“It’s only a preliminary sketch,” said Tootles hastily, “for my monumental decoration, ‘The Ages Contemplating the Apotheosis of the Well-dressed Man.’”
“There’s millions in it,” said Flick, who forgot himself to the extent of raising one arm, with the result that a ripping sound was heard.
“Holy cats! Drop that arm!” exclaimed Tootles, who rushed to the rescue of the pride of the wardrobe.
During this diversion, Dangerfield was able to recover himself sufficiently to present a grave mask.
“What does Sassafras represent?” he asked, stroking his chin.
“Sassafras is primitive man,” said Tootles, assuming the attitude of a lecturer. “O’Leary represents Rome—Cæsar or some other classic chap, you know. The baron is the Spirit of the Middle Ages, and Pansy is the celebrated Beau Brummel. It’s symbolic, of course.”
“And Wilder is the Apotheosis of the Well-dressed Man?” said Dangerfield gravely, contemplating the thin limbs, which seemed to have sprouted from the legs and arms of Wimpfheimer & Goldfinch’s glorified dress suit.
“No, no,” said Tootles hastily; “Flick is only a clothes-horse for the time being.”
Flick objected strongly to this characterization, and while his feelings were being soothed, Dangerfield turned the easel and inspected the canvas.
“I’m afraid I’m in a terrible mix,” said Tootles, scratching his head and looking in despair at the canvas, which had certain marked resemblances to the first days of Creation, when the earth and the waters were still mingled.