Torchy as a Pa | Page 6

proposition that
may be batted up, with Mr. Robert standin' by ready to spring the grin.
Take this little go of his with the Hallam Beans--excuse me, the F.
Hallam Beans. Doesn't that sound arty? Well, that's what they were,
this pair. Nothing but. I forget where it was they drifted in from, but of
course they couldn't have found each other anywhere but in Greenwich
Village. And in course of time they mated up there. It was the logical,
almost the brilliant thing to do. Instead of owing rent for two skylight

studios they pyramided on one; besides, after that each one could
borrow the makin's off the other when the cigarettes ran out, and if
there came pea-green moments when they doubted whether they were
real geniuses or not one could always buck up the other.
If they had stuck to the Village I expect we'd never heard anything
about them, but it seems along early last spring F. Hallam had a stroke
of luck. He ran across an old maid art student from Mobile who was up
for the summer and was dyin' to get right into the arty atmosphere. Also
she had $300 that her grip wasn't any too tight on, and before she knew
it F. Hallam had sub-let the loft to her until Sept. 15, payable in
advance. Two days later the Beans, with more'n half of the loot left,
were out on Long Island prospectin' around in our locality and talking
vague about taking a furnished bungalow. They were shown some neat
ones, too, runnin' from eight to fifteen hundred for three months, but
none of 'em seemed to be just right. But when they discovered this
partly tumbled down shack out on a back lane beyond Mr. Robert
Ellinses' big place they went wild over it. Years ago some guy who
thought he was goin' to get rich runnin' a squab farm had put it up, but
he'd quit the game and the property had been bought up by Muller, our
profiteerin' provision dealer. And Muller didn't do a thing but soak 'em
$30 a month rent for the shack, that has all the conveniences of a cow
shed in it.
But the Beans rented some second-hand furniture, bought some oil
lamps and a two-burner kerosene stove, and settled down as happy and
contented as if they'd leased a marble villa at Newport. From then on
you'd be liable to run across 'em most anywhere, squattin' in a field or
along the back roads with their easels and paint brushes, daubin' away
industrious.
You might know it would be either Mrs. Robert or Vee who would pick
'em up and find out the whole story. As a matter of fact it was both, for
they were drivin' out after ferns or something when they saw the Beans
perched on a stone wall tryin' to unbutton a can of sardines with a
palette knife and not having much success. You know the kind of
people who either lose the key to a sardine can or break off the tab and

then gaze at it helpless! That was them to the life.
And when Mrs. Robert finds how they're livin' chiefly on dry groceries
and condensed milk, so's to have more to blow in on dinky little tubes
of Chinese white and Prussian blue and canvas, of course she has to get
busy slippin' 'em little trifles like a dozen fresh eggs, a mess of green
peas and a pint of cream now and them. She follows that up by havin'
'em come over for dinner frequent. Vee has to do her share too, chippin'
in a roast chicken or a cherry pie or a pan of doughnuts, so between the
two the Hallam Beans were doin' fairly well. Hallam, he comes back
generous by wishin' on each of 'em one of his masterpieces. The thing
he gives us Vee hangs up over the livin' room mantelpiece, right while
he's there.
"Isn't that perfectly stunning, Torchy?" she demands.
"I expect it is," says I, squintin' at it professional, "but--but just what is
it supposed lo be?" And I turns inquirin' to F. Hallam.
"Why," says he, "it is a study of afternoon light on a group of willows.
We are not Futurists, you see; Revertists, rather. Our methods--at least
mine--are frankly after the Barbizon school."
"Yeauh!" says I, noddin' wise. "I knew one once who could do swell
designs on mirrors with a piece of soap."
"I beg pardon," says Hallam. "One what?"
"A barber's son," says I. "I got him a job as window decorator, too."
But somehow after that Hallam sort of shies talkin' art with me. A
touchy party, F. Hallam. The least little thing would give him the sulks.
And even when