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?"
"I can't. You don't know what that picture means to me. But surely you could
get the Nilghai to help you, and knock me down and tie me up. I shouldn't fight
for the whiskey, but I should for the work."
"Go on, then. I give you three days; but you're nearly breaking my heart."
Dick returned to his work, toiling as one possessed; and the yellow devil of
whiskey stood by him and chased away the spots in his eyes. The Melancolia was
nearly finished, and was all or nearly all that he had hoped she would be. Dick
jested with Bessie, who reminded him that he was "a drunken beast"; but the
reproof did not move him.
"You can't understand, Bess. We are in sight of land now, and soon we shall lie
back and think about what we've done. I'll give you three months' pay when the
picture's finished, and next time I have any more work in hand--but that
doesn't matter. Won't three months' pay make you hate me less?"
"No, it won't! I hate you, and I'll go on hating you.
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