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Updated: May 10, 2025
Lewis also learned French a French that rippled along mostly over shallows, but that had deep pools of art technic, and occasionally flew up and slapped you in the face with a fleck of well-aimed argot. Weeks, months, passed before Leighton appeared on the scene, summoned by a scribbled note from Le Brux. When greetings were over, Leighton asked: "Well, what is it this time?
"He made it, I'm going to gamble a bit on him." "Poor little thing!" said Lady Derl, poking the two-legged kid with her finger. "I'm going to put him under Le Brux, Saint Anthony, if he'll take him," continued Leighton. "We leave for Paris to-morrow." "Under Saint Anthony?" repeated Lady Derl. "H m m! Perhaps you are right. But Blanche, Berthe, and Vi will hold it against me."
How is the boy getting along? Is he going to be a sculptor?" "You are wise to ask all your questions at once," said Le Brux. "You know I shall talk just as I please. Your boy, just as you said he would, has attacked me in the heart. He is a most entertaining babe. I am no longer wet nurse. Somebody with the attributes has supplanted me Cellette." "H m m!" said Leighton.
His eyes fell on the cast of an arm, a fragment. The arm was outstretched. It was the arm of a woman. So lightly had it been molded that it seemed to float. It seemed pillowed on invisible clouds. "Matre", said Leighton, "I want that. How much?" Le Brux moved over beside the cast.
In other words, my friend, your boy is so fresh that I have no mind to be the one to watch him wither or wake up or do any of the things that Paris leads to. I wired for you to take him away." "We'll have to find him first," said Leighton. "Let's look in his room." Together they walked down the hall. Leighton opened the door without knocking. He stood transfixed. Le Brux stared over his shoulder.
These things did not come to Lewis in a single day, but in long hours of work spread over many weeks. He was laboring at a frieze, a commission that had come to him through Le Brux, and upon which he had done considerable work before going to America. What he had done had not been altogether pleasing to his father. Lewis had felt it, though Leighton had said little beyond damning it to success.
It would be easy." In a flash Leighton was all smiles. "So," he said, "it is settled. Lewis you stay here. If he throws you out, come back again." "Eh! eh!" cried Le Brux, "not so fast. Listen. This is the most I can do. I'll let him stay here. I'll give him the room down the hall that I rent to keep any one else out, and and I'll use him for a model." Leighton shrugged his shoulders.
"Well," he asked, "what's this?" Leighton nodded toward Lewis, "My boy made that." Le Brux glanced down at his hand. A glint of interest lighted his eyes and passed. Then a tremendous frown darkened his brow. "A pupil, eh? Bah!" With his thumb and forefinger he crushed the kid to powder. "I'll take no pupil." Lewis gulped in dismay at seeing his kid demolished, but not so Leighton.
"Don't be rough with him," sighed the fat concierge as she waddled toward the door, drying her hands on her apron. "Le Brux," said Leighton, "Le Brux!" "Yes, I hear," gasped the sculptor, his eyes tight shut. "Le Brux, where is your wound?" "My wound? Ha! my wound! He would know where is my wound! Here, here, my old one, here!" He passed his two hands over his shaking ribs.
With dexterous fingers he took off her hat and laid it aside, then he looked at Lewis shrewdly. But Lewis showed no signs, of jealousy. He merely laughed silently and whispered, "Isn't she a funny?" They began to talk. Leighton told Lewis he was glad that he had worked steadily all these months, that Le Brux spoke well of his work, but thought a rest would help it and him.
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