For Maisie's sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him
he lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but,
since Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to
do anything at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday.
he lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but,
since Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to
do anything at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday.
Kipling - Poems
Three months!
--and it cost me ten years"
knocking about to get at the notion, the merest raw notion, of my
work. That's true; but then I didn't have pins, drawing-pins, and
palette-knives, stuck into me every Sunday.
"Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very
bad time of it. No, she won't. I'd be as big a fool about her as I
am now. I'll poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,--she's
unwholesome,--and now I'll pass on these present bad times to Torp. "
Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the
sin of levity, and Dick and listened and replied not a word. In the
weeks between the first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung
himself savagely into his work, resolved that Maisie should at least
know the full stretch of his powers. Then he had taught Maisie that she
must not pay the least attention to any work outside her own, and
Maisie had obeyed him all too well. She took his counsels, but was not
interested in his pictures.
"Your things smell of tobacco and blood," she said once. "Can't you do
anything except soldiers? "
"I could do a head of you that would startle you," thought
Dick,--this was before the red-haired girl had brought him under
the guillotine,--but he only said, "I am very sorry," and harrowed
Torpenhow's soul that evening with blasphemies against Art. Later,
insensibly and to a large extent against his own will, he ceased to
interest himself in his own work.
For Maisie's sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him
he lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but,
since Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to
do anything at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday.
Torpenhow was disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and then
attacked him one Sunday evening when Dick felt utterly exhausted after
three hours' biting self-restraint in Maisie's presence. There was
Language, and Torpenhow withdrew to consult the Nilghai, who had come it
to talk continental politics.
"Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper? " said the
Nilghai. "It isn't worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the
fool with a woman. "
"Isn't that bad enough? "
"No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for
a while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the
staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you
had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle. "
"No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned
fellow.
knocking about to get at the notion, the merest raw notion, of my
work. That's true; but then I didn't have pins, drawing-pins, and
palette-knives, stuck into me every Sunday.
"Oh, my little darling, if ever I break you, somebody will have a very
bad time of it. No, she won't. I'd be as big a fool about her as I
am now. I'll poison that red-haired girl on my wedding-day,--she's
unwholesome,--and now I'll pass on these present bad times to Torp. "
Torpenhow had been moved to lecture Dick more than once lately on the
sin of levity, and Dick and listened and replied not a word. In the
weeks between the first few Sundays of his discipline he had flung
himself savagely into his work, resolved that Maisie should at least
know the full stretch of his powers. Then he had taught Maisie that she
must not pay the least attention to any work outside her own, and
Maisie had obeyed him all too well. She took his counsels, but was not
interested in his pictures.
"Your things smell of tobacco and blood," she said once. "Can't you do
anything except soldiers? "
"I could do a head of you that would startle you," thought
Dick,--this was before the red-haired girl had brought him under
the guillotine,--but he only said, "I am very sorry," and harrowed
Torpenhow's soul that evening with blasphemies against Art. Later,
insensibly and to a large extent against his own will, he ceased to
interest himself in his own work.
For Maisie's sake, and to soothe the self-respect that it seemed to him
he lost each Sunday, he would not consciously turn out bad stuff, but,
since Maisie did not care even for his best, it were better not to
do anything at all save wait and mark time between Sunday and Sunday.
Torpenhow was disgusted as the weeks went by fruitless, and then
attacked him one Sunday evening when Dick felt utterly exhausted after
three hours' biting self-restraint in Maisie's presence. There was
Language, and Torpenhow withdrew to consult the Nilghai, who had come it
to talk continental politics.
"Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper? " said the
Nilghai. "It isn't worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the
fool with a woman. "
"Isn't that bad enough? "
"No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for
a while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the
staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you
had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle. "
"No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned
fellow.
