He slumps into a chair, and that pitiful, hunted look settles in his eyes.
"Then—then we must go," says he.
"Listen, Professor," says I, pattin' him soothin' on the shoulder. "Why not can this art stuff, that nobody wants, and switch to somethin' you're a wizard at?"
"You—you mean," says he, "that I should—should turn chef? I—Leon Battou—in a big noisy hotel kitchen? Oh, but I could not. No, I could not! "
"Professor," says I, "the only person in this town that I know of who's nutty enough to want to hire a wall decorator reg'lar is me!"
"You!" gasps Battou, starin' around at our twelve by eighteen livin'-room.
I nods.
"What would you take it on for as a steady job?"
"Oh, anything that would provide for us," says he, eager. "But how—— "
"That's just the point," says I. "When you wasn't paintin' could you cook a little on the side? Officially you'd be a decorator, but between times—— Eh?"