Page:The Father Confessor, Stories of Danger and Death.djvu/99

Rh who offered me such a glorious future? Ah! I wish he were here now."

"He is!"

The two started up at the voice and looked around. A little old man, shabby, and bent, stood behind them, with a portfolio under his arm.

He looked at the wax head the younger man had been modelling.

"Very little better than the head you showed me as a child. What have you been doing all these years?"

"Nothing, sir!"

"Nothing! nothing! nothing! Do the years not move for you, young sir. Fortunes are made and lost, thrones are gained and lost, empires have fallen, and all while you do nothing."

The young man hung his head.

"Look at me," the artist continued. "I painted a picture here that won me a fortune, I became rich, I became famous. I had my day, I lived, I lost my fortune, and was forgotten, and I am here again selling from cottage to cottage the prints of my picture."

"I am sorry," the young man answered.