\" Said John as he piled the papery remnants of their meal onto the tray. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. He yelled at the girls for neglected to hand Lucy a pair of shorts or a sweater while they stood around in shock. “What?” He replied. "In Canton. ’ ‘Dear me. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. E.
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