But Walter, you haven't gone far enough in it. The art will come later.

WALTER

No it won't! At least not with father. He never builds anything that lets
me _imagine_. You don't know how I hate those blue prints. I've been
worrying along so far because I didn't want to disappoint father, though
every day I hoped he would see what I really felt. But to-night I know I
can't go on any longer without having it out. If he will let me follow my
own idea he will be better pleased in the end than if I stick at this
business of his. It will require one good fight, and then I shall be free
to show what I can do.

MRS. EVERITT

But Walter, what is it exactly you want to do?

WALTER.

I suppose I ought to say that I want to be an artist rather than a
builder's draughtsman, but that isn't really it. I mean that behind the
brain I think with every day there is another brain, bigger and wiser,
that keeps asking the chance to show the rest of me what and how to act.
In ordinary things the everyday mind gets along by itself all right, but I
feel the other self there all the while, wanting me to begin something
different, something to let it escape from dreaming to doing. And it keeps
threatening that some day it will he too late. Only begin, begin!... Yes,
I have worried along so far, but just to-night, for some reason or other,
I seem to be standing on the brink. I won't go another step. It's in the
rain now--I hear it. Oh, the pictures I could paint if we lived in the