et which is the real entity--the canvas reproduction or
the model. This and other things like a pithless pituitary loosens the
screws, and then they make from Bohemia. I don't pretend to be a
psychologist, but that's the way it adds up.

* * * * *

So I was half-thinking of getting the lady at the apartment to give
Willy a real down-to-earth tumble when he started his spiel. I must have
missed a few paragraphs of his monologue, because when I caught up to
the subject I was away off base.

"... so I've got to give it up, Jim. If I don't there's no telling what
it would lead to. You could--help me, with your drag at the agency you
represent. I could do account execking, or maybe be a consultant art
director-without-portfolio, anything--"

"Whoa down, Willy," I said, startled. "Give up illustrating? Just
because of a dame--"

Willy shook his head sadly. "She's got nothing to do with anything
_else_ I draw. She isn't at all like the models. Oh, I know what a goop
I've been about them, but Red has cured me." He paused and looked at me
quizzically, shaking his head. "I knew you had a level head, Jim--that's
exactly why I've told you this. But even so, your reaction--" He
frowned. His hurt-dog eyes narrowed resentfully. "You don't believe me."

I cursed myself inwardly for not having paid more attention to him, but
his voice was the kind that would put a sympathetic Father Confessor to
sleep if he concentrated too hard on it. I'd been prepared to let him
get it off his skinny chest, pat him on the back and tell him to leave
everything to old Jim Fixit. But the quitting business was a looper. He
was too canvas-happy to give it up without a fight.

"Look," I said to cover up the fact that my ears had been closed, "what
you told me may seem unusual to you, but to me it's just one of those
things that aren't quite what they seem. Now, uh--go over it again in
detail and I'll apply myself to it completely from your angle this time.
Tell me _exactly_ where Red fits in, and where the--uh--trouble
started."

Willy slapped his knees and looked even more forlorn, reaching for a
smoke while he still had one in his mouth. "Sorry I doubted you, Jim,
but you can understand how I feel about it. Look--"

He stood up, butted the fresh fag, and walked across the room to the
drawing desk where he did his layouts.

"The best thing to do is simply show you," he said. I sighed and dragged
my chair over and