I was not aware of the fact. But ... you will remember, Richard, that in my letter I asked you to visit me?
Of course. And I shall be very pleased to stay for a few days. Very kind of you to ask me.
Not at all, Richard, not at all! I—
On Monday I must return to New York and look for a studio. With the book coming out I feel I shall have no trouble selling my work.
Studio? Isn’t that—hem! rather Bohemian, Richard?
Good gracious, uncle, you haven’t been reading George Moore, have you?
But Richard, did you not understand that I wanted you to stay here longer than that?
Why no. How long did you mean?
Er—I hadn’t thought, exactly. I mean that I wanted you to bring your things here—bring your things here and just live on with me.
I had no idea you meant that. Anyhow, as I couldn’t paint here, it’s impossible. But, of course, if you care to have me stay a few days longer—
But I have everything arranged for you here. Your room—everything.
But you see, uncle, my work—
I hope you will give up your art, but if you must paint I will provide you a room for it. Do you know how many rooms there are in this house, Richard?
Really, Uncle Richard, I thank you, but—
Don’t mention it. And of course you can see to its proper arrangement yourself.
I had no idea of this when I came and—but you see, it’s not only the studio an artist requires, it’s atmosphere, the atmosphere of enthusiasm and feeling. You might as well give a business man a brand new office equipment and turn him loose on the Sahara desert as to shut a painter up in a town like this and expect him to create. Artists need atmosphere just as business men need banks. It’s the meeting of like forces that makes anything really go.