Chapter Three.
A Fair Client.
A noble-looking specimen of humanity, with a grand grizzly head, and strongly marked aquiline features, lit up by deeply set, piercing eyes, got out of a four-wheeler at Number 409 Portland Place, knocking off a very shabby hat in the process.
“Mind the nap, guv’nor,” said the battered-looking driver with a laugh, as his fare stooped to pick up the fallen edifice; and as he spoke, the man’s look took in the ill-fitting coat and patched boots of him whom he had driven only from Fitzroy Square.
“Not the first time that’s been down, cabby. Hand ’em off.”
A minute later, Daniel Jaggs, familiarly known in art circles as “The Emperor,” and by visitors to the Royal Academy from his noble face, which had appeared over the bodies of noble Romans and heroes of great variety, stood on the pavement with an easel under one arm, a large blank canvas under the other, and a flat japanned box of oil colours and case of brushes held half hidden by beard, beneath his chin.
He walked up to the door of the great mansion, whose window-sills and portico were gay with fresh flowers, and gave a vigorous tug at the bell.
The double doors flew open almost directly, and “The Emperor” was faced by a portly butler, who was flanked by a couple of men in livery.
“Oh! the painters traps,” said the former. “Look here, my good fellow; you should have rung the other bell. Step inside.”
“The Emperor” obeyed, and, leaving the visitor waiting in the handsome hall, in company with the footman and under-butler, who looked rather superciliously at the well-worn garments of the artist’s model, the out-of-livery servant walked slowly up the broad staircase to the drawing-room, and as slowly returned, to stand beckoning.