Torpenhow from time to time had added rhymed
descriptions, and the whole was a curious piece of art, because Dick decided,
having regard to the name of the book which being interpreted means "naked,"
that it would be wrong to draw the Nilghai with any clothes on, under any
circumstances. Consequently the last sketch, representing that much-enduring
man calling on the War Office to press his claims to the Egyptian medal, was
hardly delicate. He settled himself comfortably on Torpenhow's table and turned
over the pages.
"What a fortune you would have been to Blake, Nilghai!" he said. "There's a
succulent pinkness about some of these sketches that's more than life-like.
"The Nilghai surrounded while bathing by the Mahdieh"--that was founded on
fact, eh?"
"It was very nearly my last bath, you irreverent dauber. Has Binkie come into
the Saga yet?"
"No; the Binkie-boy hasn't done anything except eat and kill cats. Let's see.
Here you are as a stained-glass saint in a church. Deuced decorative lines
about your anatomy; you ought to be grateful for being handed down to posterity
in this way. Fifty years hence you'll exist in rare and curious facsimiles at
ten guineas each. What shall I try this time? The domestic life of the
Nilghai?"
"Hasn't got any.
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