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,19 "but—but just what is it supposed lo be?" And I turns inquirin' to F. Hallam. 19 "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 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 wears20 paint-smeared smocks. Only she's a shy actin', quiet little thing, and real modest. There's no doubt whatever but
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