Part 124 (1/2)

”I don't know if that's any worse than sitting to a drunken beast in a studio. You haven't been sober for three weeks. You've been soaking the whole time; and yet you pretend you're better than me!”

”What d'you mean?” said d.i.c.k.

”Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.”

It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, and the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for d.i.c.k.

”Drinking like a fish,” Bessie whispered. ”He's been at it for nearly a month.” She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done.

They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by a drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck,--unshaven, blue-white about the nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows nervously. The drink had been at work as steadily as d.i.c.k.

”Is this you?” said Torpenhow.

”All that's left of me. Sit down. Binkie's quite well, and I've been doing some good work.” He reeled where he stood.

”You've done some of the worst work you've ever done in your life. Man alive, you're----”

Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room to find lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a friend is much too sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since Torpenhow used figures and metaphors which were unseemly, and contempt untranslatable, it will never be known what was actually said to d.i.c.k, who blinked and winked and picked at his hands. After a time the culprit began to feel the need of a little self-respect. He was quite sure that he had not in any way departed from virtue, and there were reasons, too, of which Torpenhow knew nothing. He would explain.

He rose, tried to straighten his shoulders, and spoke to the face he could hardly see.

”You are right,” he said. ”But I am right, too. After you went away I had some trouble with my eyes. So I went to an oculist, and he turned a gasogene--I mean a gas-engine--into my eye. That was very long ago. He said, 'Scar on the head,--sword-cut and optic nerve.' Make a note of that. So I am going blind. I have some work to do before I go blind, and I suppose that I must do it. I cannot see much now, but I can see best when I am drunk. I did not know I was drunk till I was told, but I must go on with my work. If you want to see it, there it is.” He pointed to the all but finished Melancolia and looked for applause.

Torpenhow said nothing, and d.i.c.k began to whimper feebly, for joy at seeing Torpenhow again, for grief at misdeeds--if indeed they were misdeeds--that made Torpenhow remote and unsympathetic, and for childish vanity hurt, since Torpenhow had not given a word of praise to his wonderful picture.

Bessie looked through the keyhole after a long pause, and saw the two walking up and down as usual, Torpenhow's hand on d.i.c.k's shoulder.

Hereat she said something so improper that it shocked even Binkie, who was dribbling patiently on the landing with the hope of seeing his master again.

CHAPTER XI

The lark will make her hymn to G.o.d, The partridge call her brood, While I forget the heath I trod, The fields wherein I stood.

'Tis dule to know not night from morn, But deeper dule to know I can but hear the hunter's horn That once I used to blow.

--The Only Son

IT WAS the third day after Torpenhow's return, and his heart was heavy.

”Do you mean to tell me that you can't see to work without whiskey? It's generally the other way about.”

”Can a drunkard swear on his honour?” said d.i.c.k.

”Yes, if he has been as good a man as you.”

”Then I give you my word of honour,” said d.i.c.k, speaking hurriedly through parched lips. ”Old man, I can hardly see your face now. You've kept me sober for two days,--if I ever was drunk,--and I've done no work. Don't keep me back any more. I don't know when my eyes may give out. The spots and dots and the pains and things are crowding worse than ever. I swear I can see all right when I'm--when I'm moderately screwed, as you say. Give me three more sittings from Bessie and all--the stuff I want, and the picture will be done. I can't kill myself in three days.

It only means a touch of D. T. at the worst.”

”If I give you three days more will you promise me to stop work and--the other thing, whether the picture's finished or not?”