At any rate, he appeared at the studio on the following afternoon,
completely sober and excessively critical. He examined the canvases
which Kirk had hauled from shelves and corners for his inspection. One
after another he gazed upon them in an increasingly significant
silence. When the last one was laid aside he delivered judgment.
"Golly!" he said.
Kirk flushed. It was not that he was not in complete agreement with the
verdict. Looking at these paintings, some of which he had in the old
days thought extremely good, he was forced to admit that "Golly" was
the only possible criticism.
He had not seen them for a long time, and absence had enabled him to
correct first impressions. Moreover, something had happened to him,
causing him to detect flaws where he had seen only merits. Life had
sharpened his powers of judgment. He was a grown man looking at the
follies of his youth.
"Burn them!" said Mr. Penway, lighting a cigar with the air of one
restoring his tissues after a strenuous ordeal. "Burn the lot. They're
awful. Darned amateur nightmares. They offend the eye. Cast them into a
burning fiery furnace."
Kirk nodded. The criticism was just. It erred, if at all, on the side
of mildness. Certainly something had happened to him since he
perpetrated those daubs. He had developed. He saw things with new eyes.
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