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The studio attained suspicious popularity with one or two new untried boys who mined the studio in Kenny's absence and tipped themselves. Kenny, as scandalized as only Kenny could be, turned sleuth and reported the thing in wrath.
No fault of mine, Max," he added, "if Jan comes down here and eats your cheese. He's a cheese lunatic. Blame Tony. He comes into my studio, does a Pied Piper stunt on his fiddle and the whole building appears." To Whitaker's amusement nobody heeded Kenny's petulance. Caesare was already building a wood-fire in the fireplace, complaining of the chill.
Kenny at four refused an invitation to tea and waited in growing gloom for Reynolds, a dealer who, prodded always into inconvenient promptness by Kenny's needs, had promised to combine inspection of the members' exhibition in the gallery downstairs with the delivery of a check. There were critical possibilities if he did not appear.
Thereafter he blazed out a hot-headed summary of book-keeping that made his father gasp. Kenny's air of conscious rectitude vanished. In an instant he was defensive and excited, resenting the unexpected need of the one and the distraction of the other. The sum of his episodic rambling on Brian's tongue was appalling. He was willing to concede that his imagination was wayward and romantic.
"Oh, hell," said Sid. "Give him time. If that girl was going to marry me I'd climb up a few air-steps myself and stick my head into any old cloud." "Good old Sid!" said Garry affectionately. "You'd be sure to hit your head on a star and then you'd be amazed and " "Oh, you go to thunder!" blustered Sid. By now Kenny's Bohemia was rushing through its yearly cycle of costume dances.
Many a farmer's daughter smiled and blushed at the gallant sweep of Kenny's cap. So he tramped, peering delightedly under bushes for the green suits and red caps of the Clan Shee, and every cleft of rock became the portal to a fairy dwelling. At sunset he discovered a fairy battle in the clouds and when the moon rose, silhouettes, fairy-like and frail, scudded mystically across the face of it.
When at length he rose and drew away it was with all stealth, as though he too moved in the shadow of awful terror bred of a nameless crime.... Once more at Peter Kenny's door, his diffident fingers evoked from the bell but a single chirp a sound that would by no means have gained him admission had Peter not been sitting up in bed, reading to while away the ache of his wound. "Doctor been?"
The twilight was now stronger, if still dull and as cold as the air it coloured, rendering P. Sybarite grateful for Peter Kenny's inverness as the car surged spiritedly up the deserted avenue, its disdain for speed regulations ignored by the string of yawning peg-post cops almost the only human beings in sight.
"He hates 'em all," said Kenny. "No matter how nervous he is, I can read him to sleep." "Ah, colleen!" There was a flash of reverence in Kenny's eyes. It mutely thanked her. "I can't forget what he did for Don. Nor can I forget that Don's impulse " "Don remembers too." Joan sighed. "He worries me, Kenny Don, I mean.
I know him a little myself; he seems a very right-headed, well-bred young man, and when we played together, as we have done at Kenny's, he showed me particular civilities, so I was glad to hear of the kindness which you have had for him; but I had never heard that he had any such thing in contemplation. . . . I fancy that Wyndham is returned for Chichester, but by a very slender majority.
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