He set off with the calendar wrapped in brown paper. On the way his outlook on life was considerably brightened by finding a street urchins’ fight in full swing. He joined in it with gusto and was soon acclaimed leader of his side. This exhilarating adventure was ended by a policeman who scattered the combatants and pretended to chase William down a side street in order to vary the monotony of his Christmas “beat.”
William, looking rather battered and dishevelled, arrived at Mr. Fairly’s studio. The calendar had fortunately survived the battle unscathed and William handed it to Mr. Fairly who opened the door. Mr. Fairly showed him into the studio with a low bow. Mr. Fairly was clothed in correct artistic style ... baggy trousers, velvet coat and a flowing tie. He had a pointed beard and a theatrical manner. He had obviously lunched well—as far as liquid refreshment was concerned at any rate. He was moved to tears by the calendar.
“How kind! How very kind.... My dear young friend, forgive this emotion. The world is hard. I am not used to kindness. It unmans me....”
He wiped away his tears with a large mauve and yellow handkerchief. William gazed at it fascinated.
“If you will excuse me, my dear young friend,” went on Mr. Fairly, “I will retire to my bedroom where I have the wherewithal to write and endite a letter of thanks to your most delightful and charming relative. I beg you to make yourself at home here.... Use my house, my dear young friend, as though it were your own....”
He waved his arms and retreated unsteadily to an inner room, closing the door behind him.
William sat down on a chair and waited. Time passed, William became bored. Suddenly a fresh aspect of his Christmas resolution occurred to him. If you were speaking the truth one with another yourself, surely you might take everything that other people said for truth.... He’d said, “Use this house, my dear young friend, as though it were your own.”... Well, he would. The man prob’ly meant it ... well, anyway, he shouldn’t have said it if he didn’t.... William went across the room and opened a cupboard. It contained a medley of paints, two palettes, two oranges and a cake. The feeling of oppression that had followed William’s Christmas lunch had faded and he attacked the cake with gusto. It took about ten minutes to finish the cake and about four to finish the oranges. William felt refreshed. He looked round the studio with renewed interest. A lay figure sat upon a couch on a small platform. William approached it cautiously. It was almost life-size and clad in a piece of thin silk. William lifted it. It was quite light. He put it on a chair by the window. Then he went to the little back room. A bonnet and mackintosh (belonging to Mr. Fairly’s charwoman) hung there. He dressed the lay figure in the bonnet and mackintosh. He found a piece of black gauze in a drawer and put it over the figure’s face as a veil and tied it round the bonnet. He felt all the thrill of the creative artist. He shook hands with it and talked to it. He began to have a feeling of deep affection for it. He called it Annabel. The clock struck and he remembered the note he was waiting for.... He knocked gently at the bedroom door. There was no answer. He opened the door and entered. On the writing table by the door was a letter:
“Dear Friend,
Many thanks for your beautiful calendar. Words fail me....”
Then came a blot—mingled ink and emotion—and that was all. Words had failed Mr. Fairly so completely that he lay outstretched on the sofa by the window sleeping the sleep of the slightly inebriated. William thought he’d better not wake him up. He returned to the studio and carried on his self-imposed task of investigation. He found some acid drops in a drawer adhering to a tube of yellow ochre. He separated them and ate the acid drops but their strong flavour of yellow ochre made him feel sick and he returned to Annabel for sympathy....