"All, just your luck, ain't it?" said the other, coolly. It would almost have seemed from the way he spoke as if he held Mr. Fildew in no particular regard.
The latter made no reply, but strode across the room and came to a halt immediately behind the little painter.
"I'm putting the finishing touches to the pedes of my saint, Mr. Fildew. I wonder whether the holy men of olden time were ever troubled with corns or bunions. I suppose it wouldn't do to paint them with any. Rather too realistic, eh?"
"Intended for the Academy, I suppose?"
"If their high mightinesses will deign to find it hanging room--which is somewhat problematical."
Mr. Fildew's cough plainly implied, "I should think it very problematical indeed."
"Now, about Clem's picture I don't think there can be any doubt whatever," said the generous-hearted little man. "They must be dolts, indeed, if they reject that. It's far and away the best thing Clem's done yet. That boy, sir, has a great career before him."
"From a painter's point of view, I presume you mean?" said Mr. Fildew, with a sneer.
"Precisely so. From a painter's point of view. What other point of view could you expect me to take?"
"No other, I suppose. Chacun à son métier. But the words, 'a great career,' hardly associate themselves in my mind with anything achieved by means of a brush and a paint-pot."