Harrison replied: “You may think that in talking to Simmons and me you are speaking to two gentlemen with social position. But you are not; you are only talking to two Puritans. We do not think it is right.”
But the American government stepped in and the sculpture was duly accepted.
In another case the ambassador came to us with a pathetic appeal for protection, asking us to reconsider our opinion of a portrait we had rejected.
“The lady who painted it sleeps on my doormat,” he said, “and she’s got to be removed.” With laughter we took it back.
Once in Philadelphia I was one of a committee that was to decide a competition for the decoration of one of the public buildings. It was a great plum, for in addition to the actual payment for the work, the winner was to get a prize of two thousand dollars for his proposition. All through our meeting I felt a strange and subtle influence at work, although I must confess I was not approached or asked to use my vote in any way for any contestant. Edwin Abbey had sent a sketch, very good, but the charming part of it had been done by a young architect in London and it was very doubtful that it would keep its beauty if carried out in a large design. The majority decided for a younger painter, and the award was given to him. Right after the decision there was a large reception at the home of George W. Elkins, who, if I mistake not, had given the prize. I shall never forget his look of surprise and then chagrin as we filed in and announced our decision.
“Why,” he said, “I thought it had been all arranged that Abbey was to have it.”
Needless to say, the young artist never got a chance to carry out his work, although they were obliged to give him his prize money.
Speaking of competitions, I once entered one for the decoration of a prominent New York hotel. There were three members on the jury. I lost, in spite of the fact that all three of them came to me, separately, and told me in strictest confidence that he had voted for my proposition.
Some of my most humorous experiences have happened when working for women. Two or three things almost always occur. Women either insist upon having the kind of work their social set considers the fashion for the moment, or they try to control the color scheme, or the composition, and always the meaning. A well-known interior decorator and I spent the better part of two years in attempting to make beautiful the reception room of a magnate’s wife, only to have our efforts frustrated at the last moment. She hung up two pairs of very handsome damask curtains of a deep orange color lined with cold pink. The windows faced to the south and the light coming through them made an effect of rotten eggs—for the rest of the room was lilac, ivory, and old gold. When we remonstrated we were met with: