“I am an artist,” I said, “and the daughter of an artist.”
He patted me on the back.
“That’s all right. I know how you feel. I’ve been a Canadian myself; but
there’s no use getting mad with me for merely trying to help you. You
will starve here in Boston, and I’m simply pointing out to you a method
of earning your living. There’s no disgrace connected with such work, if
it is done in the proper spirit. As far as that goes, many of the art
students are earning extra money to help pay their tuition that way. The
models here get pretty good pay. Thirty-five cents an hour for costume
posing and fifty cents for the nude. We here in Boston pay better than
they do in New York, and we treat them better, too. Of course, there are
not so many of us here and we haven’t as much work, but a model can make
a fair living, isn’t that so, Miss St. Denis?”
She nodded slowly, her eyes still on me; but there was something warm
and pitying in their dark depths.
“Now,” went on Mr. Sands, “I don’t doubt that you will get plenty of
work. You are an exceedingly pretty girl. I don’t need to tell you that,
for, of course, you know it. What’s more, I’ll safely bet that you have
just the figure we find hard to get. A perfect nude is not so easy as
people seem to think--one whose figure is still young. Most models don’t
take care of themselves and it’s the hardest thing to find a model with
firm breasts. They all sag, the result of wearing corsets. So we are
forced to use one model for the figure, another for the legs, another
for the bust--and so on, before we get a perfect figure, and when we get
through, as you may guess, it’s a patchwork affair at best. Your figure,
I can see, is young and--er--has life--_esprit_. Are you eighteen yet?”
“I’m nearly twenty-two.”
“You don’t look it. Um! The hands are all right--fine!--and the
feet”--he smiled as I shrank under his gaze--“they seem very little.
Small feet are not always shapely, but I dare say yours are. Your
hair--and your coloring-- Yes, I think you will do famously. It’s rather
late in the season--but I dare say you’ll get something. Now, what do
you say? Give over this notion of painting for a while, and perhaps I
can get you some work right away.”
“I’ll never, never, never pose--nude,” I said.
“Hm! Well, well--of course, that’s what we need most. It’s easy to get
costume models--many of our women friends even pose at that. However,
now would you consider it very _infra dig_. then to pose for me, say
to-morrow, in this Spanish scarf. You are just the type I need, and I
believe I can help you with some of the other artists.”
I thought of the few dollars I had left. I had only about twelve dollars
in all. Mr. Sands said he would pay me the regular rate, though I was
not experienced. After a moment’s thought I said:
“Yes, I’ll do it.”
“Now, that’s talking sensibly,” he said, smiling, “and Miss St. Denis
here will take you with her to other places to see about getting work.”
She said:
“Yes, certainement, I will do so. You come wiz me now.”
I thanked Mr. Sands, and he patted me on the shoulder and told me not to
worry. He said he would give me some work regularly till about the
middle of May when he went away for the summer. I would get thirty-five
cents an hour, and pose two hours a day for him.
When we got to the street, the lights were all lit and the city looked
very big to me. Miss St. Denis invited me to have dinner with her. She
knew a place where they served a dinner for twenty-five cents. She
seemed to think that quite cheap. I told her I couldn’t afford to pay
that much every night and she said:
“Well you will do so by-and-by. Soon you will get ze work--especially
eef you pose in ze nude.”