No More Learning

" Dick picked up the still indignant one and shook him tenderly.
"You're tied up in a sack and made to run about blind, Binkie-wee,
without any reason, and it has hurt your little feelings. Never mind.
Sic volo, sic jubeo, stet pro ratione voluntas, and don't sneeze in my
eye because I talk Latin. Good night. "

He went out of the room.

"That's distinctly one for you," said the Nilghai. "I told you it was
hopeless to meddle with him. He's not pleased. "

"He'd swear at me if he weren't. I can't make it out. He has the
go-fever upon him and he won't go. I only hope that he mayn't have to go
some day when he doesn't want to," said Torpenhow.

* * * * *

In his own room Dick was settling a question with himself--and the
question was whether all the world, and all that was therein, and a
burning desire to exploit both, was worth one threepenny piece thrown
into the Thames.

"It came of seeing the sea, and I'm a cur to think about it," he
decided. "After all, the honeymoon will be that tour--with reservations;
only. . . only I didn't realise that the sea was so strong. I didn't
feel it so much when I was with Maisie. These damnable songs did it.
He's beginning again. "

But it was only Herrick's Nightpiece to Julia that the Nilghai sang,
and before it was ended Dick reappeared on the threshold, not altogether
clothed indeed, but in his right mind, thirsty and at peace.

The mood had come and gone with the rising and the falling of the tide
by Fort Keeling.



CHAPTER IX

"If I have taken the common clay
And wrought it cunningly
In the shape of a god that was digged a clod,
The greater honour to me. "

"If thou hast taken the common clay,
And thy hands be not free
From the taint of the soil,
thou hast made thy spoil
The greater shame to thee. "
--The Two Potters

HE DID no work of any kind for the rest of the week. Then came another
Sunday. He dreaded and longed for the day always, but since the
red-haired girl had sketched him there was rather more dread than desire
in his mind.

He found that Maisie had entirely neglected his suggestions about
line-work. She had gone off at score filed with some absurd notion for a
"fancy head. " It cost Dick something to command his temper.

"What's the good of suggesting anything? " he said pointedly.

"Ah, but this will be a picture,--a real picture; and I know that Kami
will let me send it to the Salon. You don't mind, do you? "

"I suppose not. But you won't have time for the Salon. "

Maisie hesitated a little. She even felt uncomfortable.

"We're going over to France a month sooner because of it. I shall get
the idea sketched out here and work it up at Kami's. "

Dick's heart stood still, and he came very near to being disgusted with
his queen who could do no wrong. "Just when I thought I had made some
headway, she goes off chasing butterflies. It's too maddening! "

There was no possibility of arguing, for the red-haired girl was in the
studio. Dick could only look unutterable reproach.

"I'm sorry," he said, "and I think you make a mistake. But what's the
idea of your new picture? "

"I took it from a book. "

"That's bad, to begin with. Books aren't the places for pictures.
And----"

"It's this," said the red-haired girl behind him. "I was reading it to
Maisie the other day from The City of Dreadful Night. D'you know the
book? "

"A little. I am sorry I spoke. There are pictures in it. What has taken
her fancy? "

"The description of the Melancolia--

'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle,
But all too impotent to lift the regal
Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride.

And here again. (Maisie, get the tea, dear. )

'The forehead charged with baleful thoughts and dreams,
The household bunch of keys, the housewife's gown,
Voluminous indented, and yet rigid
As though a shell of burnished metal frigid,
Her feet thick-shod to tread all weakness down. "

There was no attempt to conceal the scorn of the lazy voice. Dick
winced.

"But that has been done already by an obscure artist by the name of
Durer," said he. "How does the poem run? --

'Three centuries and threescore years ago,
With phantasies of his peculiar thought. '

You might as well try to rewrite Hamlet. It will be a waste of time. "

"No, it won't," said Maisie, putting down the teacups with a clatter to
reassure herself. "And I mean to do it. Can't you see what a beautiful
thing it would make? "

"How in perdition can one do work when one hasn't had the proper
training? Any fool can get a notion. It needs training to drive the
thing through,--training and conviction; not rushing after the first
fancy. " Dick spoke between his teeth.

"You don't understand," said Maisie. "I think I can do it. "

Again the voice of the girl behind him--

"Baffled and beaten back, she works on still;
Weary and sick of soul, she works the more.

Sustained by her indomitable will,
The hands shall fashion, and the brain shall pore,
And all her sorrow shall be turned to labour----

I fancy Maisie means to embody herself in the picture. "

"Sitting on a throne of rejected pictures? No, I shan't, dear. The
notion in itself has fascinated me. --Of course you don't care for fancy
heads, Dick. I don't think you could do them. You like blood and bones. "

"That's a direct challenge. If you can do a Melancolia that isn't merely
a sorrowful female head, I can do a better one; and I will, too. What
d'you know about Melacolias? " Dick firmly believed that he was even then
tasting three-quarters of all the sorrow in the world.

"She was a woman," said Maisie, "and she suffered a great deal,--till
she could suffer no more. Then she began to laugh at it all, and then I
painted her and sent her to the Salon. "

The red-haired girl rose up and left the room, laughing.

Dick looked at Maisie humbly and hopelessly.

"Never mind about the picture," he said. "Are you really going back to
Kami's for a month before your time? "

"I must, if I want to get the picture done. "

"And that's all you want? "

"Of course. Don't be stupid, Dick. "

"You haven't the power. You have only the ideas--the ideas and the
little cheap impulses. How you could have kept at your work for ten
years steadily is a mystery to me. So you are really going,--a month
before you need? "

"I must do my work. "

"Your work--bah! . . . No, I didn't mean that. It's all right, dear.
Of course you must do your work, and--I think I'll say goodbye for this
week. "

"Won't you even stay for tea? "

"No, thank you. Have I your leave to go, dear? There's nothing more you
particularly want me to do, and the line-work doesn't matter. "

"I wish you could stay, and then we could talk over my picture. If only
one single picture's a success, it draws attention to all the others. I
know some of my work is good, if only people could see. And you needn't
have been so rude about it. "

"I'm sorry. We'll talk the Melancolia over some one of the other
Sundays. There are four more--yes, one, two, three, four--before you go.
Goodbye, Maisie. "

Maisie stood by the studio window, thinking, till the red-haired girl
returned, a little white at the corners of her lips.

"Dick's gone off," said Maisie. "Just when I wanted to talk about the
picture. Isn't it selfish of him? "

Her companion opened her lips as if to speak, shut them again, and went
on reading The City of Dreadful Night.

Dick was in the Park, walking round and round a tree that he had chosen
as his confidante for many Sundays past. He was swearing audibly, and
when he found that the infirmities of the English tongue hemmed in his
rage, he sought consolation in Arabic, which is expressly designed for
the use of the afflicted. He was not pleased with the reward of his
patient service; nor was he pleased with himself; and it was long before
he arrived at the proposition that the queen could do no wrong.

"It's a losing game," he said. "I'm worth nothing when a whim of hers
is in question. But in a losing game at Port Said we used to double
the stakes and go on. She do a Melancolia! She hasn't the power, or the
insight, or the training. Only the desire. She's cursed with the curse
of Reuben. She won't do line-work, because it means real work; and yet
she's stronger than I am. I'll make her understand that I can beat her
on her own Melancolia. Even then she wouldn't care. She says I can only
do blood and bones. I don't believe she has blood in her veins. All the
same I lover her; and I must go on loving her; and if I can humble her
inordinate vanity I will. I'll do a Melancolia that shall be something
like a Melancolia 'the Melancolia that transcends all wit. ' I'll do it
at once, con--bless her. "

He discovered that the notion would not come to order, and that he could
not free his mind for an hour from the thought of Maisie's departure.
He took very small interest in her rough studies for the Melancolia when
she showed them next week. The Sundays were racing past, and the time
was at hand when all the church bells in London could not ring
Maisie back to him. Once or twice he said something to Binkie about
'hermaphroditic futilities,' but the little dog received so many
confidences both from Torpenhow and Dick that he did not trouble his
tulip-ears to listen.

Dick was permitted to see the girls off. They were going by the Dover
night-boat; and they hoped to return in August. It was then February,
and Dick felt that he was being hardly used. Maisie was so busy
stripping the small house across the Park, and packing her canvases,
that she had not time for thought. Dick went down to Dover and wasted
a day there fretting over a wonderful possibility. Would Maisie at the
very last allow him one small kiss? He reflected that he might capture
her by the strong arm, as he had seem women captured in the Southern
Soudan, and lead her away; but Maisie would never be led. She would turn
her gray eyes upon him and say, "Dick, how selfish you are! " Then his
courage would fail him. It would be better, after all, to beg for that
kiss.

Maisie looked more than usually kissable as she stepped from the
night-mail on to the windy pier, in a gray waterproof and a little gray
cloth travelling-cap. The red-haired girl was not so lovely. Her green
eyes were hollow and her lips were dry. Dick saw the trunks aboard, and
went to Maisie's side in the darkness under the bridge. The mail-bags
were thundering into the forehold, and the red-haired girl was watching
them.

"You'll have a rough passage tonight," said Dick. "It's blowing outside.
I suppose I may come over and see you if I'm good? "

"You mustn't. I shall be busy. At least, if I want you I'll send for
you. But I shall write from Vitry-sur-Marne. I shall have heaps of
things to consult you about. Oh, Dick, you have been so good to me! --so
good to me! "

"Thank you for that, dear. It hasn't made any difference, has it? "

"I can't tell a fib. It hasn't--in that way. But don't think I'm not
grateful. "

"Damn the gratitude! " said Dick, huskily, to the paddle-box.

"What's the use of worrying? You know I should ruin your life, and you'd
ruin mine, as things are now. You remember what you said when you were
so angry that day in the Park? One of us has to be broken. Can't you
wait till that day comes? "

"No, love. I want you unbroken--all to myself. "

Maisie shook her head. "My poor Dick, what can I say! "

"Don't say anything. Give me a kiss. Only one kiss, Maisie. I'll swear
I won't take any more. You might as well, and then I can be sure you're
grateful. "

Maisie put her cheek forward, and Dick took his reward in the darkness.

It was only one kiss, but, since there was no time-limit specified, it
was a long one.
Maisie wrenched herself free angrily, and Dick stood
abashed and tingling from head to toe.

"Goodbye, darling. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry. Only--keep
well and do good work,--specially the Melancolia. I'm going to do
one, too. Remember me to Kami, and be careful what you drink. Country
drinking-water is bad everywhere, but it's worse in France. Write to
me if you want anything, and good-bye. Say good-bye to the
whatever-you-call-um girl, and--can't I have another kiss? No. You're
quite right. Goodbye. "

A shout told him that it was not seemly to charge of the mail-bag
incline. He reached the pier as the steamer began to move off, and he
followed her with his heart.

"And there's nothing--nothing in the wide world--to keep us apart except
her obstinacy. These Calais night-boats are much too small. I'll get
Torp to write to the papers about it. She's beginning to pitch already. "

Maisie stood where Dick had left her till she heard a little gasping
cough at her elbow. The red-haired girl's eyes were alight with cold
flame.

"He kissed you! " she said. "How could you let him, when he wasn't
anything to you? How dared you to take a kiss from him? Oh, Maisie,
let's go to the ladies' cabin. I'm sick,--deadly sick. "

"We aren't into open water yet. Go down, dear, and I'll stay here.
I don't like the smell of the engines. . . . Poor Dick! He deserved
one,--only one. But I didn't think he'd frighten me so. "

Dick returned to town next day just in time for lunch, for which he had
telegraphed. To his disgust, there were only empty plates in the studio.

He lifted up his voice like the bears in the fairy-tale, and Torpenhow
entered, looking guilty.

"H'sh! " said he. "Don't make such a noise. I took it. Come into my
rooms, and I'll show you why. "

Dick paused amazed at the threshold, for on Torpenhow's sofa lay a
girl asleep and breathing heavily. The little cheap sailor-hat, the
blue-and-white dress, fitter for June than for February, dabbled with
mud at the skirts, the jacket trimmed with imitation Astrakhan and
ripped at the shoulder-seams, the one-and-elevenpenny umbrella, and,
above all, the disgraceful condition of the kid-topped boots, declared
all things.

"Oh, I say, old man, this is too bad! You mustn't bring this sort up
here. They steal things from the rooms. "

"It looks bad, I admit, but I was coming in after lunch, and she
staggered into the hall. I thought she was drunk at first, but it was
collapse. I couldn't leave her as she was, so I brought her up here and
gave her your lunch. She was fainting from want of food. She went fast
asleep the minute she had finished. "

"I know something of that complaint. She's been living on sausages,
I suppose. Torp, you should have handed her over to a policeman for
presuming to faint in a respectable house. Poor little wretch! Look at
the face! There isn't an ounce of immorality in it. Only folly,--slack,
fatuous, feeble, futile folly. It's a typical head. D'you notice how
the skull begins to show through the flesh padding on the face and
cheek-bone? "

"What a cold-blooded barbarian it is! Don't hit a woman when she's
down. Can't we do anything? She was simply dropping with starvation. She
almost fell into my arms, and when she got to the food she ate like a
wild beast. It was horrible. "

"I can give her money, which she would probably spend in drinks. Is she
going to sleep for ever? "

The girl opened her eyes and glared at the men between terror and
effrontery.

"Feeling better? " said Torpenhow.

"Yes. Thank you. There aren't many gentlemen that are as kind as you
are. Thank you. "

"When did you leave service? " said Dick, who had been watching the
scarred and chapped hands.

"How did you know I was in service? I was. General servant. I didn't
like it. "

"And how do you like being your own mistress? "

"Do I look as if I liked it? "

"I suppose not. One moment. Would you be good enough to turn your face
to the window? "

The girl obeyed, and Dick watched her face keenly,--so keenly that she
made as if to hide behind Torpenhow.

"The eyes have it," said Dick, walking up and down. "They are superb
eyes for my business. And, after all, every head depends on the eyes.
This has been sent from heaven to make up for--what was taken away.
Now the weekly strain's off my shoulders, I can get to work in earnest.
Evidently sent from heaven. Yes. Raise your chin a little, please. "

"Gently, old man, gently. You're scaring somebody out of her wits," said
Torpenhow, who could see the girl trembling.

"Don't let him hit me! Oh, please don't let him hit me! I've been hit
cruel today because I spoke to a man. Don't let him look at me like
that! He's reg'lar wicked, that one. Don't let him look at me like that,
neither! Oh, I feel as if I hadn't nothing on when he looks at me like
that! "

The overstrained nerves in the frail body gave way, and the girl wept
like a little child and began to scream. Dick threw open the window, and
Torpenhow flung the door back.

"There you are," said Dick, soothingly. "My friend here can call for a
policeman, and you can run through that door. Nobody is going to hurt
you. "

The girl sobbed convulsively for a few minutes, and then tried to laugh.

"Nothing in the world to hurt you. Now listen to me for a minute. I'm
what they call an artist by profession. You know what artists do? "

"They draw the things in red and black ink on the pop-shop labels. "

"I dare say. I haven't risen to pop-shop labels yet. Those are done by
the Academicians. I want to draw your head. "

"What for? "

"Because it's pretty. That is why you will come to the room across the
landing three times a week at eleven in the morning, and I'll give you
three quid a week just for sitting still and being drawn. And there's a
quid on account. "

"For nothing? Oh, my! " The girl turned the sovereign in her hand, and
with more foolish tears, "Ain't neither 'o you two gentlemen afraid of
my bilking you? "

"No. Only ugly girls do that. Try and remember this place. And, by the
way, what's your name? "

"I'm Bessie,--Bessie----It's no use giving the rest. Bessie
Broke,--Stone-broke, if you like. What's your names? But there,--no one
ever gives the real ones. "

Dick consulted Torpenhow with his eyes.

"My name's Heldar, and my friend's called Torpenhow; and you must be
sure to come here. Where do you live? "

"South-the-water,--one room,--five and sixpence a week. Aren't you
making fun of me about that three quid? "

"You'll see later on. And, Bessie, next time you come, remember, you
needn't wear that paint. It's bad for the skin, and I have all the
colours you'll be likely to need. "

Bessie withdrew, scrubbing her cheek with a ragged pocket-handkerchief.
The two men looked at each other.

"You're a man," said Torpenhow.

"I'm afraid I've been a fool. It isn't our business to run about the
earth reforming Bessie Brokes. And a woman of any kind has no right on
this landing. "

"Perhaps she won't come back. "

"She will if she thinks she can get food and warmth here. I know she
will, worse luck. But remember, old man, she isn't a woman; she's my
model; and be careful. "

"The idea! She's a dissolute little scarecrow,--a gutter-snippet and
nothing more. "

"So you think. Wait till she has been fed a little and freed from fear.
That fair type recovers itself very quickly. You won't know her in a
week or two, when that abject fear has died out of her eyes. She'll be
too happy and smiling for my purposes. "

"But surely you're not taking her out of charity? --to please me? "

"I am not in the habit of playing with hot coals to please anybody. She
has been sent from heaven, as I may have remarked before, to help me
with my Melancolia. "

"Never heard a word about the lady before. "

"What's the use of having a friend, if you must sling your notions at
him in words? You ought to know what I'm thinking about. You've heard me
grunt lately? "

"Even so; but grunts mean anything in your language, from bad 'baccy to
wicked dealers. And I don't think I've been much in your confidence for
some time. "

"It was a high and soulful grunt. You ought to have understood that
it meant the Melancolia. " Dick walked Torpenhow up and down the room,
keeping silence. Then he smote him in the ribs, "Now don't you see it?
Bessie's abject futility, and the terror in her eyes, welded on to one
or two details in the way of sorrow that have come under my experience
lately. Likewise some orange and black,--two keys of each. But I can't
explain on an empty stomach. "

"It sounds mad enough. You'd better stick to your soldiers, Dick,
instead of maundering about heads and eyes and experiences. "

"Think so? " Dick began to dance on his heels, singing--

"They're as proud as a turkey when they hold the ready cash, You ought
to 'ear the way they laugh an' joke; They are tricky an' they're funny
when they've got the ready money,--Ow! but see 'em when they're all
stone-broke. "

Then he sat down to pour out his heart to Maisie in a four-sheet letter
of counsel and encouragement, and registered an oath that he would get
to work with an undivided heart as soon as Bessie should reappear.

The girl kept her appointment unpainted and unadorned, afraid and
overbold by turns. When she found that she was merely expected to sit
still, she grew calmer, and criticised the appointments of the studio
with freedom and some point. She liked the warmth and the comfort and
the release from fear of physical pain. Dick made two or three studies
of her head in monochrome, but the actual notion of the Melancolia would
not arrive.

"What a mess you keep your things in! " said Bessie, some days later,
when she felt herself thoroughly at home. "I s'pose your clothes are
just as bad. Gentlemen never think what buttons and tape are made for. "

"I buy things to wear, and wear 'em till they go to pieces. I don't know
what Torpenhow does. "

Bessie made diligent inquiry in the latter's room, and unearthed a bale
of disreputable socks. "Some of these I'll mend now," she said, "and
some I'll take home. D'you know, I sit all day long at home doing
nothing, just like a lady, and no more noticing them other girls in
the house than if they was so many flies. I don't have any unnecessary
words, but I put 'em down quick, I can tell you, when they talk to me.
No; it's quite nice these days. I lock my door, and they can only
call me names through the keyhole, and I sit inside, just like a lady,
mending socks.