"I got a job as a artist's model. I sits in a chair while the lady makes a statue out of my face, and then she gives me money, and I goes and spends it. The third day she gives me more money, and tells me I looks too well fed and happy to suit her, and sends me away."
The legless man was astonished to learn that his heart was beating with unaccustomed force and rapidity. "Who was the artist?"
"She's a lady name o' Ferris."
The legless man steeled his face to express nothing. "Ferris," he commented briefly.
"Say," said the unshaven man, "what's all that about the devil falling out of heaven and fetching up in hell?"
"Why?"
"That's how she says I looks. And she wants to make a statue of him, just when he comes to and sits up, and looks up and sees how far he's fell. She says my face has all the sorrers and horrors of the world in it."
"And then, you fool," said the legless man, "you spoiled her game by high living. You ate and you drank till you looked like a paranoiac bulldog asleep in the sun. Where was the lady's studio?"
"Seventeen McBurney Place."
"And she wants to do a Satan, does she?"