The Artist’s Revenge.
It was not manly on Josh’s part, but he was weak, beaten, quite in despair; the artist was a heavy man; and he had his companion Will upon him as well.
Consequently his tone was very pathetic, as he whimpered out—
“Here, you’d better let me alone!”
“Likely!” said the artist. “I wanted a model, and now you have got to sit for me.”
Will didn’t whimper in the least. Pain and anger had put him in what would have been a towering rage if he had not been prostrate on the ground.
“Here, you get up,” he said, in a bull-dog tone.
“By and by,” cried the artist, coolly, as he began to recover his breath. “I haven’t made up my mind what I am going to do yet.”
“If you don’t get up, I’ll bite,” cried Will.
“You’d better! It’s my turn now; I’ve got a long score to settle against you two fellows, and I’m going to pay you out.”