I was helping Menna that day. He had been very busy, and I had been
working for him both mornings and afternoons. He had told me, however,
that soon he expected to “pick up and go West,” and I was troubled about
that. I depended upon Menna for most of my work, and we got along
splendidly together. As I have said, Menna had always treated me just
like a “fellow” as he would call it.
There was a knock at the door, and in came Paul Bonnat. After nodding to
Menna, he strolled over to where I was working and stood at the back of
me, watching me paint.
“She’s quite a painter,” he said after a moment to Menna, who looked up
and nodded, and said:
“Yes, she does quite O. K.”
After a while Menna turned around on his stool and asked:
“Got anything on to-night, Bonnat?”
“No--nothing particular.”
“Well, a lady friend of mine is coming in from Staten Island, and I
promised to take her somewhere to supper and see the town. Can’t you
and Miss Ascough join us?”
Bonnat beamed, just as if Menna had handed him a gift, and he said:
“Sure, if Miss Ascough will go with me.”
I said that I would. I think I would have gone with him anywhere he
asked me to.
“Meet us here at seven, then,” said Menna, returning to his work.
“All right. Good-bye.” Bonnat went out, slamming the door noisily behind
him. We could hear him singing the “Preislied” from “Meistersinger” as
he went up the stairs. He had a big, wonderful baritone voice. We
stopped painting to listen to him, but when I turned to resume my work,
I found Menna watching me. He said:
“You and Bonnat are getting pretty friendly, eh?”