ristol affair is of
course off. I'm as good as penniless, and a hundred pounds or so will
come very conveniently, whenever you can manage it."

"Are you serious, Warburton?"

"Perfectly."

"You've really lost everything? You've got to leave this flat because
you can't afford it?"

"That, my boy, is the state of the case."

"By Jove! No wonder you didn't see me as I came upstairs. What the
deuce! You in Queer Street! I never dreamt of such a thing as a
possibility. I've always thought of you as a flourishing
capitalist--sound as the Mansion House. Why didn't you begin by telling
me this? I'm about as miserable as a fellow can be, but I should never
have bothered you with my miseries.--Warburton in want of money? Why,
the idea is grotesque; I can't get hold of it. I came to you as men go
to a bank. Of course, I meant to pay it all, some day, but you were so
generous and so rich, I never thought there would be any hurry. I'm
astounded--I'm floored!"

With infinite satisfaction, Warburton saw the better man rising again
in his friend, noted the change of countenance, of bearing, of tone.

"You see," he said, with a nod and a smile, "that you've no choice but
to finish 'The Slummer!'"

Franks looked about him uneasily, fretfully.

"Either that--or something else," he muttered.

"No--_that_! It'll bring you two or three hundred pounds without much
delay."

"I daresay it would. But if you knew how I loathe and curse the very
sight of the thing--Why I haven't burnt it I don't know."

"Probably," said Will, "because in summer weather you take your gin and
laudanum cold."

This time the artist's laugh was more genuine.

"The hideous time I have been going through!" he continued. "It's no
use trying to give you an idea of it. Of course you'd say it was all
damned foolery. Well, I shan't go through it again, that's one
satisfaction. I've done with women. One reason why I loathe the thought
of going on with that picture is because I still have the girl's head
to put in. But I'll do it. I'll go back and get to work at once. If I
can't find a model, I'll fake the head--get it out of some woman's
paper where the fashions are illustrated; that'll do very well. I'll go
and see how the beastly thing looks. It's turned against the wall, and
I wonder I haven't put my boot through it."

CHAPTER 17

Warburton waited for a quarter of an hour after the artist had gone,
then set out for his walk. The result of this