In a few minutes he found himself in Oxford Street. Crossing this as soon as there was a break in the string of vehicles, he took his way towards the mazes of Soho. Stopping at a certain door, he gave one loud rap with the knocker followed by two quick ones, and next moment the door opened, apparently of its own accord, and Mr. Fildew walked in, after which the door shut itself behind him. He had evidently been there before, for without a moment's hesitation he ascended the first flight of stairs, turned to the left down a short passage, and, opening a door at the end of it, found himself in a roomy and well-lighted studio.
Its only occupant was a very little bandy-legged man with a luxuriant crop of curly hair, who was sitting on a low stool in front of a big canvas, palette and brush in hand and a brier-root pipe between his teeth. John Fildew looked round with an air of disappointment.
"Clem not at home?" he asked of the little man.
"Oh, Mr. Fildew, is that you?" said the latter, turning quickly. "I thought it was Clem come back. He's gone to see Pudgin, the dealer. Won't be long, I dare say."
"This is the third time I've called and not found him at home."
"All, just your luck, ain't it?" said the other, coolly. It would almost have seemed from the way he spoke as if he held Mr. Fildew in no particular regard.
The latter made no reply, but strode across the room and came to a halt immediately behind the little painter.
"I'm putting the finishing touches to the _pedes_ of my saint, Mr. Fildew. I wonder whether the holy men of olden time were ever troubled with corns or bunions. I suppose it wouldn't do to paint them with any. Rather too realistic, eh?"
"If their high mightinesses will deign to find it hanging room--which is somewhat problematical."
Mr. Fildew's cough plainly implied, "I should think it very problematical indeed."
"Now, about Clem's picture I don't think there can be any doubt whatever," said the generous-hearted little man. "They must be dolts, indeed, if they reject that. It's far and away the best thing Clem's done yet. That boy, sir, has a great career before him."
"From a painter's point of view, I presume you mean?" said Mr. Fildew, with a sneer.
"Precisely so. From a painter's point of view. What other point of view could you expect me to take?"