But let me
stay in your debt a little longer, old man. I can't put off my
marriage any longer, and just at first I shall want all the money I
can lay my hands on."
At this moment Mrs. Hopper entered with a lamp. There was a pause in
the conversation. Franks lit a cigarette, and tried to sit still,
but was very soon pacing the floor again. A tumbler of whisky and
soda reanimated his flagging talk.
"No!" he exclaimed. "I'm not going to admit that 'Sanctuary' is
cheap and sentimental, and all the rest of it. The more I think
about it, the more convinced I am that it's nothing to be ashamed
of. People have got hold of the idea that if a thing is popular it
must be bad art. That's all rot. I'm going in for popularity. Look
here! Suppose that's what I was meant for? What if it's the best I
have in me to do? Shouldn't I be a jackass if I scorned to make
money by what, for me, was good work, and preferred to starve whilst
I turned out pretentious stuff that was worth nothing from my point
of view?"
"I shouldn't wonder if you're right," said Warburton reflectively.
"In any case, I know as much about art as I do about the
differential calculus. To make money is a good and joyful thing as
long as one. doesn't bleed the poor. So go ahead, my son, and luck
be with you!"
"I can't find my model yet for the Slummer's head. It mustn't be too
like the 'Sanctuary' girl, but at the same time it must be a popular
type of beauty. I've been haunting refreshment bars and florists'
shops; lots of good material, but never _quite_ the thing.
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