“All the world’s a shop, my boy; always has been, always will be. Why, even the socialist idea is to turn the country into a universal provider. Don’t think it would help matters if poets and painters were endowed by the State and hadn’t to work for a living. You can’t tell me of any rich man—any man born rich—who has ever done any art work worth talking about. If it weren’t for women and money the world would die of inanition.”
“What rot you do talk sometimes, West; I suppose you find it a useful habit in business; when a wise man can disguise himself as a foolish, he’s sure to get on.”
“And the reverse also holds good, from which, logically, it must be deduced that to appear other than you are is the first law of existence! But as a matter of fact you know I’m not talking nonsense. If I were to say to you: ‘I’ll give you an annuity of three thousand a year, on condition that you give me all the pictures you paint, but you’ve only to paint when you feel inspired to do so,’ why, my dear fellow, you know as well as I do that your career would be over. Thank your lucky stars you’ve got to work for your living. Well, I must be off, Aggy will wonder what on earth’s become of me. She’s always expecting me to smash myself. Do you think I may ‘walk into the parlor’ and say ‘good-by’ to—cook?”
HAD Maddison known that West’s advice had been inspired by Marian he would have set it aside angrily, but in his ignorance he looked on it as curiously coincidental with much of what she had said to him, when she had urged upon him the necessity of their separating again. The fear of Squire’s persecution had been thrust into the background, and he had tried also to shake off the feeling that had gradually been growing upon him, that his love for her was interfering detrimentally with his work. “The Rebel” he believed, in fact he knew, to be the finest picture he had yet painted, and the portrait of Mrs. West would, he believed, be good; but beyond these two canvases he could not see. Marian seemed to stand between him and his inspiration, upon which he had never before called in vain, upon which, indeed, he had never before been compelled to call, for it had always come unsummoned.
Many difficulties faced him. He could not bring himself to sell “The Rebel,” even to West—it seemed like parting with Marian. The portrait would bring him in a large sum, but not sufficient to meet the expense of the coming year. His resources were low; he had always lived close up to his income, saving scarcely anything, and that little had now been drawn upon to the full. All this would not have mattered had he been alone, with only himself to care for; though fond of luxury, he was not a slave to it. But he had taken Marian into his charge, was responsible for her well-being, not only now, but under compulsion of honor and love not to leave her penniless if anything ill should chance to come to him. The fact that faced him was that he must set to work at once, must work rapidly and well. It was not essential that his pictures should be exhibited at any of the spring shows—the dealers were always ready to welcome and able to dispose of any work he could offer them. Nevertheless time pressed, unless he borrowed upon work undone, so mortgaging the future, of doing which he hated and feared the thought.