Harry’s mouth drooped until Roy cut in with an indignant: “Don’t you mind him, Harry. It’s a bully likeness. I’d know it anywhere!”
“So would I,” said Dick. “Chub’s just teasing.” And Chub owned up that he was.
“Say, don’t you love the colors, though?” asked Roy eagerly. “Why, that blue looks good enough to eat!” He turned toward the artist with a new respect. “I guess you’re a cracker-jack, sir.”
“Oh, you’re all too flattering,” laughed Mr. Cole. “You’ll never make art critics of yourselves unless you restrain your enthusiasm. I will acknowledge, though, that I’ve been rather successful with this; it’s one of the best figure studies I’ve ever done; and much of my success has been due to my subject who proved quite a model model, if I may use such an expression.”
Harry smiled shyly and recollecting the candy, passed it around.
“Me, I don’t care for any,” said Chub as he scooped up a handful. Then they sat down and had a nice cozy talk up there on the roof-deck, and ate candy to their hearts’—or rather their stomachs’—content. Presently Chub asked:
“Wasn’t it funny, Mr. Cole, that you should meet Billy Noon here?”
“Why, yes, it was,” was the answer. “Still, Noon’s the sort of a chap that you’re likely to come across in strange places and when you least expect to.”
“Have you known him long?” asked Chub in politely conversational tones. The artist suppressed a smile.
“For several years,” he replied.