"
"I'm afraid your father thinks me a very useless article," Shiel
replied, seating himself in an easy chair, and trying his hardest not
to look too ardently. "And an artist is not much good outside his
profession."
"Who is?" Gladys smiled. "Shall you still go on painting?"
"Now that my uncle has died? It all depends--depends on whether he has
been able to leave me anything in his will. From one or two things
your father has said I fear he has not--in which case I don't quite
know what I shall do. I could hardly expect Mr. Martin to take me into
his firm."
"Aren't you any good at invention?" Gladys asked, "I know he wants
some one who is--some one who can help him devise fresh tricks. This
everlasting racking of the brains to think of something new is
beginning to be too much for him."
"I wish I could be of some use," Shiel said, "both for his sake and
mine, and may I add yours. Anyhow I'll try. I have a certain amount of
imagination--I suppose most artists have, and henceforth I'll devote
it to trickery."
"No, not to trickery!" Gladys said, "to conjuring!"
"Well, to conjuring then--to planning something novel and startling in
the way of a trick. And as they say, two heads are better than one,
perhaps, you will help me."
"I," Gladys laughed, "why I've never invented anything in my life,
barring a song."
"Nevertheless I'm sure you would be of great help to me," Shiel said;
"you would at least criticize my efforts, wouldn't you?"
"Oh! I should certainly do that," Gladys laughingly rejoined, "and
probably do more harm than good.
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160