He was not without humour and a certain shrewdness in judging men and things, and would smile tolerantly when views were advanced with which he disagreed. It was not difficult to make merry at his expense, for he suspected no one, and only those who spoke ill of their neighbours disturbed his equanimity. Towards cynics his attitude was compassionate.
Directly war broke out David enrolled himself in the special volunteer corps of artists raised by an eminent Academician. He took his duties very seriously, and was at great pains to master the intricacies of squad-drill. He never admitted that some of the exercises, especially the one that consists in lying on the ground face downwards and raising yourself several times in succession by your arms, were trying to a man of his weight and proportions, but about the time he was beginning to pride himself on his military proficiency Philip’s death occurred. He said little about it and quietly occupied himself with the funeral and with settling his dead brother’s small affairs, but the battalion were little surprised when shortly afterwards his resignation followed on medical grounds.
The Saundersons were connected with a family of some distinction, the head of which, knowing that Philip’s pension died with him and that David’s earnings were smaller than ever since the War, would gladly have offered him some pecuniary assistance. But David’s pride equalled his modesty, and Peter Knott had to be charged with the mission of approaching him.
One afternoon Peter found David in his attic going through his dead brother’s papers and smoking a pipe. Peter knew his man too well to attempt direct interrogation. He felt his way by inquiries as to the general situation of Art, and David was soon enlarging on the merits of sundry unknown but gifted painters and craftsmen whose work he hoped Peter might bring to the notice of his wealthy friends.
“The poor fellows are starving, Knott,” he said in his leisurely way as he raised himself painfully from his chair and walked heavily to a corner where lay a portfolio.
Every piece of furniture in the small sitting-room was littered with a heterogeneous collection of manuscripts and books; the latter were piled up everywhere. David slowly removed some from a table and laid the folio upon it.
“Now, here’s—a charming—etching.” He had a way of saying a word or two and then pausing as though to take breath, which demanded great patience of a listener.
Peter stood by him and examined it, David meanwhile puffing at his pipe.
“The man—who did that—is one of our best line engravers—his name is Macmanus—he’s dreadfully hard up—look at this.”
He held another before his visitor.