The studio in which he was working was one of seven enclosed in a courtyard. Two of the studios had small gardens in front. Standing in one of the gardens it was easier to imagine oneself in the depths of the country than in the midst of London. The roll of the traffic in the King’s Road was just sufficiently remote to sound not unlike the roar of the sea.
There were lilac bushes and laburnums in the gardens. A thrush sang in one of the laburnum trees in the spring, and a robin in the winter. The robin was very tame. It had established a visiting acquaintance with all seven studios. There was a certain amount of jealousy among the inhabitants when occasionally for a week at a time, it would show a marked preference for one studio. On the whole its affections were most deeply centred on studio number seven. At the moment this studio was empty.
Dan painted in the lilac flowers carefully, using extremely small brushes. Every now and then he stepped back from his work to judge of the effect. Any onlooker uneducated in the mysteries of art would have imagined the use of a magnifying glass a more desirable method to study the effect. Dan was evidently not of that opinion. He had just finished painting in the yellow heart of the thirteenth flower when the sound of the wheels of some large vehicle entering the courtyard struck upon his ears.
“What’s that!” he said carelessly, and he crossed to the window.
A large pantechnicon had drawn up opposite studio number seven. Men had already run round to open the doors at the back of the van. It was full of furniture.
“Good Lord!” ejaculated Dan.
He put his palette and brushes down on a table, and standing on a chair poked his head through the upper part of the window. A large roll of blue drugget and a dark oak easel were being carried up the small garden path. Two men were hauling a Chesterfield sofa from the van.
“Good Lord!” said Dan again.
He withdrew his head from the window, descended from the chair, and came out of his studio into the courtyard. The sunshine, which was brilliant, shone on his untidy red hair. He looked like a slightly worried giant.
The Chesterfield was reposing momentarily on the stones of the courtyard. The men were wiping their foreheads. The day was warm.