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Don't move" this to the model, a slip of a girl, her eyes muffled in a lace veil, one of Ganger's Oriental costumes about her shoulders "I am quite at home, my dear, and if you have been a model any length of time you will know exactly what that means." "Oh, she's my Fatima," exclaimed Ganger. "Her real name is Jane Hoggson, and her mother does my washing, but I call her Fatima for short.
Ganger did not want to buy it," broke in Felix, between puffs from one of his host's corn-cob pipes. "He wanted to exchange something for it 'swap' he called it." "Oh, well," wheezed Sam, "that's another thing. What were you going to give him in return, Nat? Careful, now there's not much left." "Oh, maybe some old stuff, Sammy. Move along, you blessed little child and you, too, Jane Hoggson!
And, of course, you 'belong' and so does Sam and so do I. We go out every other week and sit under these very same trees. Sam paints the branches wiggling down in the water, and I do leaky boats. When I get the picture home, I put Jane Hoggson fishin' in the stern." Masie rolled her eyes. "And you don't take her with you?" "No." "Why?"
Boy-ed was 'Richard Houston, Von Papen was 'Thomas Hoggson' and Bolo Pascha was always mentioned as 'St. Regis, In this same code 'William Foxley' always meant the German Foreign Office." "But surely you did not learn this from the advertisements?" "Not at all. Hugo Schmidt, who was reputed to be the paymaster of the gang, was caught trying to burn a copy of this code at the German Club.
"'Cause she don't 'belong. Great difference whether you belong or not. Jane Hoggson couldn't 'belong' if she was to be born all over again." O'Day now joined in. He had been watching Masie, noting the lights and shadows which swept over her face as the old painter chattered away. He always welcomed any plan for giving her pleasure, and was blessing Ganger in his heart for providing the diversion.
She can stop work for the day. Get down off the platform, Jane Hoggson, and talk to this dear little girl. You see, Mr. O'Day, now that the art of the country has gone to the devil and nobody wants my masterpieces, I have become an Eastern painter, fresh from Cairo, where I have lived for half a century principally on Turkish paste and pressed figs.
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