The Tiger Lily Part 15

"Mr. Dale," he said, "I don't deny, sir, as there 'ave been times when a half-crown has been a little heaven, and a double florin a delight, but I was not agoing to ask a.s.sistance now, though I am still a strugglin'

man, and been accustomed to better things. It was not to ask help, sir, as I'd come, but to bestow it, if so be as you'd condescend to accept it of your humble servant, as always feels a pride in your success, not to hide the fack that it does me good, sir, to be seen upon the line."

"Well, what do you mean?" said Dale gruffly.

"I want to see that picture done, sir. It'll make our fortune, sir.

I'm sure on it, and I say it with pride, there isn't anything as'll touch it for a mile round."

"Thank you, Jaggs; you are very complimentary," said Dale ironically, but the tone was not observed.

"It's on'y justice, sir, and I ain't set going on for twenty years for artists without knowing a good picture when I see one. But that ain't business, sir. You want a model, sir, and that Miss Montesquieu, as she calls herself, won't be here for a month or two, and you needn't expect her. Did you try her as Mr. Pacey calls the Honourable Miss Brill?"

"Pish! I don't want to paint a fishwife, man."

"No, sir, you don't; and of course Miss Va.r.s.ey Vavasour wouldn't do?"

"No, no, no! there is not one of them I'd care to have, Jaggs. If I go on with the figure, I shall work from some cast at first, and finish afterward from a model."

"No, sir, don't, pr'y don't," cried Jaggs. "You'll only myke it stiff and hard. It wouldn't be worthy on you, Mr. Dale, sir; and besides, there ain't no need. You're a lion, sir, a reg'lar lion 'mong artisses, sir, and you was caught in a net, sir, and couldn't get free, and all the time, sir, there was a little mouse a nibblin' and a nibblin' to get you out, sir, though you didn't know it, sir, and that mouse's nyme was Jaggs."

"What! You don't mean to say you know of a suitable model?"

"But I just do, sir. That's what I do say, sir."

"No, no," cried Armstrong peevishly. "I don't want to be worried into seeing one of your friends, Jaggs. Your taste and mine are too different for a lady of your choice to suit my work."

"Don't s'y that, sir," cried Jaggs, in an aggrieved tone of voice. "I'm on'y a common sort o' man, I own, sir, but I do know a good model when I see one--I mean one as shows breed. I don't mean one o' your pretty East End girls, with the bad stock showing through, but one as has got good furren breed in her."

"Is this a foreign woman, then?"

"That's it, sir. Comes from that place last where they ketch the little fishes as they sends over here for breakfast--not bloaters, sir, them furren ones."

"Anchovies?"

"No, sir, t'other ones in tins."

"Sardines?"

"That's it, sir: comes from Sardineyer last, but her father was a Human.

Sort o' patriot kind o' chap as got into trouble for trying to free his country. Them furren chaps is always up to their games, sir, like that theer Mr. Lerondy, and then their country's so grateful that they has to come over here to save themselves from being shot."

"But the woman?"

"Oh, she come along with her father, sir, and he's been trying to give Hightalian lessons, and don't get on 'cause they say he don't talk pure, and he's too proud to go out as a waiter and earn a honest living, so the gal's begun going out to sit. But she don't get on nayther, 'cause her figure's too high."

"What! a great giraffe of a woman?"

"Lor' bless you, no, sir! 'bout five feet two half. I should say. I meant charges stiff; won't go out for less nor arf crown a hour, and them as tried her don't like her 'cause she's so stuck-up."

"Look here, Jaggs; is she a finely formed, handsome woman?"

"Well, Mr. Dale, sir, I won't deceive you, for from what I hear her face ain't up to much; but she don't make a pynte o' faces, and I'm told as she's real good for anything, from a Greek statoo to a hangel."

"Well, I'll see her. Where does she live?"

"Leather Lane way, sir."

"Address?"

"Ah, that I don't know, sir. I b'leeve it's her father as does the business and takes the money."

"He is her father?"

"Oh yes, sir, it's all square. I'm told they're very 'spectable people.

Old man's quite the seedy furren gent, and the gal orful stand-offish."

"Tell him to come and bring his daughter. If I don't like her, I'll pay for one sitting and she can go--"

"Eight, sir; and speaking 'onest, sir, I do hope as she will turn out all right."

"Thank you. There's a crown for your trouble."

"Raly, sir, that ain't nessary," said "The Emperor," holding out his hand.--"Oh, well, sir, if you will be so gen'rous, why, 'tain't for me to stop you.--Good mornin', sir, good mornin'."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE NEW MODEL.

Two days pa.s.sed, and Dale was standing, brush in hand, before his canvas, thinking. He had made up his mind to trust to his imagination to a great extent for the finishing of Juno's figure: this, with the many cla.s.sic sketches he had made in Greece and Rome, would, he believed, enable him to be pretty well independent. He was in better spirits, for he had heard nothing from Portland Place, and flattered himself that the impression which had troubled him was growing fainter.

"Come in," he cried, as there was a tap at the door, and Keren-Happuch appeared, evidently fresh from a study in black-lead, and holding a card between a finger and thumb, guarded by her ap.r.o.n.

"Here's a model, sir, and she give me this."

Dale took a very dirty card, which looked as if it had been for some time in an old waistcoat pocket. Printed thereon were the words--"Du Jaggs. Head and face. Roman fathers, etc," and written on the back in pencil, in Jaggs' cramped hand--

"Signora Azatchy Figgers."

"Where is she, Miranda?"

"On the front door mat, sir. And please, Mr. Dale, sir, mayn't I bring you some beef-tea?"

"No, thank you, Miranda. Bring up the visitor instead."

"Oh, dear! he do worry me," muttered Keren-Happuch. "I do hope he ain't going into a decline."

Dale smiled at the dirty card, and waited for the entrance of the new model, who was shown in directly by the grimy maid, and immediately, in a quick, jerky, excited way, looked sharply round the room before turning her face to the artist as the girl closed the door.

On his side he gazed with cold indifference at his visitor, who, after taking a couple of steps forward, stopped short, and he saw that she was rather tall, wore a closely fitting bonnet, over which a thick dark Shetland wool veil was drawn, and was draped from head to foot in a long black cloak, which had evidently seen a good deal of service.