Dick was
right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it.
right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it.
Kipling - Poems
Do you believe while he's fighting for what's
dearer than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he did,
and if all the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and
shouted hymns to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the
knowledge that you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day
without an umbrella? Now we'll go to the station. "
"But you said on the beach----" persisted Maisie, with a certain fear.
Dick groaned aloud: "Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I
have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I've learnt the law
that governs it; but I've some lingering sense of fun left,--though
you've nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn't
everything to all the world. Do what I say, and not what I do. "
Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned to
London joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an eloquent
harangue on the beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a horse,--such
a horse as never yet bowed head to bit,--would stable it, with a
companion, some twenty miles from London, and Maisie, solely for her
health's sake should ride with him twice or thrice a week.
"That's absurd," said she. "It wouldn't be proper. "
"Now, who in all London tonight would have sufficient interest or
audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do? "
Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil.
Dick was
right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it.
"You're very nice sometimes, but you're very foolish more times. I'm not
going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your way tonight.
I'll go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me something. You
won't think any more about that extra threepence, will you? Remember,
you've been paid; and I won't allow you to be spiteful and do bad work
for a little thing like that. You can be so big that you mustn't be
tiny. "
This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to put
Maisie into her hansom.
"Goodbye," she said simply. "You'll come on Sunday. It has been a
beautiful day, Dick. Why can't it be like this always? "
"Because love's like line-work: you must go forward or backward; you
can't stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work.
dearer than his life he wants to look at a picture? And even if he did,
and if all the world did, and a thousand million people rose up and
shouted hymns to my honour and glory, would that make up to me for the
knowledge that you were out shopping in the Edgware Road on a rainy day
without an umbrella? Now we'll go to the station. "
"But you said on the beach----" persisted Maisie, with a certain fear.
Dick groaned aloud: "Yes, I know what I said. My work is everything I
have, or am, or hope to be, to me, and I believe I've learnt the law
that governs it; but I've some lingering sense of fun left,--though
you've nearly knocked it out of me. I can just see that it isn't
everything to all the world. Do what I say, and not what I do. "
Maisie was careful not to reopen debatable matters, and they returned to
London joyously. The terminus stopped Dick in the midst of an eloquent
harangue on the beauties of exercise. He would buy Maisie a horse,--such
a horse as never yet bowed head to bit,--would stable it, with a
companion, some twenty miles from London, and Maisie, solely for her
health's sake should ride with him twice or thrice a week.
"That's absurd," said she. "It wouldn't be proper. "
"Now, who in all London tonight would have sufficient interest or
audacity to call us two to account for anything we chose to do? "
Maisie looked at the lamps, the fog, and the hideous turmoil.
Dick was
right; but horseflesh did not make for Art as she understood it.
"You're very nice sometimes, but you're very foolish more times. I'm not
going to let you give me horses, or take you out of your way tonight.
I'll go home by myself. Only I want you to promise me something. You
won't think any more about that extra threepence, will you? Remember,
you've been paid; and I won't allow you to be spiteful and do bad work
for a little thing like that. You can be so big that you mustn't be
tiny. "
This was turning the tables with a vengeance. There remained only to put
Maisie into her hansom.
"Goodbye," she said simply. "You'll come on Sunday. It has been a
beautiful day, Dick. Why can't it be like this always? "
"Because love's like line-work: you must go forward or backward; you
can't stand still. By the way, go on with your line-work.
