All the sketches he
had made for the "Last Enemy," together with his easel and his disused
palette, his colour-box, tubes, brushes and all the other materials and
tools for his work, he caused to be transferred to the new studio.
Besides this he had the stretcher made, best twill canvas on a frame
four feet long, two and a half feet high. This was for the large sketch
of the picture. But the finished work he calculated would demand an
eight by five stretcher.
He did not think of decorating the room, of putting any ornaments about
the wall. He was too serious, too much in earnest now to think of that.
The studio was not to be his lounging place, but his workshop. His art
was work with him now, hard, serious work. It was above all _work_ that
he needed to set him right again, regular work, steady, earnest work,
not the dilettante fancy of an amateur content with making pretty
things.
Never in his life had Vandover been so happy. He came and went
continually between his rooms, his studio, and his art dealers, tramping
grandly about the city, whistling to himself, strong, elated, filled
with energy, vigour, ambition.
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