasm. It is good to think of the two men so richly endowed, so profuse in production, giving whole-heartedly to those who came to them for help. The energizing principle underlying their influence, the principle of good, honest painting, runs like a golden thread through much that is most valuable in American art. What they did for their countrymen should be remembered-and it should be remembered also that they worked out their method, not in Paris but in Munich. A calendar of current art exhibitions will be found in the Fifth Avenue Section. "Give me chicken croquettes with green peas and cream sauce and mashed potatoes." "That's the dinner." "Everything we want's the dinner, eh? That's the way you work it." "I can give you ham and eggs, bacon and eggs, liver-" "I'll take ham and eggs,' "the man called Al said. He wore a derby hat and "I don't know," said Al. "I don't a black overcoat buttoned across the know what I want to eat.' Outside it was getting dark. The streetlight came on outside the window. The -two men at the counter read the menu. From the other end of the counter Nick Adams watched them. He had been talking to George when they came in. "I'll have a roast pork tenderloin with apple sauce and mashed potato," the first man said. "It isn't ready yet." "What the hell do you put it on the card for?" "That's the dinner," George explained. "You can get that at six o'clock." George looked at the clock on the wall behind the counter. "It's five o'clock." "The clock says twenty minutes past five," the second man said. "It's twenty minutes fast." "Oh, to hell with the clock," the first man said. "What have you got to eat?" "I can give you any kind of sandwiches," George said. "You can have ham and eggs, bacon and eggs, liver and bacon, or a steak." Copyrighted in 1927 in United States, Canada, chest. His face was small and white and he had tight lips. He wore a silk muffler and gloves. "Give me bacon and eggs," said the other man. He was about the same size as Al. Their faces were different, but they were dressed like twins. Both wore overcoats too tight for them. They sat leaning forward, their elbows on the counter. "Got anything to drink?" Al asked. "Silver beer, bevo, ginger ale," George said. "I mean you got anything to drink?" "Just those I said." "Ever hear of it?" Al asked his friend. "No," said the friend. "What do you do here nights?" Al asked. "They eat the dinner," his friend said. "They all come here and eat the big dinner." "That's right," George said. "So you think that's right?" Al asked George. and Great Britain by Charles Scribner's Sons. Printed in New York. All rights reserved. "You don't have to laugh," Max said to him. "You don't have to laugh at all, see?" "All right," said George. "So he thinks it's all right." Max turned to Al. "He thinks it's all right. That's a good one." "Oh, he's a thinker," Al said. They went on eating. "What's the bright boy's name down the counter?" Al asked Max. "Hey, bright boy," Max said to Nick. "You go around on the other side of the counter with your boy friend." "What's the idea?" Nick asked. "There isn't any idea." "You better go around, bright boy," Al said. Nick went around behind the counter. "What's the idea?" George asked. "None of your damn business," Al said. "Who's out in the kitchen?" "The nigger." "What do you mean the nigger?" "Where do you think you are?" "We know damn well where we are," the man called Max said. "Do we look silly?" "You talk silly," Al said to him. "What the hell do you argue with this kid for? Listen," he said to George, "tell the nigger to come out here." "What are you going to do to him?" "Nothing. Use your head, bright boy. What would we do to a nigger?" George opened the slit that opened back into the kitchen. "Sam," he called. "Come in here a minute." The door to the kitchen opened and the nigger came in. "What was it?" he asked. The two men at the counter took a look at him. "All right, nigger. You stand right there," Al said. Sam, the nigger, standing in his apron, looked at the two men sitting at the counter. "Yes, sir," he said. Al got down from his stool. "I'm going back to the kitchen with the nigger and bright boy," he said. "Go on back to the kitchen, nigger. You go with him, bright boy." The little man walked after Nick and Sam, the cook, back into the kitchen. The door shut after them. The man called Max sat at the counter opposite George. He didn't look at George but looked in the mirror that ran along back of the counter. Henry's had been made over from a saloon into a lunch-counter. "Well, bright boy," Max said, looking into the mirror, "why don't you say something?" "What's it all about?" "Hey, Al," Max called, "bright boy wants to know what it's all about." "Why don't you tell him?" Al's voice came from the kitchen. 'What do you think it's all about?" "I don't know." "What do you think?" Max looked into the mirror all the time he was talking. "I wouldn't say." "Hey, Al, bright boy says he wouldn't say what he thinks it's all about." |