g-case, housewife, gig-lamps,
and the Lord knows what all. He used to fiddle about with 'em and show
us how they worked; but he never seemed to do much except fudge his
reports from the Nilghai. See?'

'Dear old Nilghai! He's in town, fatter than ever. He ought to be up
here this evening. I see the comparison perfectly. You should have kept
clear of all that man-millinery. Serves you right; and I hope it will
unsettle your mind.'

'It won't. It has taught me what Art--holy sacred Art--means.'

'You've learnt something while I've been away. What is Art?'

'Give 'em what they know, and when you've done it once do it again.'

Dick dragged forward a canvas laid face to the wall. 'Here's a sample
of real Art. It's going to be a facsimile reproduction for a weekly. I
called it "His Last Shot." It's worked up from the little water-colour
I made outside El Maghrib. Well, I lured my model, a beautiful rifleman,
up here with drink; I drored him, and I redrored him, and I redrored
him, and I made him a flushed, dishevelled, bedevilled scallawag, with
his helmet at the back of his head, and the living fear of death in his
eye, and the blood oozing out of a cut over his ankle-bone. He wasn't
pretty, but he was all soldier and very much man.'

'Once more, modest child!'

Dick laughed. 'Well, it's only to you I'm talking. I did him just as
well as I knew how, making allowance for the slickness of oils. Then the
art-manager of that abandoned paper said that his subscribers wouldn't
like it. It was brutal and coarse and violent,--man being naturally
gentle when he's fighting for his life. They wanted something more
restful, with a little more colour. I could have said a good deal, but
you might as well talk to a sheep as an art-manager. I took my "Last
Shot" back. Behold the result! I put him into a lovely red coat without
a speck on it. That is Art. I polished his boots,--observe the high
light on the toe. That is Art. I cleaned his rifle,--rifles are always
clean on service,--because that is Art.

I pipeclayed his helmet,--pipeclay is always used on active service, and
is indispensable to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and gave
him an air of fatted peace. Result, military tailor's pattern-plate.
Price, thank Heaven, twice as much as for the first sketch, which was
moderately decent.'

'And do you suppose you're going to give that thing out as your work?'

'Why not? I did it. Alone I did it, in the interests of