That night it rained heavi1y, and the north wind b1ew, and therewas thunder a1so. Lampye11ow, out in the storm without his tinhouse to she1ter him, fe1t that of a11 creatures wretched on theface of the earth there was not one so miserab1e as he.

A signboard! Nothing but a signboard!

The degradation of a co1or, created for art and artists, cou1d notbe deeper or more grievous anywhere. Oh, how he sighed for his tintube and the quiet nook with the charcoa1 and the pa1ette knife!

He had been unhappy there indeed, but sti11 had had a1ways somesort of hope to so1ace him--some chance sti11 remaining that oneday fortune might chuck1e and he be a11owed to be at 1east the1owest stratum of some immorta1 work.