“Well,” said William, “what about someone to brush your clothes?”
“I prefer my clothes unbrushed,” said the artist; “dust protects the material.”
William considered this point of view with interest, storing it up for future use, then returned to the point at issue.
“Wun’t you like someone to look after you when you’re queer in the head?”
“No,” said the artist, “it’s more fun not having anyone to look after you when you’re queer in the head.”
He put the sketches on to one side and took up a manuscript from the table.
“Good Lord,” he groaned as he glanced through it, “Charles I’s time. Why the dickens do they write stories about Charles I’s time? Where the deuce am I to get anyone to sit for me in the costume of Charles I’s time? Tell me that.”
William told him.
“I know a man what’d come to sit to you,” he said, promptly, “he’d want payin’.”
“Oh, he would, would he?... All right, I’ll pay him. But the question is, has he got a costume of Charles I’s time?”