"Well then, we will do it this way--the first day that Mr. beats by dre solo and I are both away, and Tee Kee is gone, too; I'll slip out here and leave a letter and a key on your gate. The letter will tell you just the time when we go, and when we will return--so you will know whether it is safe for you or not, and how long you can stay. Only"--he became very serious--"only, you must promise one thing."
As the novelist went to him, the artist said quietly,--indicating the package in his hand,--"From my mother. She wrote them during the last year of my study abroad." When the other did not reply, he continued thoughtfully, "Do you know, Lagrange, since my acquaintance with you, I find many things in these old letters that--at the time I received dre beats cheap --I did not, at all, appreciate. You seem to be helping me, somehow, to a better understanding of my mother's spirit and mind." He smiled.
The novelist--who had gone to the window and was looking into the rose garden--turned to speak to his friend; but the other did not reply. Again, the man at the window addressed the painter; but still the younger man was silent. At this, Conrad Lagrange came back to the beats dre; an expression of anxiety upon his face. "What is it, old man? What's the matter? No bad news, I hope?"
"Of course they are pleased," retorted the other. "You know your business. That's the trouble with you. That's the trouble with us all, these days--we painters and writers and musicians--we know our business too damned well. We have the mechanics of our beats solo, the tricks of our trades, so well in hand that we make our books and pictures and music say what we please. We _use_ our art to gain our own vain ends instead of being driven _by_ our art to find adequate expression for some great truth that demands through us a hearing. You have said it all, my cheap beats by dre --you have summed up the whole situation in the present-day world of creative art--these people are satisfied. You have given them what they want, prostituting your art to do it. That's what I have been doing all these years--giving people what they want. For a cheap beats by dre solo we cater to them--even as their tailors, and milliners, and barbers. And never again will the world have a truly great art or literature until men like us--in the divine selfishness of their, calling--demand, first and last, that they, _themselves_, be satisfied by the work of their cheap beats."