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Updated: May 11, 2025
But whose? His or hers? Elizabeth Gibbons welcomed her father's guests, and Madame Lucifer backed her up bravely. Dill gave this canvas the closest scrutiny. "It is strong," he said; "it has chic without end." But it had no earthly bearing on the great problem. Another point in his own favour: he was here and Prochnow wasn't. Yes, he was here, and he tried to take advantage of the fact.
Prochnow soon forgot this interruption and jumped back into his work with redoubled vigour. He took a serious view of himself, of his art, of things in general; above all, he took a serious view of his immediate future and of the place that Preciosa McNulty might come to have in it.
Young Prochnow was off the board, but that did not put Daffingdon Dill back upon it; nor would he be there till she should have placed him there. "We must have that commission," said Virgilia. "You shall, if I've got any influence," replied her aunt.
Prochnow turned on him with a grim tight smile a smile that slightly dilated the nostrils of his good firm nose and shifted in ever so small a degree the smutch of black beneath that was slowly advancing to the status of a moustache. It was an acknowledgment from one who could to one who knew.
"Ignace!" he cried, wiping his clay-encrusted hands on the blue blouse, "you beat us all! You'll run away ahead of any one of us! Only, you'll kill yourself doing it!" "My first great chance," replied Prochnow. "I mustn't let it slip by." Within a few days this third scheme was brought into intelligible shape and sent off in pursuit of the scattered sons of finance.
"Bust open that portfolio." Prochnow looked at his visitor again longer, more studiously. "Oh, come now," said Little O'Grady, "you'll have me red-headed in a minute. I'm no chump; I know a good thing when I see it." Prochnow opened the portfolio and handed out several sketches one after another. "These are more recent," he said; "all within the last few months."
"I wish I was a bricklayer or even a hod-carrier!" said Little O'Grady, throwing a despairing eye upon the Car, stuck fast in the mire. Prochnow was still confident. He saw a bride, a home, a year of satisfying and profitable activity; he even saw more than one new ring on Preciosa's dear, overloaded little fingers.
"How did it occur to you to come among us?" he asked, sitting down on the bed. "What made you want to be a Bunny?" "I found I must be where I could reach people, and where I could give them a chance to reach me." Prochnow spoke with a slight accent slight, but quaint and pungent.
He was as quick and clever as any of them, she declared, and was entitled to take his share. Prochnow tossed his head. "I don't know that I care for a 'share," he said. "Do you want to do it all?" asked Preciosa, awe-struck. "All or none," replied Prochnow loftily. "I am not one to co-operate. I could do the whole as easily as a part."
She looked whither Eudoxia and Roscoe Orlando and all the others had looked, but with an intensified expression, and Little O'Grady almost felt as if challenged to solve some obscure yet widely ramified enigma. He turned round as if in search of help. In a doorway near-by he saw another familiar face. "Why, there's Daff!" he cried. "It's Dill, our hated rival," he explained to Prochnow.
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