The Genius by Theodore Dreiser Page A

varied
outlines of landscapes and buildings, but he could give lovely
sensuous touches to the human form—particularly to the female
form—which were beginning to be impressive. He'd got past the place
where Boyle had ever to say "They're round." He gave a sweep to his
lines that attracted the instructor's attention.
    "You're getting the thing as a whole, I see," he said quietly,
one day. Eugene thrilled with satisfaction. Another Wednesday he
said:—"A little colder, my boy, a little colder. There's sex in
that. It isn't in the figure. You ought to make a good mural
decorator some day, if you have the inclination," Boyle went on;
"you've got the sense of beauty." The roots of Eugene's hair
tingled. So art was coming to him. This man saw his capacity. He
really had art in him.
    One evening a paper sign pasted up on the bulletin board bore
the significant legend: "Artists! Attention! We eat! We eat! Nov.
16th. at Sofroni's. All those who want to get in give their names
to the monitor."
    Eugene had heard nothing of this, but he judged that it
originated in one of the other classes. He spoke to the monitor and
learned that only seventy-five cents was required of him. Students
could bring girls if they wished. Most of them would. He decided
that he would go. But where to get a girl? Sofroni's was an Italian
restaurant in lower Clark Street, which had originally started out
as an eating place for Italian laborers, because it was near an
Italian boarding house section. It was located in an old house that
was not exactly homely. A yard in the back had been set with plain
wooden tables, and benches had been placed for use in the summer
time and, later, this had been covered with a mouldy tent-cloth to
protect the diners from rain. Still later this became glass and was
used in winter. The place was clean and the food good. Some
struggling craftsman in journalism and art had found it and by
degrees Signor Sofroni had come to realize that he was dealing with
a better element. He began to exchange greetings with these people
to set aside a little corner for them. Finally he entertained a
small group of them at dinner—charging them hardly more than cost
price—and so he was launched. One student told another. Sofroni now
had his yard covered in so that he could entertain a hundred at
dinner, even in winter. He could serve several kinds of wines and
liquors with a dinner for seventy-five cents a piece. So he was
popular.
    The dinner was the culmination of several other class treats. It
was the custom of a class, whenever a stranger, or even a new
member appeared, to yell "Treat! Treat!" at which the victim or new
member was supposed to produce two dollars as a contribution to a
beer fund. If the money was not produced—the stranger was apt to be
thrown out or some ridiculous trick played upon him—if it was
forthcoming, work for the evening ceased. A collection was
immediately taken up. Kegs of beer were sent for, with sandwiches
and cheese. Drinking, singing, piano playing, jesting followed.
Once, to Eugene's utter astonishment, one of the students—a big,
good natured, carousing boy from Omaha—lifted the nude model to his
shoulders, set her astride his neck and proceeded around the room,
jigging as he went—the girl meantime pulling his black hair, the
other students following and shouting uproariously. Some of the
girls in an adjoining room, studying in an evening life class,
stopped their work to peep through a half dozen small holes which
had been punched in the intervening partition. The sight of
Showalter carrying the girl so astonished the eavesdroppers that
the news of it was soon all over the building. Knowledge of the
escapade reached the Secretary and the next day the student was
dropped. But the Bacchic dance had been enacted—its impression was
left.
    There were other treats like this in which Eugene was urged to
drink, and he did—a very little. He had no taste for beer. He also
tried to smoke, but he did not