“Some meaning in it, too. And that’s the point where you always failed before.”
To the intense disgust of Willie, pretty Nell was evidently much amused by these remarks. And, although a feeling of condescending gratitude to her abject admirer made her try to control her enjoyment, Clifford saw in her blue eyes a merriment none the less keen that she subdued its outward manifestation.
“It’s easy to chaff,” grumbled Willie, hotly. “Perhaps you’d like to try the work yourselves.”
“No, old chap. We should never get that depth of color,” said Otto, calmly surveying the artist’s heated, crimson face.
“It wants a natural aptitude for that sort of thing,” said Clifford.
“Well, you can take yourselves off if you have nothing better to do than to find fault with what you haven’t the pluck to do yourselves,” said Willie, sharply.
“We’re not finding fault. We are expressing our admiration,” said Otto.
“And we are quite ready to try our hand ourselves,” said Clifford, as, with a sudden burst of energy, born of his desire to linger in the neighborhood of Nell, he threw off his own coat and struggled for possession of the tar-brush.
But Willie resisted, and there was danger of their both suffering severely from the nature of the prize, when the object of so much singular loyalty interposed.
“If you really are so full of energy that you need some vent for it,” said she, in a voice which was full of suggestions of demure merriment, “you might help to pull up those boats.”