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Updated: May 31, 2025
It was now Chairman Presson's turn to look uncomfortable. "Look here, Vard," exploded Thornton, "I've been pretty patient while you've been amputating a few fingers and toes of the Republican party of this State, but I'll be damned if I propose to see you cut its throat."
It was magnificently composed; the technique was dazzling; but the face had been well, expurgated. It was Vard as Cumberton might have painted him a common man trying to look at ease in a good coat. The picture had never before been exhibited, and there was a general outcry of disappointment. It wasn't only the critics and the artists who grumbled.
"The best way to make good sugar is to simmer the sap slowly, my boy." Harlan glanced sharply at him, but the Duke was not discussing love. "Vard has got into the simmering stage at last. I reckoned he would. He's too good a politician to boil the kettle over as he started in doing. What's the matter with you?
After old Dave lost his voice and couldn't holler to the hogs, he used to rap on the trough with his cane at feeding-time. Then a woodpecker made his home in the pig-pen and the hogs went crazy. Vard Waymouth is all bill! I'd reckoned I'd go home. But I guess I'll stay and see just how far dam foolishness can go!"
Then for a glorious old cackle! Vard Waymouth will be the next Governor of this State! Sure!" "And this State will have the right man on the job with him as Governor!" cried the young man, enthusiastically. "I'm proud of what you did to-night, grandfather. I don't believe he would have listened to anyone else." "Friendship, comradeship, mean something when you get old, my boy."
I had meant to turn the talk to public affairs, but it slipped toward books and art, and I was faintly aware of its being kept there without undue pressure. Before long I saw the value of the diversion. It was easy enough to get at the political Vard: the other aspect was rarer and more instructive. His daughter had described him as a scholar.
It's your task to make Vard Waymouth see that he ought to stand. You can do it. Begin with him where you left off." Harlan hesitated. "Well?" inquired the Duke, a bit petulantly. "I've been used to talking straight out to you, grandfather. I'm willing to help as far as it's in my poor power. But I want you to tell me that I'm not being used as a decoy-duck in this thing."
Mellish's flushed harangue seemed not unfitted to the trivialities of the tea hour, and some one almost at once carried on the argument by saying: "But according to your theory that the significance of his work depends on the significance of the sitter his portrait of Vard ought to be a master-piece; and it's his biggest failure."
I had walked for an hour when it suddenly occurred to me that Miss Vard might, after all, come to the studio at the appointed hour. Why should she? I could conceive of no reason; but the mere thought of what, if she did come, my absence would imply to her, sent me bolting back to Twelfth Street. It was a presentiment, if you like, for she was there.
Miss Vard started up as he entered, but caught herself together and dropped back into her chair. Vard, who had taken out a cigarette, held the tip tranquilly to his fusee. "You're here, thank God!" Cornley cried. "There's no time to be lost, Mr. Vard. I've got a carriage waiting round the corner in Thirteenth Street " Vard looked at the tip of his cigarette. "A carriage in Thirteenth Street?
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