Slaves Of Freedom

ing his breakfast propped up in bed,

had a lucky tumble. Can’t say th

mpede conversation. “It’s the brown stuff,” Teddy

isection, eh

om neglect rather than from wear; their shabbiness was made up for by an extravagant waistcoat, sprigged with lilac. Double-breasted and cut low in a V shape, it exposed a soft silk shirt and a large red tie with loosely flowing ends. His head was magnificent—the head of a rebel enthusiast, too impatient to become a leader of men. It was broad in the forehead and heavy with a mane of coal-black ringlets. His mouth was handsome—a rare thing in a man. His nose was roughly m

ffectation and bred distrust in the minds of the escutcheoned tradesmen who are England’s art patrons. When they came to confer a favor, they liked to find a gentlemanly shopkeeper—not

father, no one as clever, no one as splendid to look at in the whole wide world. When he walked down the street, holding his father’s hand, he liked to fancy that people stared after him for his daring, just as they would have stared had he walked with his hand in the mane of a sh

partner—any ideas that

ly with a fire burning and an old, old woman sitting over there.” He pointed to the window and the gilded harp. “I’d let her be playing,

d?” his fath

ite bird and a woman so o

, old chap? Dreams, or hopes, o

He ceased to be elderly, took off his imaginary spectacles and looked up like a

ther n

ood

o see you. You and he must have struck up a great friendship. The faer

uzzled. “Mr

secret. He followed me up the stairs an

ame large and round. “Why, he’s the mur—

ou in when you fainted. Wh

ake an awkward neighbor. There was another reason why he looked blank: were he to tell his father of Mr. Sheerug’s special hobby, he would certainly b

dy. He had forgotten his inquiry as to

as coming. To be call

difficult to earn a living, I don’t kn

asn’t h

y you and me and,

ling to discover a meaning—“but c

but not now.” Rising, he walked over to the window and stood there, looking out. “Perhaps it’s just as well, wit

r arms round the big man’s neck, calling him “Her Boy,” and would have made everything happy in a second. In her absence Teddy borrow

itself into exhaustion against invisible panes that shut it out from the heavens. Every time it ceased to struggle the dream music r

et grandly roofed with eternity. Along the walls cats crept like lean fears; trees, stripped of leaves, wove spiders’ webs with their branches. So his w

lite excuse, Ted! Yes, that’s what we all say

. Gurney. It may be the truth. I

ng-gown; her gray hair was disordered and sprayed about her neck; her tired blue eyes, peering above the silver-rimmed spectacles, took in

tell him; I let him go his own way in case it may develop. Genius must not be thwarted—so we all live our lives separately in this house and—and, as I dare say you know, run into debt. There’s a kind of righteousness about that—running into debt; the present

smiling—-” Mr.

one room! Oh, yes, if Teddy’s not told you yet, he will soon: he’s qu

h the counterpane and watched them work

id I te

onsidered it injudicious to discuss little boys in their pre

, I want your frank opinion. If

rishness and oddity. You’re familiar with the impelling crudity of Blake’s sketches? Well, it’s something like that What I mean is this: your colors are all impossibl

ised or blamed, shook her head with dignity. “Yo

e isn’t tempted in your picture; he’s simply scared. I don’t know whether you intended it or whe