'I don't see how it could have been, old chap.'
Poor old Corky ran his fingers through his hair in a temperamental sort
of way. He groaned.
'You're quite right, Bertie. Something's gone wrong with the darned
thing. My private impression is that, without knowing it, I've worked
that stunt that Sargent used to pull--painting the soul of the sitter.
I've got through the mere outward appearance, and have put the child's
soul on canvas.'
'But could a child of that age have a soul like that? I don't see how
he could have managed it in the time. What do you think, Jeeves?'
'I doubt it, sir.'
'It--it sort of leers at you, doesn't it?'
'You've noticed that, too?' said Corky.
'I don't see how one could help noticing.'
'All I tried to do was to give the little brute a cheerful expression.
But, as it has worked out, he looks positively dissipated.'
'Just what I was going to suggest, old man. He looks as if he were in
the middle of a colossal spree, and enjoying every minute of it. Don't
you think so, Jeeves?'
'He has a decidedly inebriated air, sir.'
Corky was starting to say something, when the door opened and the uncle
came in.
For about three seconds all was joy, jollity and goodwill. The old boy
shook hands with me, slapped Corky on the back, said he didn't think
he had ever seen such a fine day, and whacked his leg with his stick.
Jeeves had projected himself into the background, and he didn't notice
him.
'Well, Bruce, my boy; so the portrait is really finished, is it--really
finished? Well, bring it out. Let's have a look at it. This will be a
wonderful surprise for your aunt. Where is it? Let's--'
And then he got it--suddenly, when he wasn't set for the punch; and he
rocked back on his heels.
'Oosh!' he exclaimed. And for perhaps a minute there was one of the
scaliest silences I've ever run up against.
'Is this a practical joke?' he said at last, in a way that set about
sixteen draughts cutting through the room at once.