"I'm not. You saw me lift him, didn't you? Well--that was nothing."
"Jeest! That I should live to see the day I got a bird like you."
Until three o'clock Hugo and Charlotte occupied their time with feverish activity. They found a small apartment not far from the sea-shore. It was clean and bright and it had windows on two sides. Its furniture was nearly new, and Charlotte, with tears in her eyes, sat in all the chairs, lay on the bed, took the egg-beater from the drawer in the kitchen table and spun it in an empty bowl. They went out together and bought a quantity and a variety of food. They ate an early luncheon and Hugo set out to gather the properties for his demonstration. At three o'clock, before a dozen men, he gave an exhibition of strength the like of which had never been seen in any museum of human abnormalities.
When he went back to his apartment, Charlotte, in a gingham dress which she had bought with part of the money he had given her, was preparing dinner. He took her on his lap. "Did you get the job?"
"Sure I did. Fifty a week and ten per cent of the gate receipts."
Hugo nodded and kissed her. He was very happy. Happier, in a certain way, than he had ever been or ever would be again. His livelihood was assured. He was going to live with a woman, to have one always near to love and to share his life. It was that concept of companionship, above all other things, which made him glad.
Two days later, as Hugo worked to prepare the vehicles of his exhibition, he heard an altercation outside the tent that had been erected for him. A voice said: "Whatcha tryin' to do there, anyhow?"
"Why, I was making this strong man as I saw him. A man with the expression of strength in his face."
"But you gotta bat' robe on him. What we want is muscles. Muscles, bo. Bigger an' better than any picture of any strong man ever made. Put one here--an' one there--"
"To hell wit' that stuff. Put one there, I says."
"But he'll be out of drawing, awkward, absurd."
"Say, listen, do you want ten bucks for painting this sign or shall I give it to some one else?"
"Very well. I'll do as you say. Only--it isn't right."
Hugo walked out of the tent. A young man was bending over a huge sheet made of many lengths of oilcloth sewn together. He was a small person, with pale eyes and a white skin. Beside him stood the manager, eyeing critically the strokes applied to the cloth. In a semi-finished state was the young man's picture of the imaginary Hogarth.