A Comedy of Masks | Page 3

a ship's side, I would even go so far as to say that you have all the qualifications of an Academician."
"Ah, if it comes to that, Mr. Lightmark, I dare say I could put them up to some dodges. I am a judge of 'composition.'"
"Composition? The devil you are! Ah, you mean that infernal compound which they cover ships' bottoms with? What an atrocious pun!" The man looked puzzled. "Bullen, R.A., great at composition; it sounds well," continued Lightmark gaily, just touching in the brown sail of a barge.
"I've a nephew in the Royal Artillery, sir," said Mr. Bullen; "but I fear he is a bad lot."
"Oh, they all are!" said Lightmark, "an abandoned crew."
His eyes wandered off to the bridge over which the road ran, dividing the dry dock from the outer basin and wharf on which they stood. A bevy of factory girls in extensive hats stuck with brilliant Whitechapel feathers were passing; one of them, who was pretty, caught Lightmark's eyes and flung him a saucy compliment, which he returned with light badinage in kind that made the foreman grin.
"They know a fine man when they see one, as well as my lady," he said. Then he added, as if by an afterthought, lowering his voice a little: "By the way, Mr. Lightmark, there was a young lady--a young person here yesterday--making inquiries."
Lightmark bent down, frowning a little at a fly which had entangled itself on his palette.
"Yes?" he remarked tentatively, when the offender had been removed.
"It was a young lady come after someone, who, she said, had been here lately: a Mr. Dighton or Crichton was the name, I think. It was the dockman she asked."
"Nobody comes here of that name that I know of," said Lightmark.
"Not to my knowledge," said Bullen.
"Curious!" remarked Lightmark gravely.
"Very, sir!" said Bullen, with equal gravity.
Lightmark looked up abruptly: the two men's eyes met, and they both laughed, the artist a little nervously.
"What did you tell her, Bullen?"
"No such person known here, sir. I sent her away as wise as she came. I hold with minding my own business, and asking no questions."
"An excellent maxim, Bullen!" said Lightmark, preparing to pack up his easel. "I have long believed you to be a man of discretion. Well, I must even be moving."
"You know the governor is back, sir?"
Lightmark dropped the paint-brush he was cleaning, with a movement of genuine surprise.
"I never knew it," he said; "I will run up and have a yarn with him. I thought he wasn't expected till to-morrow at the earliest?"
"Nor he was, Mr. Lightmark. But he travelled right through from Italy, and got to London late last night. He slept at the Great Eastern, and I went up to him in the City this morning. He hasn't been here more than half an hour."
"Nobody told me," said Lightmark. "Gad! I am glad. I will take him up the picture. Will you carry the other traps into the house, Bullen?"
He packed them up, and then stood a trifle irresolutely, his hand feeling over the coins in his pocket. Presently he produced two of them, a sovereign and a shilling.
"By the way, Bullen!" he said, "there is a little function common in your trade, the gift of a new hat. It costs a guinea, I am told; though judging from the general appearance of longshoremen, the result seems a little inadequate. Bullen, we are pretty old friends now, and I expect I shall not be down here so often just at present. Allow me--to give you a new hat."
The foreman's huge fist closed on the artist's slender one.
"Thank you, sir! You are such a facetious gentleman. You may depend upon me."
"I do," said Lightmark, with a sudden lapse into seriousness, and frowning a little.
If something had cast a shadow over the artist for the moment he must have had a faculty of quick recovery, for there was certainly no shade of constraint upon his handsome face when a minute later he made his way up the balcony steps and into the office labelled "Private," and, depositing his canvas upon the floor, treated his friend to a prolonged handshaking.
"My dear Dick!" said Rainham, "this is a pleasant surprise. I had not the remotest notion you were here."
"I thought you were at Bordighera, till Bullen told me of your arrival ten minutes ago," said Lightmark, with a frank laugh. "And how well----"
Rainham held up his hand--a very white, nervous hand with one ring of quaint pattern on the forefinger--deprecatingly.
"My dear fellow, I know exactly what you are going to say. Don't be conventional--don't say it. I have a fraudulent countenance if I do look well; and I don't, and I am not. I am as bad as I ever was."
"Well, come now, Rainham, at any rate you are no worse."
"Oh, I