Part 24 (1/2)
”Well, I can't,” said Jasper.
”Let me see some of your sketches,” begged Adela. ”It's so nice to find some one else who can draw. Do show me some.”
”Oh, no,” protested Jasper, in dismay, ”not after this,” pointing to Adela's drawing.
”Do, Jasper,” begged Polly, imploringly, ”get your portfolio.”
”Oh, I couldn't bring them all in,” said Jasper. ”I wouldn't show those old things for the world, Polly.”
”Well, bring some of them, do,” she begged, while Adela said, ”I showed mine, and I didn't want to, I'm sure.” So Jasper ran up to his room, and pretty soon he came back with his portfolio.
”You did bring it, after all,” exclaimed Polly, in satisfaction, patting the brown leather cover. ”Oh, how nice of you, Jasper,” as they ran over and ensconced themselves in a cosey corner.
”I took out the worst ones,” said Jasper, with a laugh. ”And I'm awfully sorry I didn't leave behind more of the others.”
”I hope you brought that woman with a basket of vegetables we saw at the market the other day,” said Polly, as he opened the portfolio. ”Do tell me, Jasper, you did bring that, didn't you?” beginning to fumble through the pile.
”Yes, I did, Polly,” said Jasper; ”she's in there all safe and sound.”
So for the next hour, there was great turning over and comparing of sketches, and much talk about vertical lines and graceful curves, and shading and perspective, and expression, and dear knows what all, as the three heads bent over the portfolio. So intent were they all, that no one heard Grandpapa come in, and he sat there in a farther corner, for a good quarter of an hour. At last Polly looked up and saw him.
”Oh, Grandpapa!” she cried, flying off from the group, and carrying Adela's sketch in her hand. ”Just see what a perfectly beautiful picture of Phronsie! Adela Gray made it. She draws splendidly, Grandpapa.”
Old Mr. King took the little sketch and fairly beamed at it.
”It's very like,--it is excellent,” he declared, caring nothing for its merits as a drawing, but only seeing Phronsie as she sat with the big Marken baby in her lap on the stubbly bank.
”Isn't it, Grandpapa?” cried Polly, overflowing with happiness; ”and she has given it to me, Grandpapa. Oh, isn't she good!”
”She is, indeed,” a.s.sented old Mr. King, just as well pleased as Polly.
”A very good girl, indeed. Come here, Adela.”
Adela, whose sharp ears had caught most of this dialogue at the other end of the room,--although Jasper was keeping a steady fire of talk to drown it if possible,--was looking in dismay at him.
”O dear me, I wish they'd stop,” she breathed in distress.
”I thought you said you had no ear,” said Jasper, laughing at her face.
”I can't tell music notes,” she said, ”but I can hear things.”
”Yes, I should think you could,” he said. And then came old Mr. King's ”Come here, Adela,” so she had to go across the room, shaking every step of the way, and stand in front of him.
”I didn't know we had such a good little artist among us,” said Grandpapa, wonderfully well pleased and smiling kindly at her.
”That is nothing,” said Adela, in despair at ever stopping the flow of praise. ”I spoiled it, and I'm going to do Polly a better one.”
”Nothing could be better, my dear,” said Grandpapa, blandly; ”it is a fine likeness of Phronsie.” And then he questioned her as to her training in the art, and what she meant to do in the future, and where she intended to study and all that, getting an immense amount of information so artfully that Adela never for an instant suspected his reason. All the time he was holding the sketch of Phronsie in his hand, and intently gazing on it most of the time.
”Well,” he said at last, ”I won't keep you young people any longer,”--for Jasper had thrown down the portfolio and joined the group,--”so run back to your own corner. Dear me,” pulling out his watch, ”it's only twenty minutes to luncheon. How time does fly, to be sure! To-morrow morning, remember, we are off for Antwerp.”
”O dear, dear!” exclaimed Polly, as they ran back and bent over the portfolio again, ”we haven't half seen Amsterdam, Jasper.”