THE WIGMORE VENUS
The was so fine; the to and in so active and a manner; and appeared to be so in the pink, that a of the city of New York would have said that it was one of those happy days. Yet Archie Moffam, as he out of the sun-bathed into the on the third of which was the studio to his artist friend, James B. Wheeler, was with a of a of that something was wrong. He would not have gone so as to say that he had the pip—it was more a of discomfort. And, for as he his way upstairs, he came to the that the person for this was his wife, Lucille. It to Archie that at that Lucille’s manner had been rummy. Nothing you put your on, still—rummy.
Musing thus, he the studio, and the door open and the room empty. It had the air of a room owner has in to his golf-clubs and off, after the fashion of the artist temperament, without to close up him. And such, indeed, was the case. The studio had the last of J. B. Wheeler for that day: but Archie, not this and that a with Mr. Wheeler, who was a light-hearted bird, was what he needed this morning, sat to wait. After a moments, his gaze, over the room, a picture, and he across to take a look at it.
J. B. Wheeler was an artist who a large as an for the magazines, and it was a to Archie to that he also in for this of thing. For the picture, painted in oils, a woman who, from her weak-minded and the that she nothing a small on her left shoulder, was to be the Venus. Archie was not much of a around the picture-galleries, but he about Art to Venus when he saw her; though once or twice, it is true, had double-crossed him by in some such title as “Day Dreams,” or “When the Heart is Young.”
He this picture for awhile, then, returning to his seat, a cigarette and to on Lucille once more. “Yes, the dear girl had been at breakfast. She had not said anything or done anything out of the ordinary; but—well, you know how it is. We husbands, we of the for-better-or-for-worse brigade, we learn to the mask. There had been in Lucille’s manner that curious, which comes to husbands have failed to match the piece of or to post an letter. If his had not been as clear as crystal, Archie would have said that that was what must have been the matter. But, when Lucille letters, she just out of the and them in the mail-chute to the elevator. It couldn’t be that. And he couldn’t have anything else, because—”
“Oh my aunt!”
Archie’s cigarette smouldered, neglected, his fingers. His had and his were him. He was appalled. His memory was weak, he knew; but had it let him so as this. This was a record. It in a class by itself, printed in red and marked with a star, as the of a lifetime. For a man may many things: he may his name, his umbrella, his nationality, his spats, and the friends of his youth: but there is one thing which your married man, your in-sickness-and-in-health must not forget: and that is the of his wedding-day.
Remorse over Archie like a wave. His for Lucille. No wonder the girl had been at breakfast. What girl wouldn’t be at breakfast, for life to a like himself? He hollowly, and in his chair: and, as he did so, the Venus his eye. For it was an eye-catching picture. You might like it or it, but you not it.
As a to the surface after a high dive, Archie’s rose from the to which it had descended. He did not often inspirations, but he got one now. Hope with a jerk. The one way out had presented itself to him. A rich present! That was the wheeze. If he returned to her a rich present, he might, with the help of Heaven and a of brass, succeed in making her that he had to the date in order to the surprise.
It was a scheme. Like some great his plan of on the of battle, Archie had the whole out a minute. He a note to Mr. Wheeler, the and promising payment on the system; then, the note in a position on the easel, he to the telephone: and presently himself with Lucille’s room at the Cosmopolis.
“Hullo, darling,” he cooed.
There was a pause at the other end of the wire.
“Oh, hullo, Archie!”
Lucille’s voice was and listless, and Archie’s ear that she had been crying. He his right foot, and himself on the left ankle.
“Many happy returns of the day, old thing!”
A over the wire.
“Have you only just remembered?” said Lucille in a small voice.
Archie, himself up, into the receiver.
“Did I take you in, light of my home? Do you to say you I had forgotten? For Heaven’s sake!”
“You didn’t say a word at breakfast.”
“Ah, but that was all part of the cunning. I hadn’t got a present for you then. At least, I didn’t know it was ready.”
“Oh, Archie, you darling!” Lucille’s voice had its melancholy. She like a thrush, or a linnet, or any bird that goes in for trilling. “Have you got me a present?”
“It’s here now. The of a picture. One of J. B. Wheeler’s things. You’ll like it.”
“Oh, I know I shall. I love his work. You are an angel. We’ll it over the piano.”
“I’ll be with it in something under three ticks, star of my soul. I’ll take a taxi.”
“Yes, do hurry! I want to you!”
“Right-o!” said Archie. “I’ll take two taxis.”
It is not from Washington Square to the Hotel Cosmopolis, and Archie the without mishap. There was a little with the starting—he, on the that he was a married man with a local to keep up, at to be in company with the masterpiece. But, on Archie a promise to keep the of the picture away from the public gaze, he to take the job on; and, some ten minutes later, having his way through the hotel and the of the boy who the elevator, Archie entered his suite, the picture under his arm.
He it against the in order to himself more scope for Lucille, and when the reunion—or the scene, if you so to call it, was concluded, he to turn it and it.
“Why, it’s enormous,” said Lucille. “I didn’t know Mr. Wheeler painted pictures that size. When you said it was one of his, I it must be the original of a magazine or something like—Oh!”
Archie had moved and her an view of the work of art, and she had started as if some person had a into her.
“Pretty ripe, what?” said Archie enthusiastically.
Lucille did not speak for a moment. It may have been that her silent. Or, on the other hand, it may not. She looking at the picture with wide and lips.
“A bird, eh?” said Archie.
“Y—yes,” said Lucille.
“I you’d like it,” Archie with animation, “You see? you’re by way of being a picture-hound—know all about the things, and what not—inherit it from the dear old dad, I shouldn’t wonder. Personally, I can’t tell one picture from another as a rule, but I’m to say, the moment I set on this, I said to myself ‘What ho!’ or to that effect, I think this will add a touch of to the home, yes, no? I’ll it up, shall I? ’Phone to the office, light of my soul, and tell them to send up a nail, a of string, and the hotel hammer.”
“One moment, darling. I’m not sure.”
“Eh?”
“Where it ought to hang, I mean. You see—”
“Over the piano, you said. The old piano.”
“Yes, but I hadn’t it then.”
A for an into Archie’s mind.
“I say, you do like it, don’t you?” he said anxiously.
“Oh, Archie, darling! Of I do! And it was so sweet of you to give it to me. But, what I was trying to say was that this picture is so—so that I that we ought to wait a little while and decide where it would have the best effect. The light over the piano is strong.”
“You think it ought to in a light, what?”
“Yes, yes. The the—I mean, yes, in a light. Suppose we it in the for the moment—over there—behind the sofa, and—and I’ll think it over. It wants a of thought, you know.”
“Right-o! Here?”
“Yes, that will do splendidly. Oh, and, Archie.”
“Hullo?”
“I think perhaps... Just turn its to the wall, will you?” Lucille gave a little gulp. “It will prevent it dusty.”
It Archie a little the next days to notice in Lucille, he had always looked on as pre-eminently a girl who her own mind, a of vacillation. Quite a dozen times he on the as for the Venus, but Lucille unable to decide. Archie that she would settle on something definite, for he wanted to J. B. Wheeler to the to see the thing. He had nothing from the artist since the day he had the picture, and one morning, him on Broadway, he his of the very manner in which the other had taken the whole affair.
“Oh, that!” said J. B. Wheeler. “My dear fellow, you’re welcome.” He paused for a moment. “More than welcome,” he added. “You aren’t much of an expert on pictures, are you?”
“Well,” said Archie, “I don’t know that you’d call me an nib, don’t you know, but of I know to see that this particular is not a little fruity. Absolutely one of the best you’ve done, laddie.”
A itself in Mr. Wheeler’s and face. His bulged.
“What are you talking about, you Tishbite? You misguided son of Belial, are you under the that I painted that thing?”
“Didn’t you?”
Mr. Wheeler a little convulsively.
“My fiancée painted it,” he said shortly.
“Your fiancée? My dear old lad, I didn’t know you were engaged. Who is she? Do I know her?”
“Her name is Alice Wigmore. You don’t know her.”
“And she painted that picture?” Archie was perturbed. “But, I say! Won’t she be to wonder where the thing has got to?”
“I told her it had been stolen. She it a great compliment, and was to death. So that’s all right.”
“And, of course, she’ll paint you another.”
“Not while I have my she won’t,” said J. B. Wheeler firmly. “She’s up painting since I her golf, thank goodness, and my best shall be in that she doesn’t have a relapse.”
“But, laddie,” said Archie, puzzled, “you talk as though there were something with the picture. I it stuff.”
“God you!” said J. B. Wheeler.
Archie on his way, still mystified. Then he that as a class were all and and talked more or less through their hats. You couldn’t take an artist’s opinion on a picture. Nine out of ten of them had views on Art which would have them to any looney-bin, and no questions asked. He had met of the who over which any would to be in a with. His for the Wigmore Venus, which had for a moment his with J. B. Wheeler, returned in all its pristine vigour. Absolute rot, he meant to say, to try to make out that it wasn’t one of the ones and just like mother used to make. Look how Lucille had liked it!
At next morning, Archie once more up the question of the of the picture. It was to let a thing like that go on its a sofa with its to the wall.
“Touching the old masterpiece,” he said, “how about it? I think it’s time we it up somewhere.”
Lucille with her coffee-spoon.
“Archie, dear,” she said, “I’ve been thinking.”
“And a very good thing to do,” said Archie. “I’ve often meant to do it myself when I got a of time.”
“About that picture, I mean. Did you know it was father’s birthday to-morrow?”
“Why no, old thing, I didn’t, to be honest. Your parent doesn’t in me much these days, as a of fact.”
“Well, it is. And I think we ought to give him a present.”
“Absolutely. But how? I’m all for and light, and up the old pater’s existence, but I haven’t a bean. And, what is more, have come to such a pass that I the without a single I can touch. I I into Reggie Tuyl’s for a bit, but—I don’t know—touching old Reggie always to me like potting a bird.”
“Of course, I don’t want you to do anything like that. I was thinking—Archie, darling, would you be very if I gave father the picture?”
“Oh, I say!”
“Well, I can’t think of anything else.”
“But wouldn’t you miss it most frightfully?”
“Oh, of I should. But you see—father’s birthday—”
Archie had always Lucille the and most in the world, but had the come home to him so as now. He her fondly.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “You are, you know! This is the biggest thing since old Sir Philip What’s-his-name gave the drink of water to the need was than his, if you the incident. I had to it up at school, I remember. Sir Philip, old bean, had a most thirst on, and he was just going to have one on the house, so to speak, when... but it’s all in the history-books. This is the of thing Boy Scouts do! Well, of course, it’s up to you, queen of my soul. If you like making the sacrifice, right-o! Shall I the pater up here and him the picture?”
“No, I shouldn’t do that. Do you think you into his to-morrow and it up somewhere? You see, if he had the of—what I is, if—yes, I think it would be best to it up and let him it there.”
“It would give him a surprise, you mean, what?”
“Yes.”
Lucille inaudibly. She was a girl with a conscience, and that was her a little. She with Archie that the of the Wigmore Venus in his would give Mr. Brewster a surprise. Surprise, indeed, was an word. She was sorry for her father, but the of self-preservation is than any other emotion.
Archie on the as, having a into his father-in-law’s wallpaper, he the from which the Wigmore Venus was suspended. He was a kind-hearted man, and, though Mr. Daniel Brewster had on many occasions him with a good of austerity, his was pleased at the of doing him a good turn, He had just his work and was down, when a voice him nearly him to overbalance.
“What the devil?”
Archie beamingly.
“Hullo, old thing! Many happy returns of the day!”
Mr. Brewster was in a attitude. His was flushed.
“What—what—?” he gurgled.
Mr. Brewster was not in one of his moods that morning. The of a large hotel has many to him, and to-day had been going wrong. He had come up to his with the idea of his nerve with a cigar, and the of his son-in-law had, as so happened, him than ever. But, when Archie had from the chair and moved to allow him an view of the picture, Mr. Brewster that a thing had him than a visit from one who always him that the world was a place.
He at the Venus dumbly. Unlike most hotel-proprietors, Daniel Brewster was a of Art. Connoisseuring was, in fact, his hobby. Even the public rooms of the Cosmopolis were with taste, and his own private was a of all that was best and most artistic. His tastes were and restrained, and it is not too much to say that the Wigmore Venus him the ear like a eel-skin.
So great was the that for some moments it him silent, and he speech Archie had explained.
“It’s a birthday present from Lucille, don’t you know.”
Mr. Brewster the speech he had to utter.
“Lucille gave me—that?” he muttered.
He pathetically. He was suffering, but the iron of the Brewsters him in good stead. This man was no weakling. Presently the of his relaxed. He was himself again. Of all in the world he loved his most, and if, in mood of temporary insanity, she had herself to that this was the of thing he would like for a birthday present, he must accept the like a man. He would on the whole have death to a life in the of the Wigmore Venus, but that must be if the was the of Lucille’s feelings.
“I think I’ve a likely spot to the thing, what?” said Archie cheerfully. “It looks well alongside those Japanese prints, don’t you think? Sort of out.”
Mr. Brewster his and a grin.
“It out!” he agreed.
