Life, art, and letters of George Inness . and death. I must have it now, nota minute to lose. I 11 pay you back; have nt time toexplain. Snedecor thrust twenty dollars into hishand, and he rushed back to the studio. Here, man,he shouted, take this, and God be with you. Hurry,for Gods sake! When he had left, Pop collapsed. He was com-pletely unnerved with the agony of seeing one gothrough that thing which he most dreaded in his ownlife. He was so weakened by the experience that hewent home, and was not able to leave his bed for twodays. On the third day, when he returned to thestudio, spent and
Life, art, and letters of George Inness . and death. I must have it now, nota minute to lose. I 11 pay you back; have nt time toexplain. Snedecor thrust twenty dollars into hishand, and he rushed back to the studio. Here, man,he shouted, take this, and God be with you. Hurry,for Gods sake! When he had left, Pop collapsed. He was com-pletely unnerved with the agony of seeing one gothrough that thing which he most dreaded in his ownlife. He was so weakened by the experience that hewent home, and was not able to leave his bed for twodays. On the third day, when he returned to thestudio, spent and worn, his friend came in whistling,and Pop grasped him by the hand. Your wife? he asked. Tell me, how isshe? 113 LIFE, ART, AND LETTERS Oh, he replied nonchalantly, she s all right, Ileft her at the wash-tubs. But the other day she was ill, man, dying— Oh, pshaw! he replied, that was because I wantedtwenty dollars. Never mind, old man; I 11 pay itback some day. But he did nt pay it back, nor did he ever come intothe studio again. 114. CHAPTER VIII NKW YORK II FOR a while during the New York period myfather and I had a studio together in the oldBooth Theater at Broadway and Sixth Ave-nue. Pop was growing richer and broader in expres-sion with his maturer years and accumulated knowl-edge. When he painted he painted at white heat. Pas-sionate, dynamic in his force, I have seen him some-times like a madman, stripped to the waist, perspira-tion rolling like a mill-race from his face, with sometremendous idea struggling for expression. Aftera picture was complete it lost all value for him. Hehad no more interest in it. What was his masterpieceone day would be dish-water and twaddle thenext. He would take a canvas before the paint wasreally dry, and, being seized with another inspiration,would paint over it. I have known him to paint asmany as half a dozen or more pictures on one canvas,in fact, as many as the canvas would hold. One dayhe called my mother and me into the studio and
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