I patted his shoulder silently. My sympathy for the poor old scout was too deep for words.
I kept away from the studio for some time after that, because it didn’t seem right to me to intrude on the poor chappie’s sorrow. Besides, I’m bound to say that nurse intimidated me. She reminded me so infernally of Aunt Agatha. She was the same gimlet-eyed type.
But one afternoon Corky called me on the ‘phone.
“Bertie.”
“Halloa?”
“Are you doing anything this afternoon?”
“Nothing special.”
“You couldn’t come down here, could you?”
“What’s the trouble? Anything up?”
“I’ve finished the portrait.”
“Good boy! Stout work!”
“Yes.” His voice sounded rather doubtful. “The fact is, Bertie, it doesn’t look quite right to me. There’s something about it—My uncle’s coming in half an hour to inspect it, and—I don’t know why it is, but I kind of feel I’d like your moral support!”
I began to see that I was letting myself in for something. The sympathetic co-operation of Jeeves seemed to me to be indicated.
“You think he’ll cut up rough?”
“He may.”
I threw my mind back to the red-faced chappie I had met at the restaurant, and tried to picture him cutting up rough. It was only too easy. I spoke to Corky firmly on the telephone.
“I’ll come,” I said.
“Good!”
“But only if I may bring Jeeves!”
“Why Jeeves? What’s Jeeves got to do with it? Who wants Jeeves? Jeeves is the fool who suggested the scheme that has led——”
“Listen, Corky, old top! If you think I am going to face that uncle of yours without Jeeves’s support, you’re mistaken. I’d sooner go into a den of wild beasts and bite a lion on the back of the neck.”
“Oh, all right,” said Corky. Not cordially, but he said it; so I rang for Jeeves, and explained the situation.
“Very good, sir,” said Jeeves.
That’s the sort of chap he is. You can’t rattle him.
We found Corky near the door, looking at the picture, with one hand up in a defensive sort of way, as if he thought it might swing on him.
“Stand right where you are, Bertie,” he said, without moving. “Now, tell me honestly, how does it strike you?”
The light from the big window fell right on the picture. I took a good look at it. Then I shifted a bit nearer and took another look. Then I went back to where I had been at first, because it hadn’t seemed quite so bad from there.
“Well?” said Corky, anxiously.
I hesitated a bit.
“Of course, old man, I only saw the kid once, and then only for a moment, but—but it was an ugly sort of kid, wasn’t it, if I remember rightly?”
“As ugly as that?”
I looked again, and honesty compelled me to be frank.
“I don’t see how it could have been, old chap.”
Poor old Corky ran his fingers through his hair in a temperamental sort of way. He groaned.
“You’re right quite, Bertie. Something’s gone wrong with the darned thing. My private impression is that, without knowing it, I’ve worked that stunt that Sargent and those fellows pull—painting the soul of the sitter. I’ve got through the mere outward appearance, and have put the child’s soul on canvas.”
“But could a child of that age have a soul like that? I don’t see how he could have managed it in the time. What do you think, Jeeves?”
“I doubt it, sir.”
“It—it sorts of leers at you, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve noticed that, too?” said Corky.
“I don’t see how one could help noticing.”
“All I tried to do was to give the little brute a cheerful expression. But, as it worked out, he looks positively dissipated.”
“Just what I was going to suggest, old man. He looks as if he were in the middle of a colossal spree, and enjoying every minute of it. Don’t you think so, Jeeves?”
“He has a decidedly inebriated air, sir.”
Corky was starting to say something when the door opened, and the uncle came in.
For about three seconds all was joy, jollity, and goodwill. The old boy shook hands with me, slapped Corky on the back, said that he didn’t think he had ever seen such a fine day, and whacked his leg with his stick. Jeeves had projected himself into the background, and he didn’t notice him.