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Updated: June 12, 2025
Corne came to speak to me; not allowed. Letter from prisoners to Sergeant Keath, requesting more privileges. Received six bottles claret and sundry small articles, but the note not allowed to come up. Memorandum sent to Gen. Pigot with list of grievances. Answered. "Grant no requests made by prisoners." Mrs. Banta refused speaking to her son. Mr Haight died. Nineteen prisoners from Brunswick.
Success, modest but unfailing, attended it from the first appearance of the junior member of the firm at Coney Island, where, as the local cognoscenti still maintain, he revolutionized the art and practice of the "sand-dabs." Out of the joint takings grew a bank account. Eventually Peter Quick Banta came to me about the boy's education. "He's a swell," said Peter Quick Banta. "Look at that face!
The gesture was inimitable. "And the butterfly, she do not come down, plop! She float so!" The grimy hands fluttered and sank. "They do, do they? Well, you put it down on the sidewalk." From that moment the outside world ceased to exist for the urchin. He fell to with concentrated fervor, while Peter Quick Banta and I diverted the traffic.
Peter Quick Banta misinterpreted this sign of interest. "Rotten," was the prompt response. "What!" said the astounded artist, rising from his knees. "Punk." Peter Quick Banta applied the higher criticism to the urchin's nearest ear. It was now that connoisseur's turn to be affronted.
More and more, as the intimacy grew, he deserted his uptown haunts and stuck to the attic studio above the rooms where, in the dawning days of prosperity, he had installed Peter Quick Banta in the effete and scandalous luxury of two rooms, a bath, and a gas stove. Yet the picture advanced slowly which is the more surprising in that the exotic Bobbie seemed to find plenty of time for sittings now.
"And because Peter Quick Banta would break his foolish old heart if you left him entirely," supplemented the sculptress. Julien flushed and stood looking like an awkward child. "Did you tell all this stuff to Miss Holland?" he asked. "Oh, no! She thinks that your pot-boiling is a desperate and barely sufficient expedient to keep the wolf from the door.
It could not bear the weight of a ladder, and it seemed certain death to attempt to reach him, when Banta, running up a slanting beam that still hung to its fastening with one end, leaped from perch to perch upon the wall, where hardly a goat could have found footing, reached his man, and brought him down slung over his shoulder, and swearing at him like a trooper lest the peril of the descent cause him to lose his nerve and with it the lives of both.
Unable to speak for the moment, the boy took off his ragged cap in one of the most gracious gestures I have ever witnessed, raising dog-like eyes of gratitude to his benefactor. Tactfully, Peter Quick Banta proceeded to expound for my benefit the technique of the drawing, giving the youngster time to recover before the inevitable questioning began. "Where did you learn that?" "Nowhere.
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