He paints atrocious pictures, but somehow seems to make a living out of the business.
Sometimes I go to see him, when business is bad, and I'm wondering where the money's coming from to pay the month's bill.
Between you and myself, the sight of all those daubs on the walls of his studio, which he considers masterpieces, always makes me feel better.
Misery likes company, and they certainly do look tough.
Recently, while I was lounging there in his Oriental corner, old Dr. Gregg dropped in.
I expected some fun, because the doctor has quite a caustic tongue, you know, and don't mind giving a fellow a rap.
Craigie understood why I winked at him, and I saw blood in his eye while he continued to paint.
The doctor walked around, grunting and making an occasional slurring remark that in another man might have been looked on as an insult.
But we all knew Gregg.
Finally he turned to the artist.