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Updated: June 9, 2025
My errand would have been difficult enough under the best of circumstances: placed between Myner, immersed in his art, and the white, fat, naked female in a ridiculous attitude, I found it quite impossible. "You didn't come here to talk this rot," said he. "No," I replied sullenly; "I came to borrow money." He painted awhile in silence. "I don't think we were ever very intimate?" he asked.
And yet he would have been in the way of my Paris life, of much of which he would have disapproved. "Thank you, Myner," said I; "you're a much better fellow than ever I supposed. I'll write to-night." Well, these were brave days, on which I could dwell forever.
"Thank you," said I. "I can take my answer," and I made as if to go, rage boiling in my heart. "Of course you can go if you like," said Myner; "but I advise you to stay and have it out." "What more is there to say?" I cried. "You don't want to keep me here for a needless humiliation?" "Look here, Dodd, you must try and command your temper," said he.
"It seemed to me pertinent; and, besides, when you ask me for money upon no security, you treat me with the liberty of a friend, and it's to be presumed that I can do the like. But the point is, do you accept?" "No, thank you," said I; "I have another string to my bow." "All right," says Myner; "be sure it's honest." "Honest? honest?" I cried. "What do you mean by calling my honesty in question?"
Think of the master, and that cold-blooded Myner too! Yes, just let the Depew City boom get on its legs, and you shall go; and two years later, day for day, I'll shake hands with you in Paris, with Mamie on my arm, God bless her!" We talked in this vein far into the night.
"O dear me, that ever I should have heard such an expression on your lips." At sight of his distress I plagiarised unblushingly from Myner. "You seem to think honesty as simple as Blind Man's Buff," said I. "It's a more delicate affair than that: delicate as any art." "O well, at that rate!" he exclaimed, with complete relief; "that's casuistry."
I hold out no false hopes, but it may be worth your while to let me judge." "And your room?" asked Myner. "O, my room is all right, I think," said I. "She is a very good old lady, and has never even mentioned her bill." "Because she is a very good old lady, I don't see why she should be fined," observed Myner. "What do you mean by that?" I cried. "I mean this," said he.
"I won't, if you don't like it," he replied. "You seem to think honesty as easy as Blind Man's Buff: I don't. It's some difference of definition." I went straight from this irritating interview, during which Myner had never discontinued painting, to the studio of my old master.
The party was completed by John Myner, the Englishman; by the brothers Stennis Stennis-aîné, and Stennis-frère, as they used to figure on their accounts at Barbizon a pair of hare-brained Scots; and by the inevitable Jim, as white as a sheet and bedewed with the sweat of anxiety. I suppose I was little better myself when I unveiled the Genius of Muskegon.
The porter would expect his money; I could not pay him; here was scandal in the house; and I knew right well the cause of scandal would have to pack. "What do you mean by calling my honesty in question?" I had cried the day before, turning upon Myner.
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