Part 21 (2/2)

”So they are,” said Leighton, with a laugh. ”When you stop believing that, you stop being an American. All American women are beautiful--some outside, and the rest inside.”

”Why don't you take me to the States?” asked Lewis.

Leighton turned around.

”How old are you?”

”Twenty,” said Lewis.

”I'll take you,” said Leighton, ”when you are old enough to see the States. It takes a certain amount of philosophy nowadays to understand your country--and mine. Of all the nations in the world, we Americans see ourselves least as others see us. We have a national vanity that keeps us from studying a looking-gla.s.s. That's a paradox,” said Leighton, smiling at Lewis's puzzled look. ”A paradox,” he continued, ”is a verity the unpleasant truth of which is veiled.”

”Anyway, I should like to go to the States,” said Lewis.

”Just now,” said Leighton, ”our country is traveling the universal road of commercialism, but it's traveling fast. When it gets to the end of the road, it will be an interesting country.”

CHAPTER XXV

Three years later, with the approval of Le Brux, Lewis exhibited the ”Startled Woman.” He did not name it. It named itself. There was no single remarkable trait in the handling of the life-size nude figure beyond its triumph as a whole--its sure impression of alarm.

Leighton came to Paris for his son's debut. When he saw the statue, he said:

”It is not great. You are not old enough for that. But it will be a success, probably a sensation. What else have you done?”

All the modeling that Lewis had acc.u.mulated in the three years of his apprentices.h.i.+p was pa.s.sed in review. Leighton scarcely looked at the casts. He kept his eyes on Le Brux's face and measured his changing expression.

”Is that all?” he asked.

”Yes,” said Lewis.

”Well,” said Leighton, ”I suggest we destroy the lot. What do you say, Le Brux?”

Le Brux raised his bushy eyebrows, shrugged his shoulders, and threw out his hands.

”Eh,” he grunted, ”it is for the boy to say. Has he the courage? They are his offspring.”

The two men stood and looked at Lewis. His eyes pa.s.sed from them to his work and back again to Leighton's face.

”You are my father,” he said.

”Come on,” cried Leighton, without a moment's hesitation, ”let us all join in the slaughter. Just remember, boy, that it's no more cruel to kill your young than to sell them into slavery.”

Three days later all of Paris that counts was talking of the ”Startled Woman.” The name of Leighton _fils_ was in many mouths and in almost as many printed paragraphs.

”Leighton _fils_!” cried Lewis. Why _fils_?”

”Paris has a long memory for art, my boy,” said Leighton. ”Before I learned that I could never reach the heights, I raised a small monument on a foot-hill. They haven't forgotten it, these critics who never die.”

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