Black Hearts in Battersea Read Online Free PDF Page B

the kitten fairly leaped out of the paper. "I could never do that," he said with grudging admiration.
    "Yes you could—try!"
    Advising, coaxing, half guiding Justin's hand, Simon made him produce a rough, free drawing which was certainly a great deal better than his previous work.
    "You ought to feel the kitten all over," Simon suggested. "Feel the way its bones go. It looks fluffy but it's not like a wig—it has a hard shape under the fur."
    "I shall never be able to draw," Justin said pettishly. "Why should I? It's not my nature. Besides, it's not the occupation of a gentleman."
    Simon opened his eyes wide.
    "But drawing is one of the best things in the world! I can't think how you can live in London and not want to draw! Everything is so beautiful and so interesting I could
be drawing forever. And it is so useful; it helps you to remember what you have seen."

    He glanced toward his own picture on the wall and Justin's eyes followed listlessly. Not much was visible from where they stood, but a face could be seen, and Justin said at once, "Why, that's Dido Twite."
    "Do you know her?" Simon was a little surprised that a future duke should be acquainted with such a guttersnipe.
    "Buckle, my tutor, used to lodge with her family and we called there once," Justin said indifferently. "I thought her a vilely impertinent brat."
    "I lodge there now," Simon explained.
    "Will you help me some more?" Justin said. "I expect old Fur-nose may come back soon."
    The kitten had settled again, and Simon helped Justin with more sketches.
    "Don't rely on how you think it ought to look," he repeated patiently, over and over. "Ask your eyes and make them tell your hand—look, his legs bend this way, not the way you have them—" and, as Justin rubbed out his line and obediently redrew it, he asked, "Why did your tutor leave the Twite house? Where is he living now?"
    "With me, at Battersea Castle," Justin said, bored. "My uncle (he's my guardian; my parents are dead) he arranged it. I'd been doing lessons with Buckle in the mornings, but now he lives in and works as my uncle's steward too, and I have him on top of me all day long, prosing and preaching about my duty as a future duke, and I hate it, hate it, hate it!"
    He jabbed his charcoal angrily at the paper and it snapped. Simon was disappointed. He had hoped the reason why Buckle left the Twite household might give him some clue as to Dr. Field's departure. He was about to put a further question when they heard voices outside. With a hasty gesture Justin waved him back to his corner behind the big jar and laid a finger on his lips. The door opened and Dr. Furrneaux burst in briskly whiskers waving.

    "
Eh bien,
well, let us see how you have been getting on!" he demanded, bustling around the desk to look at Justin's drawings.
    "
Pas mal!
" he declared. "
Pas mal du tout!
You see-when you work wiss your head and do not merely s-scamp through ze drawing, all comes different! Ziss here, and ziss"—he poked at the sketches—"is a r-r-real artist's line. Here, not so good." Justin met his eyes nervously. "I am please wiss you, my boy, very please. Now I wish you to do some painting."
    Justin turned pale at the idea, but Mr. Buckle, who had followed Dr. Furrneaux into the room, interposed hastily, "I am afraid that won't be possible today, Dr. Furrneaux. His Grace the Duke is expecting Lord Bakerloo to meet him at three on His Grace's barge to view the Chelsea Regatta."
    "Barges—regattas," Dr. Furrneaux grumbled, "a true painter does not sink of anysing but
painting! Eh bien,
be off, zen, if you muss, but bring me more drawings—more, more!—and better zan zese, next time you come."
    Justin and Mr. Buckle nipped quickly out of the room almost before Dr. Furrneaux had finished speaking. The little principal sat down at his desk, sighing heavily like a grampus.

    Then the kitten, who had been investigating a dangling string of onions, managed to dislodge the whole lot and bring them crashing