Then they both laughed at the absurdity of any such supposition. And then they stood and looked at each other until Edward became suddenly self-conscious.
"John's home," he said. "I met him in Brooklyn and we came home together. He's fine. There's worse things than being a sailor."
"That's true too," said Mr. Ruggles. "But speaking of sailors, how's art?"
"John says I ought to send some drawings to the comic magazines and see what happens."
"Don't send them," said Mr. Ruggles, "take them. We met one of the editors of the Age in the mountains and we told him all about the talent which we think you have, and he said, 'Put a roll of the boy's drawings under his arm and send him to see us.'"
"I told you that in one of my letters," said Alice.
"Oh, but that's wonderful!" Edward said. "Did he really say for me to come and see him?"
"He really did," said Mr. Ruggles. "We are all witnesses. But we want to warn you not to be disappointed if he can't use the pretty pictures. If he likes anything, he'll like the comic pictures of insects and bugs and caterpillars . . . You know, my boy, it would really be a fearfully good joke if you could start right in and earn your own liv-
