Part 105 (1/2)

”H'm! h'm! h'm! The first part only deals with your pictures. Here's the peroration: 'For work done without conviction, for power wasted on trivialities, for labour expended with levity for the deliberate purpose of winning the easy applause of a fas.h.i.+on-driven public----”

”That's 'His Last Shot,' second edition. Go on.”

”----'public, there remains but one end,--the oblivion that is preceded by toleration and cenotaphed with contempt. From that fate Mr. Heldar has yet to prove himself out of danger.”

”Wow--wow--wow--wow--wow!” said d.i.c.k, profanely. ”It's a clumsy ending and vile journalese, but it's quite true. And yet,”--he sprang to his feet and s.n.a.t.c.hed at the ma.n.u.script,--”you scarred, deboshed, battered old gladiator! you're sent out when a war begins, to minister to the blind, brutal, British public's b.e.s.t.i.a.l thirst for blood. They have no arenas now, but they must have special correspondents. You're a fat gladiator who comes up through a trap-door and talks of what he's seen.

You stand on precisely the same level as an energetic bishop, an affable actress, a devastating cyclone, or--mine own sweet self. And you presume to lecture me about my work! Nilghai, if it were worth while I'd caricature you in four papers!”

The Nilghai winced. He had not thought of this.

”As it is, I shall take this stuff and tear it small--so!” The ma.n.u.script fluttered in slips down the dark well of the staircase. ”Go home, Nilghai,” said d.i.c.k; ”go home to your lonely little bed, and leave me in peace. I am about to turn in till to morrow.”

”Why, it isn't seven yet!” said Torpenhow, with amazement.

”It shall be two in the morning, if I choose,” said d.i.c.k, backing to the studio door. ”I go to grapple with a serious crisis, and I shan't want any dinner.”

The door shut and was locked.

”What can you do with a man like that?” said the Nilghai.

”Leave him alone. He's as mad as a hatter.”

At eleven there was a kicking on the studio door. ”Is the Nilghai with you still?” said a voice from within. ”Then tell him he might have condensed the whole of his lumbering nonsense into an epigram: 'Only the free are bond, and only the bond are free.' Tell him he's an idiot, Torp, and tell him I'm another.”

”All right. Come out and have supper. You're smoking on an empty stomach.”

There was no answer.

CHAPTER V

”I have a thousand men,” said he, ”To wait upon my will, And towers nine upon the Tyne, And three upon the Till.”

”And what care I for you men,” said she, ”Or towers from Tyne to Till, ”Sith you must go with me,” she said, ”To wait upon my will?”

--Sir Hoggie and the Fairies

Next morning Torpenhow found d.i.c.k sunk in deepest repose of tobacco.

”Well, madman, how d'you feel?”

”I don't know. I'm trying to find out.”

”You had much better do some work.”

”Maybe; but I'm in no hurry. I've made a discovery. Torp, there's too much Ego in my Cosmos.”

”Not really! Is this revelation due to my lectures, or the Nilghai's?”

”It came to me suddenly, all on my own account. Much too much Ego; and now I'm going to work.”

He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas, cleaned three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure, rattled through his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went out abruptly, declaring that he had done enough for the day.