“I suppose it is the same all over the Continent. One of these days I must go abroad and have a look round. You were a long time in Rome?”
“No, only a few weeks, but I was too taken up with the pictures to think of anything else. The Michael Angelos are beyond anything any one can imagine. He is the only one who can compare with the Greeks, and I don't see why one shouldn't say he is as great. Of course there are things, the daughters of—I forget the name—the group of two women leaning back in each other's arms in the British Museum. But I don't know, Michael Angelo is quite different, and I can't see that anything can be said to be finer than the figures of Day and Night—how often I have drawn them—the figure of Night, the heavy breasts to show that she has suckled the Day.”
“But which way are we going? I must go to Truefitt's to have my hair cut.”
“You haven't forgotten the old place, I see. Do you still keep up your subscription?”
“I suppose mine has run out, I have been abroad so long. Nothing like a good shampoo; for a guinea a year you can have it done as often as you like.”
“I haven't subscribed lately. There used to be such a pretty girl at the counter. Do you remember?”
“You dog, always thinking of them,” and laughing loudly they passed through the shop, and it was Frank that stared most at the young lady. They read Punch aloud to each other; they cracked jokes with the hairdressers; they snorted and laughed through the soap and jets of hot and cold water. Frank allowed scent and ivories to be pressed upon him by the young lady at the counter; Willy declined to be led into such extravagances.
As he stepped out into the shine of the street, and took step from his friend, he said: “By George! it makes me feel young again. It is just like old times.”
“Yes, it does make one feel jollier, doesn't it?”
“How jolly it is here; not too warm, just nice. What shall we do? Sit down on that bench in front of the pier?”