The proprietor of the place, having pushed to the street the little man,
who may have been the most vehement, came again and resumed the
discussion with the remainder of the men of war. Many of these had
volunteered, and they were very enduring.
"Yes, you are gone," said Hollanden, with the sobriety of graves in his
voice. "You are gone.--Hi!" he cried, "there is Lucian Pontiac.--Hi,
Pontiac! Sit down here."
A man with a tangle of hair, and with that about his mouth which showed
that he had spent many years in manufacturing a proper modesty with
which to bear his greatness, came toward them, smiling.
"Hello, Pontiac!" said Hollanden. "Here's another great painter. Do you
know Mr. Hawker?--Mr. William Hawker--Mr. Pontiac."
"Mr. Hawker--delighted," said Pontiac. "Although I have not known you
personally, I can assure you that I have long been a great admirer of
your abilities."
The proprietor of the place and the men of war had at length agreed to
come to an amicable understanding. They drank liquors, while each
firmly, but now silently, upheld his dignity.
"Charming place," said Pontiac. "So thoroughly Parisian in spirit. And
from time to time, Mr. Hawker, I use one of your models. Must say she
has the best arm and wrist in the universe. Stunning figure--stunning!"
"You mean Florinda?" said Hawker.
"Yes, that's the name. Very fine girl. Lunches with me from time to time
and chatters so volubly. That's how I learned you posed her
occasionally. If the models didn't gossip we would never know what
painters were addicted to profanity. Now that old Thorndike--he told me
you swore like a drill-sergeant if the model winked a finger at the
critical time. Very fine girl, Florinda. And honest, too--honest as the
devil. Very curious thing. Of course honesty among the girl models is
very common, very common--quite universal thing, you know--but then it
always strikes me as being very curious, very curious. I've been much
attracted by your girl Florinda."
"My girl?" said Hawker.
"Well, she always speaks of you in a proprietary way, you know. And then
she considers that she owes you some kind of obedience and allegiance
and devotion. I remember last week I said to her: 'You can go now. Come
again Friday.' But she said: 'I don't think I can come on Friday. Billie
Hawker is home now, and he may want me then.' Said I: 'The devil take
Billie Hawker! He hasn't engaged you for Friday, has he? Well, then, I
engage you now.' But she shook her head. No, she couldn't come on
Friday. Billie Hawker was home, and he might want her any day. 'Well,
then,' said I, 'you have my permission to do as you please, since you
are resolved upon it anyway. Go to your Billie Hawker.' Did you need her
on Friday?"
"No," said Hawker.
"Well, then, the minx, I shall scold her. Stunning figure--stunning! It
was only last week that old Charley Master said to me mournfully:
'There are no more good models. Great Scott! not a one.' 'You're 'way
off, my boy,' I said; 'there is one good model,' and then I named your
girl. I mean the girl who claims to be yours."
"Poor little beggar!" said Hollanden.
"Who?" said Pontiac.
"Florinda," answered Hollanden. "I suppose----"
Pontiac interrupted. "Oh, of course, it is too bad. Everything is too
bad. My dear sir, nothing is so much to be regretted as the universe.
But this Florinda is such a sturdy young soul! The world is against her,
but, bless your heart, she is equal to the battle. She is strong in the
manner of a little child. Why, you don't know her. She----"
"I know her very well."
"Well, perhaps you do, but for my part I think you don't appreciate her
formidable character and stunning figure--stunning!"
"Damn it!" said Hawker to his coffee cup, which he had accidentally
overturned.
"Well," resumed Pontiac, "she is a stunning model, and I think, Mr.
Hawker, you are to be envied."
"Eh?" said Hawker.
"I wish I could inspire my models with such obedience and devotion. Then
I would not be obliged to rail at them for being late, and have to
badger them for not showing up at all. She has a beautiful
figure--beautiful."