Rudyard Kipling : The Complete Novels and Stories. Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг

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 Bessic,—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. Mr. Torpenhow wears his socks out both ends at once.’

      ‘Three quid a week from me, and the delights of my society. No socks mended. Nothing from Torp except a nod on the landing now and again, and all his socks mended. Bessie is very much a woman,’ thought Dick; and he looked at her between half-shut eyes. Food and rest had transformed the girl, as Dick knew they would.

      ‘What are you looking at me like that for?’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t. You look reg’lar bad when you look that way. You don’t think much o’ me, do you?’

      ‘That depends on how you behave.’

      Bessie behaved beautifully. Only it was difficult at the end of a sitting to bid her go out into the gray streets. She very much preferred the studio and a big chair by the stove, with some socks in her lap as an excuse for delay. Then Torpenhow would come in, and Bessie would be moved to tell strange and wonderful stories of her past, and still stranger ones of her present improved circumstances. She would make them tea as though she had a right to make it; and once or twice on these occasions Dick caught Torpenhow’s eyes fixed on the trim little figure, and because Bessie’s flittings about the room made Dick ardently long for Maisie, he realised whither Torpenhow’s thoughts were tending. And Bessie was exceedingly careful of the condition of Torpenhow’s linen. She spoke very little to him, but sometimes they talked together on the landing.

      ‘I was a great fool,’ Dick said to himself. ‘I know what red firelight looks like when a man’s tramping through a strange town; and ours is a lonely, selfish sort of life at the best. I wonder Maisie doesn’t feel that sometimes. But I can’t order Bessie away. That’s the worst of beginning things. One never knows where they stop.’

      One evening, after a sitting prolonged to the last limit of the light, Dick was roused from a nap by a broken voice in Torpenhow’s room. He jumped to his feet. ‘Now what ought I to do? It looks foolish to go in.—Oh, bless you, Binkie!’ The little terrier thrust Torpenhow’s door open with his nose and came out to take possession of Dick’s chair. The door swung wide unheeded, and Dick across the landing could see Bessie in the half-light making her little supplication to Torpenhow. She was kneeling by his side, and her hands were clasped across his knee.

      ‘I know,—I know,’ she said thickly. ‘’Tisn’t right o’ me to do this, but