The colonel, who was lean, wanted to be padded out.
"Yes," said Beltara, "but with the varnish, you know——"
And his hands, moving back again, gave promise of astonishing expansions.
Having regained a taste for his profession, he tried his hand at some of the finest types in the Division. His portraits met with various verdicts; each model thought his own rotten and the others excellent.
The Divisional Squadron Commander found his boots badly polished. The C.R.E. commented severely on the important mistakes in the order of his ribbons; the Legion of Honour being a foreign order should not have preceded the Bath, and the Japanese Rising Sun ought to have followed the Italian Order for Valour.
The only unqualified praise came from the sergeant-major who acted as chief clerk to General Bramble. He was a much-beribboned old warrior with a head like a faun and three red hairs on top of it. He had the respectful familiarity
of the underling who knows he is indispensable, and he used to come in at all times of the day and criticize the captain's work.
"That's fine, sir," he would say, "that's fine."
After some time he asked Aurelle whether the captain would consent "to take his photo." The request was accepted, for the old N.C.O.'s beacon-like countenance tempted the painter, and he made a kindly caricature.
"Well, sir," the old soldier said to him, "I've seen lots of photographer chaps the likes of you—I've seen lots at fairs in Scotland—but I've never seen one as gives you a portrait so quick."