But of course I
shall see you again." She stepped into the omnibus and was swallowed up by the
fog.
"Well--I--am--damned!" exclaimed Dick, and returned to the chambers.
Torpenhow and the Nilghai found him sitting on the steps to the studio door,
repeating the phrase with an awful gravity.
"You'll be more damned when I'm done with you," said the Nilghai, upheaving his
bulk from behind Torpenhow's shoulder and waving a sheaf of half-dry
manuscript. "Dick, it is of common report that you are suffering from swelled
head."
"Halloo, Nilghai. Back again? How are the Balkans and all the little Balkans?
One side of your face is out of drawing, as usual."
"Never mind that. I am commissioned to smite you in print. Torpenhow refuses
from false delicacy. I've been overhauling the pot-boilers in your studio. They
are simply disgraceful."
"Oho! that"s it, is it? If you think you can slate me, you're wrong. You can
only describe, and you need as much room to turn in, on paper, as a P. and O.
cargo-boat. But continue, and be swift. I'm going to bed."
"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 fashion-driven public----"
"That's "His Last Shot," second edition.
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