Part 106 (1/2)
Who's been worrying you, Maisie?”
”No one but myself. I never seem to get on with my work, and yet I try hard enough, and Kami says----”
”'Continuez, mesdemoiselles. Continuez toujours, mes enfants.' Kami is depressing. I beg your pardon.”
”Yes, that's what he says. He told me last summer that I was doing better and he'd let me exhibit this year.”
”Not in this place, surely?”
”Of course not. The Salon.”
”You fly high.”
”I've been beating my wings long enough. Where do you exhibit, d.i.c.k?”
”I don't exhibit. I sell.”
”What is your line, then?”
”Haven't you heard?” d.i.c.k's eyes opened. Was this thing possible? He cast about for some means of conviction. They were not far from the Marble Arch. ”Come up Oxford Street a little and I'll show you.”
A small knot of people stood round a print-shop that d.i.c.k knew well.
”Some reproduction of my work inside,” he said, with suppressed triumph.
Never before had success tasted so sweet upon the tongue. ”You see the sort of things I paint. D'you like it?”
Maisie looked at the wild whirling rush of a field-battery going into action under fire. Two artillery-men stood behind her in the crowd.
”They've chucked the off lead-'orse” said one to the other. ”'E's tore up awful, but they're makin' good time with the others. That lead-driver drives better nor you, Tom. See 'ow cunnin' 'e's nursin' 'is 'orse.”
”Number Three'll be off the limber, next jolt,” was the answer.
”No, 'e won't. See 'ow 'is foot's braced against the iron? 'E's all right.”
d.i.c.k watched Maisie's face and swelled with joy--fine, rank, vulgar triumph. She was more interested in the little crowd than in the picture.
That was something that she could understand.
”And I wanted it so! Oh, I did want it so!” she said at last, under her breath.
”Me,--all me!” said d.i.c.k, placidly. ”Look at their faces. It hits 'em.
They don't know what makes their eyes and mouths open; but I know. And I know my work's right.”
”Yes. I see. Oh, what a thing to have come to one!”
”Come to one, indeed! I had to go out and look for it. What do you think?”
”I call it success. Tell me how you got it.”
They returned to the Park, and d.i.c.k delivered himself of the saga of his own doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a woman.