“I never said that,” said Miss Van Tuyn. “I said you were a painter of the underworld, and so you are.”
“But Mr. Dick Garstin also paints judges, mademoiselle,” said Arabian.
“Oh, lord! Drop the Mister! I’m Dick Garstin tout court or I’m nothing. Now, Arabian, you know the reason, part of the reason, why I want to stick you on canvas.”
“You mean because—”
He seemed to hesitate, and touched his little Guardsman’s moustache.
“Because you’re a jolly fine subject and nothing to do with the darlings that live in the sewers.”
“Ah! Thank you!” said Arabian. “But you paint judges.”
“I only put that red-faced old ruffian here as a joke. Directly I set eyes on him I knew he ought to have been in quod himself! Come now, what do you say? Look here! I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll give you the thing when it’s done.”
Miss Van Tuyn looked at Garstin in amazement, and missed the sudden gleam of light that came into Arabian’s eyes. But Garstin did not miss it and repeated:
“I’ll give you the thing! Now what do you say? Is it a bargain?”