"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."
Dick 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 Dick, 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 Dick delivered himself of the saga of his own
doings, with all the arrogance of a young man speaking to a woman.
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