“Paint it upside down like Michelangelo,” Roger said. “Paint it big enough so King George can read it without his spectacles.”
“Are you going to paint it, papa?” David asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” David said. “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard.”
“It won’t be too difficult, papa?”
“Hell no. It’s probably too simple. Who’s the girl?”
“That girl Mr. Davis always has.”
“Paint her in half a day,” Thomas Hudson said.
“Paint her upside down,” Roger said.
“Keep it clean,” Thomas Hudson told him.
“Mister Bobby, may I have another slug?” Andy asked.
“How many have you had, son?” Bobby asked him.
“Only two.”
“Go ahead,” Bobby told him and handed him the bottle. “Listen, Hudson, when are you going to get that picture out of here?”
“Haven’t you had any offers on it?”
“No,” Bobby said. “And it clutters the place up. Besides it makes me goddam nervous. I want it out of here.”
“Pardon me,” one of the men from the yacht spoke to Roger. “Is that canvas for sale?”
“Who spoke to you?” Roger looked at him.
“No one,” the man said. “You’re Roger Davis, aren’t you?”
“You’re damn right I am.”
“If your friend painted that canvas and it is for sale I’d like to discuss the price with him,” the man said turning. “You’re Thomas Hudson, aren’t you?”
“Hudson is the name.”
“Is the canvas for sale?”
“No,” Thomas Hudson told him. “I’m sorry.”
“But the bartender said—”
“He’s crazy,” Thomas Hudson told him. “He’s an awfully good fellow. But he’s crazy.”
“Mr. Bobby, may I please have another gin?” Andrew asked very politely.
“Certainly, my little man,” Bobby said and served it. “Do you know what they ought to do? They ought to put your healthy charming face on the label of those gin bottles instead of that idiotic collection of berries. Hudson, why don’t you design a suitable label for a gin bottle that would reproduce the childish charm of young Andy’s face?”
“We could launch a brand,” Roger said. “They’ve got Old Tom gin. Why shouldn’t we put out Merry Andrew?”
“I’ll put up the money,” said Bobby. “We can make the gin here on the island. The little lads can bottle it and affix the labels. We can sell it wholesale and in detail.”
“It would be a return to craftsmanship,” Roger said. “Like William Morris.”
“What would we make the gin from, Mr. Bobby?” Andrew asked.
“From bonefish,” Bobby said. “And from conches.”
The yacht people did not look at Roger or Thomas Hudson nor at the boys now. They were watching Bobby and they looked worried.
“About that canvas,” the one man said.
“What canvas are you referring to, my good man?” Bobby asked him, downing another quick one.
“The very big canvas with the three waterspouts and the man in a dinghy.”
“Where?” asked Bobby.
“There,” said the man.
“Begging your pardon, sir, I think you’ve had enough. This is a respectable place. We don’t run to waterspouts and men in dinghys here.”
“I mean the picture there.”
“Don’t provoke me, sir. There’s no picture there. If there was a painting in here it would be above the bar where paintings belong and it would be a nude reclining full length in a proper shipshape manner.”
“I mean that picture there.”
“What picture where?”
“There.”
“I’d be happy to fix you a Bromo Seltzer, sir. Or call you a rickshaw,” Bobby said.
“A rickshaw?”
“Yes. A goddam rickshaw if you want it straight to your face. You’re a rickshaw. And you’ve had enough.”
“Mr. Bobby?” Andy asked very politely. “Do you think I’ve had enough?”
“No, my dear boy. Of course not. Serve yourself.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bobby,” Andy said. “This is four.”
“I wish it was a hundred,” Bobby said. “You’re the pride of my heart.”
“What do you say we get out of here, Hal,” one of the men said to the man who wanted to buy the picture.
“I’d like to pick up that canvas,” the other told him. “If I can get it for a decent price.”
“I’d like to get out of here,” the first man insisted. “Fun’s fun and all that. But watching children drink is a little too much.”