Місяць і гріш

Chapter XII

           "

           "Haveyoueverpainted?"

           "IratherwantedtobeapainterwhenIwasaboy,butmyfathermademegointobusinessbecausehesaidtherewasnomoneyinart.Ibegantopaintabitayearago.ForthelastyearI’vebeengoingtosomeclassesatnight."

           "WasthatwhereyouwentwhenMrs.Stricklandthoughtyouwereplayingbridgeatyourclub?"

           "That’sit."

           "Whydidn’tyoutellher?"

           "Ipreferredtokeepittomyself."

           "Canyoupaint?"

           "Notyet.ButIshall.That’swhyI’vecomeoverhere.Icouldn’tgetwhatIwantedinLondon.PerhapsIcanhere."

           "Doyouthinkit’slikelythatamanwilldoanygoodwhenhestartsatyourage?Mostmenbeginpaintingateighteen."

           "IcanlearnquickerthanIcouldwhenIwaseighteen."

           "Whatmakesyouthinkyouhaveanytalent?"

           Hedidnotanswerforaminute.Hisgazerestedonthepassingthrong,butIdonotthinkhesawit.Hisanswerwasnoanswer.

           "I’vegottopaint."

           "Aren’tyoutakinganawfulchance?"

           Helookedatme.Hiseyeshadsomethingstrangeinthem,sothatIfeltratheruncomfortable.

           "Howoldareyou?Twenty-three?"

           Itseemedtomethatthequestionwasbesidethepoint.ItwasnaturalthatIshouldtakechances;buthewasamanwhoseyouthwaspast,astockbrokerwithapositionofrespectability,awifeandtwochildren.Acoursethatwouldhavebeennaturalformewasabsurdforhim.Iwishedtobequitefair.

           "Ofcourseamiraclemayhappen,andyoumaybeagreatpainter,butyoumustconfessthechancesareamilliontooneagainstit.It’llbeanawfulsellifattheendyouhavetoacknowledgeyou’vemadeahashofit.

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