carronades; he had travelled Europe in a chaise and four,
drawing
bridle at the palace-doors of German princes; queens
of song and dance had followed him like sheep and paid his
tailor's bills. And to behold him now, seeking small loans
with
plaintive condescension, sponging for breakfast on an
art-student of nineteen, a fallen Don Juan who had neglected
to die at the propitious hour, had a colour of
romance for
young imaginations. His name and his bright past, seen
through the prism of whispered
gossip, had gained him the
nickname of THE ADMIRAL.
Dick found him one day at the
receipt of custom, rapidly
painting a pair of hens and a cock in a little water-colour
sketching box, and now and then glancing at the ceiling like
a man who should seek
inspiration from the muse. Dick
thought it
remarkable that a
painter should choose to work
over an absinthe in a public cafe, and looked the man over.
The aged rakishness of his appearance was set off by a
youthful
costume; he had disreputable grey hair and a
disreputable sore, red nose; but the coat and the
gesture,
the outworks of the man, were still designed for show. Dick
came up to his table and inquired if he might look at what
the gentleman was doing. No one was so
delighted as the
Admiral.
'A bit of a thing,' said he. 'I just dash them off like
that. I - I dash them off,' he added with a
gesture.
'Quite so,' said Dick, who was appalled by the feebleness of
the production.
'Understand me,' continued Van Tromp; 'I am a man of the
world. And yet - once an artist always an artist. All of a
sudden a thought takes me in the street; I become its prey:
it's like a pretty woman; no use to struggle; I must - dash
it off.'
'I see,' said Dick.
'Yes,' pursued the
painter; 'it all comes easily, easily to
me; it is not my business; it's a pleasure. Life is my
business - life - this great city, Paris - Paris after dark -
its lights, its gardens, its odd corners. Aha!' he cried,
'to be young again! The heart is young, but the heels are
leaden. A poor, mean business, to grow old! Nothing remains
but the COUP D'OEIL, the contemplative man's
enjoyment, Mr. -
,' and he paused for the name.
'Naseby,' returned Dick.
The other treated him at once to an exciting
beverage, and
expatiated on the pleasure of meeting a compatriot in a
foreign land; to hear him, you would have thought they had
encountered in Central Africa. Dick had never found any one
take a fancy to him so
readily, nor show it in an easier or
less
offensive manner. He seemed tickled with him as an
elderly fellow about town might be tickled by a pleasant and
witty lad; he indicated that he was no
precision, but in his
wildest times had never been such a blade as he thought Dick.
Dick protested, but in vain. This manner of carrying an
intimacy at the bayonet's point was Van Tromp's stock-in-
trade. With an older man he insinuated himself; with youth
he imposed himself, and in the same
breath imposed an ideal
on his
victim, who saw that he must work up to it or lose the
esteem of this old and
viciouspatron. And what young man
can bear to lose a
character for vice?
At last, as it grew towards dinner-time, 'Do you know Paris?'
asked Van Tromp.
'Not so well as you, I am convinced,' said Dick.
'And so am I,' returned Van Tromp gaily. 'Paris! My young
friend - you will allow me? - when you know Paris as I do,
you will have seen Strange Things. I say no more; all I say
is, Strange Things. We are men of the world, you and I, and
in Paris, in the heart of civilised
existence. This is an
opportunity, Mr. Naseby. Let us dine. Let me show you where
to dine.'
Dick consented. On the way to dinner the Admiral showed him