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You've got the law with you, that's what does it. But put me down on this blame' beach alone, with nothing but a whip and a mouthful of bad words, and ask me to ... no, sir! it's not good enough! I haven't got the sand for that!" cried Davis. "It's the law behind," he added; "it's the law does it, every time!" "The beak ain't as black as he's sometimes pynted," observed Huish humorously.
"'E couldn't py 'is rent an' 'e offered to pynt the bath-room, but we 'aven't got a bath-room so 'e pynted that instead. It used to be a plyne picture 'til 'e pynted it. 'E sort of livened it up a bit. Very nice gentleman 'e was, only 'e did get so 'orribly drunk. Of course, 'e was artistic!"
That is to say, 'e pynted out very frequent, but 'e always made two studies to stand; one in watercolors and one in oils, before 'e went at the final picture to say nothink of all the pose studies 'e made in pencil before he begun on the composition proper at all. He was that particular. You see, 'e wasn't so keen for the final effect as for the proper pyntin' of 'is pictures.
You've got the law with you, that's what does it. But put me down on this blame' beach alone, with nothing but a whip and a mouthful of bad words, and ask me to... no, SIR! it's not good enough! I haven't got the sand for that! cried Davis. 'It's the law behind, he added; 'it's the law does it, every time! 'The beak ain't as black as he's sometimes pynted, observed Huish, humorously.
"From that on 'e worked at the night picture in the mornin' a thing contrary to 'is custom. The Marriage went wrong, and wrong an' Sir 'Ugh agettin' seedier an' seedier every day. 'E tried models an' models, an' smudged an' pynted out on account of 'er face goin' wrong in the shadow. Sometimes 'e layed it on the colors, an' swore at me an' things in general.
"It's the happlication of science, I suppose?" sneered Huish. "I don't know what it is," cried Davis, pacing the floor; "it's there! I draw the line at it. I can't put a finger to no such piggishness. It's too damned hateful!" "And I suppose it's all your fancy pynted it," said Huish, "w'en you take a pistol and a bit o' lead, and copse a man's brains all over him? No accountin' for tystes."
'It's the happlication of science, I suppose? sneered Huish. 'I don't know what it is, cried Davis, pacing the floor; 'it's there! I draw the line at it. I can't put a finger to no such piggishness. It's too damned hateful! 'And I suppose it's all your fancy pynted it, said Huish, 'w'en you take a pistol and a bit o' lead, and copse a man's brains all over him? No accountin' for tystes.
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