Torchy as a Pa | Page 7

he was feelin' chipper his face was long enough. As a
floorwalker in a mournin' goods shop he'd be a perfect fit. But you
couldn't suggest anything that sounded like real work to Hallam. He
claims that he was livin' for his art. Maybe so, but I'll be hanged if he
was livin' on it. I got to admit, though, that he dressed the part fairly
well; for in that gray flannel shirt and the old velvet coat and the flowin'

black tie, and with all that stringy, mud-colored hair fallin' around his
ears, he couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Even a movie audience
would have spotted him as an artist without a leader to that effect.
Mrs. Hallam Bean was a good runnin' mate for him, for she has her hair
boxed and wears paint-smeared smocks. Only she's a shy actin', quiet
little thing, and real modest. There's no doubt whatever but that she has
decided that F. Hallam is going to be a great painter some day. When
she ain't sayin' as much she's lookin' it; and Hallam, I suspect, is always
ready to make the vote unanimous.
I judged from a few remarks of Mr. Robert's that he wasn't quite as
strong for the Hallams as Mrs. Robert was, but seein' 'em around so
much he couldn't help gettin' more or less interested in the business end
of their career.
"Yes," says he, "they seem to be doing fairly well this summer; but
how about next winter, when they go back to town? You know they
can't possibly sell any of those things. How are they going to keep from
starving?"
Mrs. Robert didn't know. She said she'd mention the matter to F.
Hallam. And she found he wasn't worrying a bit. His plans were vague
enough. He was doing a head of Myrtle--that being Mrs. Bean--which
he thought he might let some magazine have as a cover picture. And
then, other things were bound to turn up. They always had, you know.
But toward the end of the season the Beans got shabbier than ever.
Myrtle's smocks were torn and stained, with a few cigarette burns here
and there, and her one pair of walking boots were run over at the heel
and leaky in the sole. As for Hallam, that velvet coat had so many
grease spots on it that it was hardly fit to wear outside of a stable, and
his rubber-soled shoes gave his toes plenty of air. The Beans admitted
that their finances were down to the zero point and they had to be asked
in for dinner at least three times a week to keep 'em from bein' blue in
the gills.
"Hang it all!" says Mr. Robert, "the fellow ought to have a regular job

of some kind. I suppose he can draw after a fashion. I'll see what I can
do."
And by rustlin' around among his friends he finds one who runs a big
advertisin' agency and can place another man in the art department.
You'd 'most thought F. Hallam would have been tickled four ways at
the prospect of draggin' down a pay envelope reg'lar and being able to
look the rent agent in the face. But say, what does he do but scrape his
foot and wriggle around like he'd been asked to swallow a non-skid
headache tablet. At last he gets out this bleat about how he'd always
held his art to be too sacred a thing for him to commercialize and he
really didn't know whether he could bring himself to drawin' ad.
pictures or not. He'd have to have time to think it over.
"Very well," says Mr. Robert, restrainin' himself from blowin' a fuse as
well as he could. "Let me know tomorrow night. If you decide to take
the place, come over about 6:30; if you find that your views as to the
sacredness of your art are too strong, you needn't bother to arrive until
8:30--after dinner."
I expect it was some struggle, but Art must have gone down for the full
count. Anyway the Beans were on hand when the tomato bisque was
served next evenin', and in less'n a week F. Hallam was turnin' out a
perfectly good freehand study of a lovely lady standin' graceful beside
a Never-smoke oil stove--no-wicks, automatic feed, send for our
catalogue--and other lively compositions along that line. More'n that,
he made good and the boss promised him that maybe in a month or so
he'd turn him loose with his oil paints on something big, a full page in
color, maybe, for a leadin' breakfast food concern. Then the Beans
moved back to town and we heard hardly anything more about 'em.
I understand, though, that they sort of lost caste with their