Certainly Charles knew it. Involuntarily there sounded in his brain a song he knew also, "See the Chariot at Hand." Decidedly he knew it. But an infantine caution possessed him, and he raised and wrinkled his eyebrows.
"I think I do," he said. "Is there a big tree on the lawn? And are there usually some dogs about?"
"Yes, and a charming young lady who looks after them. Now I can't offer you very much for the work, but if £50 tempts you at all, I can go as far as that. I should not recommend you to do it at all, if I did not think it would be good for you. What do you say?"
Charles drew a long breath.
"I—I say 'yes,'" he remarked.
"Let us consider that settled then. I will telegraph for the exact size of the picture, and you can take your canvas down. I should start to-morrow, if I were you. Ah, and talking of £50, here is another specimen of £50 which I already owe you. I advanced you ten, did I not? I will take my picture away with me if I may."
The crisp crinkling notes were counted out, and Charles took them up and stood irresolute. Then by an effort the words came.
"You can't know," he said, "what you've done for me, and I feel I must tell you——"
The notes trembled and rustled in his hand.
"You've given me hope and life," he said. "I—I don't think I could have gone on much longer, with the others working and earning, and me not bringing a penny back. You've done all that. You've put me on my feet."