All the Way Home and All the Night Through by Ted Lewis Read Free Book Online

honest man, concerned with his own work and with the work of the students. His exterior seemed to be there to protect him from any disappointment he might get from his students, as artists or as people.
    I put my folder on the table then went and brought an extra chair and sat down next to him.
    â€œWell now, would you like to show me what you have,” he said slowly, affecting a pleasantly interested attitude. The sun streamed in through the high studio windows, already beginning to warm the wooden tabletops.
    I opened my folder and lifted out some sheets of mounted illustrations.
    â€œThese are the illustrations to the books you asked me to do. I did as you asked and chose one historical, one humorous, etc. I chose ‘Alice’ as the children’s book.”
    I carried on talking as I handed him each sheet for scrutinizing.
    â€œThat’s ‘Decline and Fall’ for the humorous one. I thought it was a good one to do.”
    He went through the group once and then began looking more closely at each one. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
    When he finally spoke (he was a man of much deliberation), he was critical and slightly generous, making more of the good points than he actually felt like doing, I could tell. He was disappointed. It was not that he felt them to be below standard, rather that he felt they were as good as I could get. I felt as if I had let him down. My heart sank.
    â€œThe rest is sketchbook stuff,” I said.
    He began leafing through the drawings, mainly landscape and figure studies. Then he began to slow down. His eyes sharpened and gleamed in concentration. He looked at one drawing in particular and then at me.
    â€œThese,” he said, “are it. These are good.”
    I didn’t know what to say. It was almost unbelievable that he should say something like that.
    â€œVery good.”
    As he finished looking at each drawing, he placed it in front of me on the table. The pile of drawings grew. In my fear of the work being badly received, I must have overlooked the quantity of drawings I had done. My excitement made it hard for me to sit still in the chair next to him. It took him nearly half an hour to go through the work.
    â€œGraves, these drawings are easily the best work I’ve seen you do.”
    â€œWell, you know, I’m—I don’t know—I’m very pleased, you know.”
    â€œYes, Graves. These are far, far superior to the illustrations.”
    I sat there unable to speak because of trying not to smile from ear to ear.
    â€œSo, all we’ve got to do this year is to bring your illustrations up to this standard by employing the quality of drawing you have in these.”
    He gave me a smile full of relieved earnest satisfaction.
    He picked some of the drawings off the top of the heap. After a pause in which he reexamined them, he said:
    â€œWell, well. We’ll have to see if we can’t institute some reward for this effort. Yes, something will be done. Would you mind if I kept these drawings for a while? I’d like to show them to Mr. Branston.”
    Honour upon honour. I knew that rivalry between the staff on the Graphic side of college and the Painting staff was keen. He wanted to cut the achievements of the Painting Department by showing them that someone in his care could produce first-class straight drawing, too.
    I spent the rest of the morning at my desk being happy. Now there was nothing to worry about anymore. I could chase round as much as I wanted now. There would be no guilt feelings, no fears, no anxiety.
    College bustled, full of the freshness generated by the new students. Groups formed, friends were made out of the strangeness of the surroundings. Established students bloomed with greetings for friends who might not be so treasured by the end of the term.
    Harry and I were sitting in the common room. It was break time and we were enthroned in easy chairs watching the new students. The