Mother doesn’t come out and say that Edwin must now support June and June’s family along with everyone else. She merely wonders where money for June might be found.

As for John, the salary the Arch Street company is paying won’t even cover his cigars. She suspects he’s wishing he’d chosen a different profession. Apparently his time in Philadelphia has not been a triumph.

Edwin already knows this. Sleeper has written, complaining of John’s indolence. Everyone expected more of the son of Junius Brutus Booth, Sleeper says. Sleeper had told John it was time to apply himself and John had responded by moving out of Sleeper’s house.

—

The weather improves and Edwin goes out. He walks quickly through streets much wider than those in Baltimore, past buildings much taller. New York is an important city and knows it. Fewer pigs.

At Washington Square Park, he joins the crowd by the fountain. The sun is shining and the tulip trees just coming into green and yellow bloom. Children chase each other over the grass. A father is trying and failing to launch a kite. A mother is bandaging a skinned knee with her handkerchief. A small boy has stepped behind a tree to piss.

How much money will June need to find his feet beneath him again? Where will Edwin find that money? Edwin runs calculations through his head until the numbers turn sharp-cornered and begin to hurt.

—

The review Adam Badeau sent touches not only on Edwin’s performances but on the subject of American art in general. It references a painting of Niagara Falls done by Frederic Edwin Church. This painting is about to be shipped to Europe for various exhibitions, but is currently on display here in the city. According to Badeau, the painting and Edwin both represent something new in the world. American art need no longer mimic the tired forms and sentiments of the effete Old World. The painting is a testament not only to the magnificence of the Falls, but also to the wilderness through which the water first passed, the deep forests and wide plains of wild America. The singular men who will tame her.

Edwin decides to go and see it. There is a line and Edwin takes his place at the back, moving slowly past smaller works—dead pheasants draped over piles of fruit, women reading books in dark corners, ship masts against bloody horizons. When he finally stands in front of the canvas, he struggles to find the words for his feelings. He is so awed as to be undone.