human
Oh! for a palette and brush!
gpt
What would you do with them?
human
Paint--as I have never painted before!
gpt
Oh!--are you an--artist?
human
I want to be one. That's why I'm here.
gpt
What? What do you mean?
human
I told you I was a runaway. I didn't say 'why,' before. It's truth. My people, my--father--forced me to college. I hated it. He was forcing me to business. I liked art. All my friends were artists. When I should have been at the books I was in their studios. They were a gay crowd, spent money like water when they had it, merrily starved and pinched when they hadn't. A few were worse than spendthrifts, and with my usual want of sense I made that particular set my intimates. I never had any money, though, after it was suspected what my tastes were. Except a little that my mother gave me.