Oblige him? Dick repeated the question. Great Scott! Was there anything he could ask which he, Dick, wouldn't jolly well jump at the chance of doing. What did Charleigh take him for?
The story Masters was engaged on was to be illustrated; sketches were needed of the proposed drawings. So the author said, speaking quite casually.
As a matter of fact, he was anxious to find occupation for idle hands. Feared the provision, if he did not himself provide it, of less profitable work. Remembered a proverb to that effect: Satan filling a stellar part in it.
"Let me make them for you, will you?" Dick spoke eagerly. "I can draw properly, really; I've had drawings in the Strand and Windsor, and they're particular, you know. I did it because I loved the work; I had to give it up, because my hand——"
Masters interrupted him; was ever anxious to prevent a harking back to the old days of failure. Wanted his protégé to look forward, not backward: at the brightness ahead, not on the horror which he hoped was for ever left behind.
"My dear Dick, a thousand thanks! I shall be only too glad if you will."
That was the commencement of an even closer intercourse; the drawings drew them together. The sketches had to be thought out and considered. On smooth days were worked at with pencil on paper.
Dick's was really a skilled hand. And that hand of his—he took immense pride in the fact—was steady now. The ability is not given to every artist to do line work on a boat. The throbbing from the engine room usually permeates every part of the vessel.
So the two men would sit on deck, one writing and the other drawing. Sometimes the author's pen would suddenly cease work; cease for quite a while. Dick respected those pauses; imagined Charleigh to be thinking out the details of his work.
He was wrong. Masters was thinking of Miss Mivvins. Remorseful thoughts; remorse that he had ever wounded that generous, sweet soul; ever added by his harsh words to her burden of sorrow. Vainly regretful thoughts: regret that he had not met her earlier in life. A sigh usually marked Masters' emergence from dreamland. If he did not directly pick up his work again, his companion would open up conversation; one day said: