children of the whirlwind-第2节

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　Because　you　weren't　on　time；　I　stuck　Old　Jimmie　out　there　to　finish　off　this　picture。　I'll　be　through　with　the　old　cut…throat　in　ten　minutes。　Be　ready　to　take　his　place。〃

〃All　right；〃　said　Maggie　sulkily。

For　all　his　roaring　she　was　not　much　afraid　of　the　painter。　While　his　brushes　flicked　at；　and　streaked　across；　the　canvas　she　stood　idly　watching　him。　He　was　in　paint…smeared；　baggy　trousers　and　a　soft　shirt　whose　open　collar　gave　a　glimpse　of　a　deep　chest　matted　with　hair　and　whose　rolled…up　sleeves　revealed　forearms　that　seemed　absurdly　large　to　be　fiddling　with　those　slender　sticks。　A　crowbar　would　have　seemed　more　in　harmony。　He　was　unromantically　oldall　of　thirty…five　Maggie　guessed；　and　with　his　square；　rough…hewn　face　and　tousled；　reddish　hair　he　was　decidedly　ugly。　But　for　the　fact　that　he　really　did　work　though　of　course　his　work　was　foolishand　the　fact　that　he　paid　his　wayhe　bought　little；　but　no　one　could　beat　him　by　so　much　as　a　penny　in　a　bargain；　not　even　the　DuchessMaggie　might　have　considered　him　as　one　of　the　many　bums　who　floated　purposelessly　through　that　drab　region。

Also；　had　there　not　been　so　many　queer　people　coming　and　going　in　this　neighborhoodEads　Howe；　the　hobo　millionaire；　settlement　workers；　people　who　had　grown　rich　and　old　in　their　business　and　preferred　to　live　near　itMaggie　might　have　regarded　Hunt　with　more　curiosity；　and　even　with　suspicion；　but　down　here　one　accepted　queer　people　as　a　matter　of　course；　the　only　fear　being　that　secretly　they　might　be　police　or　government　agents；　which　Maggie　and　the　others　knew　very　well　Hunt　was　not。　When　Hunt　had　rented　this　attic　as　a　studio　they　had　accepted　his　explanation　that　he　had　taken　it　because　it　was　cheap　and　he　could　afford　to　pay　no　more。　Likewise　they　had　accepted　his　explanation　that　he　was　a　mechanic　by　trade　who　had　roughed　it　all　over　the　world　and　was　possessed　with　an　itch　for　painting；　that　lately　he　had　worked　in　various　garages；　that　it　was　his　habit　to　hoard　his　money　till　he　got　a　bit　ahead　and　then　go　off　on　a　painting　spree。　All　these　admissions　were　indubitably　plausible；　for　his　paintings　seemed　the　unmistakable　handiwork　of　an　irresponsible；　hard…　fisted　motor　mechanic。

Maggie　shifted　to　her　other　foot　and　glanced　casually　at　the　canvases　which　leaned　against　the　walls　of　the　shabby　studio。　There　was　the　Duchess：　incredibly　old；　the　face　a　web　of　wrinkles；　the　lips　indrawn　over　toothless　and　shrunken　gums。　the　nose　a　thin；　curved　beak；　the　eyes　deep…set；　gleaming；　inscrutable；　watching；　and　drawn　tight　over　the　haireven　Maggie　did　not　know　whether　that　hair　was　a　wig　or　the　Duchess'sthe　faded　Oriental　shawl　which　was　fastened　beneath　her　chin　and　which　fell　over　her　thin；　bent　chest。　There　was　O'Flaherty；　the　good…natured　policeman　on　the　beat。　There　was　the　old　watchmaker　next　door。　There　was　Black　Hurley；　the　notorious　gang　leader；　who　sometimes　swaggered　into　the　district　like　a　dirty　and　evil　feudal　lord。　There　was　a　Jewish　pushcart　peddler；　white…bearded　and　skull…　capped。　There　was　an　Italian　mother　sitting　on　the　curb；　her　feet　in　the　gutter；　smiling　down　at　the　baby　that　was　hungrily　suckling　at　her　milk…heavy　breast。　And　so　on；　and　so　on。　Just　the　ordinary；　uninteresting　things　Maggie　saw　around　the　block。　There　was　not　a　single　pretty　picture　in　the　lot。

Hunt　swung　the　canvas　from　his　easel　and　stood　it　against　the　wall。　〃That'll　be　all　for　you；　Jimmie。　Beat　it　and　make　room　for　Maggie。　Maggie；　take　your　same　pose。〃

Old　Jimmie　ambled　forward　and　gazed　at　his　portrait　as　Hunt　was　settling　an　unfinished　picture　on　his　easel。　It　had　rather　amused　Jimmie　and　filled　in　his　idle　time　to　sit　for　the　crazy　painter；　and；　incidentally；　another　picture　of　him　would　do　him　no　particular　harm　since　the　police　already　had　all　the　pictures　they　needed　of　him　over　at　Headquarters。　As　he　gazed　at　Hunt's　work　Old　Jimmie　snickered。

〃I　say；　Nuts；　what　you　goin'　to　do　with　this　mess　of　paint？〃

〃Going　to　sell　it　to　the　Metropolitan　Museum；　you　old　sinner！〃　snapped　Hunt。

Old　Jimmie　cackled　at　the　joke。　He　knew　pictures；　that　is；　good　pictures。　He　had　had　an　invisible　hand　in　more　than　one　clever　transaction　in　which　handsome　pictures　alleged　to　have　been　smuggled　in；　Gainsboroughs　and　Romneys　and　such　（there　had　been　most　profit　for　him　in　handling　the　forgeries　of　these　particular　masters）；　had　been　put；　with　an　air　of　great　secrecy；　into　the　hands　of　divers　newly　rich　gentlemen　who　believed　they　were　getting　masterpieces　at　bargain　prices　through　this　evasion　of　customs　laws。

〃Nuts；〃　chuckled　Old　Jimmie；　〃this　junk　wouldn't　be　so　funny　if　you　didn't　seem　to　believe　you　were　really　painting。〃

〃Junk！　Funny！〃　Hunt　swung　around；　one　big　hand　closed　about　Jimmie's　lean　neck　and　the　other　seized　his　thin　shoulder。　〃You　grandfather　of　the　devil　and　all　his　male　progeny；　you　talk　like　that　and　I'll　chuck　you　through　the　window！〃

Old　Jimmie　grinned。　The　grip　of　the　big　hands　of　the　painter；　though　powerful；　was　light。　They　all　knew　that　the　loud　ravings　of　the　painter　never　presaged　violence。　They　had　grown　to　like　him；　to　accept　him　as　almost　one　of　themselves；　though　of　course　they　looked　down　upon　him　with　amused　pity　for　his　imbecility　regarding　his　paintings。

〃Get　out　of　here；〃　continued　Hunt；　〃or　cut　out　all　this　noise　that　comes　from　your　having　a　brain　that　rattles。　I've　got　to　work。〃

Hunt　turned　again　to　his　easel；　and　Old　Jimmie；　still　grinning；　lowered　himself　into　a　chair；　lit　a　cigar；　and　winked　at　Barney。　Hunt；　with　brush　poised；　regarded　Maggie　a　moment。

〃You　there；　Maggie；〃　he　ordered；　〃chin　up　a　bit　more；　some　flash　in　your　eyes；　more　pep　in　your　bearingas　though　you　were　asking　all　the　dames　of　the　Winter　Garden；　and　the　Charity　Ball；　and　the　Horse　Show；　and　that　gang　of　tea…swilling　women　at　the　Ritzmore　you　sell　cigarettes　toas　though　you　were　asking　them　all　who　the　dickens　they　think　they　are　。。。　O　God；　can't　you　do　anything！〃

〃I'm　doing　the　best　I　can；　and　I　look　more　like　those　dames　than　you　look　like　a　painter！〃

〃Shut　up！　I'm　paying　you　a　dollar　an　hour　to　pose；　not　to　talk　back　to　me。　And　you'd　have　more　respect　for　my　money　if　you　knew　how　hard　I　had　to　work　to　earn　it：　carrying　a　motor　car　around　in　each　hand。　Wash　off　that　scowl　and　try　to　look　as　I　said　。。。　There；　that's　better。　Hold　it。〃

He　began　to　paint　rapidly；　with　quick　glances　back　and　forth　between　the　canvas　and　Maggie。　Maggie's　dress　was　just　the　ordinary　shirt…　waist　and　skirt　that　the　shopgirl　and　her　sisters　wear；　Hunt　had　ordered　it　so。　She　was　above　the　medium　height；　with　thick　black　hair　tinted　with　shadowy　blue；　long　dark　lashes；　dark　scimitars　of　eyebrows；　a　full；　firm　mouth；　a　nose　with　just　the　right　tilt　to　it　all　effective　points　for　Hunt　in　what　he　wished　to　do。　But　what　had　attracted　him　most　and　given　him　his　idea　was　her　look；　hardly　pertness；　or　impudencerather　a　cynical；　mature；　defiant　certainty　in　herself。

Erect　in　her　cheap　shirt…waist；　she　gazed　off　into　space　with　a　smiling；　confident　challenge　to　all　the　world。　Hunt　was　trying　to　make　his　picture　a　true　portraitand　also　make　it　a　symbol　of　many　things　which　still　were　only　taking　shape　in　his　own　mind：　of　beauty　rising　from　the　gutter　to　overcome　beauty　of　more　favored　birth；　and　to　reign　above　it；　also　of　a　lower　stratum　surging　up　and　breaking　through　the　upper　stratum；　becoming　a　part　of　it；　or　assimilating　it；　or　conquering　it。　Leading　families　replaced　by　other　families；　classes　replaced　by　other　classes；　nations　replaced　by　other　nationssuch　was　the　inevitable　social　processso　read　the　records　of　the　fifty　or　sixty　centuries　since　history　began　to　be　written。　Oh；　he　was　trying　to　say　a　lot　in　this　portrait　of　a　girl　of　ordinary　birtheven　less　than　ordinaryin　her　cheap　shirt…waist　and　skirt！

And　it　pleased　the　sardonic　element　in　Hunt's　unmoral　nature　that　this　Maggie；　through　whom　he　was　trying　to　symbolize　so　much；　he　knew　to　be　a　petty　larcenist：　shoplifting　and　matters　of　similar　consequence。　She　had　been　cynically　frank　about　this　to　him；　casual；　almost　boastful。　Her　possessing　a　bent　toward　such　activities　was　hardly　to　be　wondered　at；　with　her　having　Old　Jimmie　as　her　father；　and　the　Duchess　as　a　landlady；　and　having　for　acquaintances　such　gentlemen　as　Barney　Palmer　and　this　returning　prison…bird；　Larry　Brainard。

But　petty　crime；　thought　Hunt；　would　not　be　Maggie's　forte　if　she　developed　her　possibilities。　With　her　looks；　her　boldness；　her　cleverness；　she　had　the　makings　of　a　magnificent　adventuress。　As　he　painted；　he　wondered　what　she　was　going　to　do；　and　become；　and　he　watched　her　not　only　with　a　painter's　eye　intent　upon　the　present；　but　with　keen　speculation　upon　the　future。




CHAPTER　III


Presently　Hunt's　mind　shifted　to　Larry　Brainard；　whom　Barney　Palmer　and　Old　Jimmie　Carlisle　had　come　here　to　see。　Hunt　had　a　mind　curious　about　every　thing　and　every　one；　and　blustering；　bullying　creature　though　he　was；　he　had　the　gift；　possessed　by　but　few；　of　audaciously　thrusting　himself　into　other　people's　affairs　without　arousing　their　resentment。　He　was　keen　to　learn　Maggie's　attitude　toward　Larry；　and　he　spoke　not　so　much　to　gain　knowledge　of　Larry　as　to　draw　her　out。

〃This　Larrywhat　sort　of　chap　is　he；　Magg