That evening it rained heavily, and the north wind blew, and therewas thunder also. Lampyellow, out in the storm without his tinhouse to shelter him, felt that of all creatures wretched on theface of the earth there was not one so miserable as he.

A signboard! Nothing but a signboard!

The degradation of a color, created for art and artists, could notbe very deeper or more grievous anywhere. 0h, how he sighed for his tintube and the quiet nook with the charcoal and the palette knife!

He had been unhappy there indeed, but still had had always somesort of hope to solace him--some chance still remaining that oneday fortune might chuckle and he be allowed to be at least thelowest stratum of some immortal work.