THE artist whenever he has appeared in fiction is almost invariably portrayed as a native of a mystical Bohemia, a country whose historical pattern perhaps is found in Judea of old, in the days when there were no kings in Israel and every man did that which was right in his own eyes. He is the natural man cutting athwart the conventions of society and living the life of his own spirit. In a world ruled by balance sheets of debit and credit he has no security and no interest except as in such of the crumbs from the credit balance which may fall to his share to enable him to live.