The Parts Men Play

, met at a table and nodded gloomily. One was Johnston Smyth, an artist, who, finding himself possessed neither of a technique nor of the industry to acquire one,

ur splashed indiscriminately on the canvas, it took more than his available funds to purchase the accessories of his calling. H

appearance. He had given a recital which set every one who is any one in London talking. There was but one drawback-they talked so much that he could persuade no one to listen, and he carried his discords a

fected a manner of speech usually confined t

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