THE MONEY SENSE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18992, 11 February 1930, Page 16

THE MONEY SENSE.

~ STAR’S " NEW SERIAL STORY.

CHAPTER XVIII. | Saturday came, and the Princess arrived punctually at the time appointed. After the shortest of greetings, she went upstairs, and changed into the costume in which she was being painted. She walked straight to the “throne,” and assumed the pose, without the need of any direction from j Tony. In vain, he tried to overcome his nervousness, as he stood before the easel, and tried to become engrossed in his subject, but he found it quite impossible to acquire the necessary concentration. However, he dabbed away with his brush, and persisted, for. some time, with the certain knowledge that it would all have to be painted out and done again. Then he chanced to meet her eyes, and saw that she wa? mocking him. So he threw down his brush, and strode over to her. “You're enjoying yourself immensely —and at my expense, 1 ’ he began gruffly- “ And why shouldn't I? Tit-for-tat. you know.” “I’ve had no enjoyment, at vour expense. Rather the other thing. Princess, I can't work on this portrait. Don't you think, it would be better, for everyone concerned, to chuck it.” ■“No, I don’t,” she answered sharply. “You’ve made a contract, and must carry it out. A short time ago you were full of enthusiasm. Have yon transferred that enthusiasm to the dancing woman. I warn you that she has a husband, who will stand no nonsense.” she cried harshly. “Princess, you amaze me. I could never have imagined that you could entertain so vulgar a thought,” he said very quietly. “You dare accuse me of vulgarity?” she cried furiously, but quickly recovered command of her temper. “Oh! Tony, we’re not going to quarrel my dear. I really value our friendship. I assure you that my feelings are purely platonic. As a matter of fact, I feel guilty about the other night. It was all my fault. I gave you too much to drink. Absinthe, vodka, and champagne. It was a mixture that -would have affected the most seasoned head. I had forgotten that you were little more than a boy, and unaccustomed to such strong drink. Tony, you were very drunk, and that’s why I forgive you, so readily, for stealing my car the way y'ou did. I’m only too willing to forget all about it. What do you say?” she asked smilingly and held out her hand. Tony had listened in blank amazement, but with something of relief. Of course, he knew that he had not been intoxicated, in the least degree, but insobriety would provide a means of escaping from a very serious embarrassment. So he took her hand and pressed it. “That’s all right. I must evidently keep a close eye on what I drink,” he said cheerfully. “I m sorry y'ou’re painting the Loposki, woman, before you’ve done with me, she said with a touch of petulance. I wasn t at all sure, if or when you would be able to sit again. You see, Princess, you're a trifle erratic, and I ve got to make money,” he explained. Wouldn’t it be possible to postpone hers, until mine is finished?” she persisted.

“Not possible. I shall be able to give you all the time that you can spare. Will you please pose again. I think I shall be able to get on with the job,” he announced, with satisfaction.

And it proved to be so, and he painted steadily for a couple of hours, until it was time to break off for lunch. The Princess had very little to say, but her manner was gracious, and thoroughly friendly, so that, by the end of the afternoon, he had quite forgotten any unpleasantness, there may have been, and become his cheerful, natural self. The Princess was careful to indulge in none of the little intimacies of their former relations. Indeed, she had indulged in a good deal of careful thought, before resuming her campaign for the subjection of Tony. The opposition she had met with ha”d only increased her determination to win him. Now it had become a verv real object in her life, for the necessitv of overcoming serious obstacles had added zest to a purpose that had started as an idle amusement.

? °> a week or two of hard work lor tony passed. Both the pictures developed to his entire satisfaction, and he lived only for his painting. Ann watched him, with anxious loving eyes, for she saw that he was undergoing a great strain, and she kept every possible worry from him. So great wa* his concentration on his work, that he paid no attention to the little things of life, that did not concern it. Letters were often left unopened, and unanswered, although Ann tried to deal with them as far as possible.

One morning, he was deep in the Princess’s portrait, when he was compelled to answer a persistent knocking at the door. It was the same man who had served him with the default summons, and this time he handed Tony a paper, accompanied by two half crowns. “This is a judgment summons, sir, and I advise you to pay attention to it,” the man warned him. Tony, still engrossed in his painting, thrust the paper into the breast pocket of his coat. “What about the dollar, sir?” the man asked with a grin. “Go and stand yourself a lunch, at the Ritz,” Tony answered lightly and hastened back to his easel. The Princess had overheard something of the conversation, and although she was curious, she abstained from asking any questions, and the incident passed from Tony's mind. A couple of weeks later he was compelled to attend to mundane matters, for he received a letter from the manager of the bank to say that his balance there only amounted to few shillings. However, he had a number of notes in his pocket, and the portrait of the Princess was very nearly finished, and he would be able to draw a couple of hundred pounds from Sir Claude. Ann had seen the letter, and was amazed by it. “Surely there must be a mistake. We can't have spent so much money,” she cried. “Banks never make mistakes, darling. There’s nothing to worry about. There will be a couple of cheques along, in a week or two. Four hundred pounds will put us on our feet. Come and look at this. I’m not quite sure that I’ve got the ankle quite right,” he said, and drew her across to the easel to examine the Loposki painting. That night, Preston called, and Tony was dozing in an arm chair, exhausted, both physically and mentally. “Don't wake him up. He’s not sleeping very well just now. I'm afraid the old darling is over doing it. He is a demon for work, when he’s in the mood,” Ann whispered. “Easter is nearly here. You ought to take him away for a rest—to a bracing air,” said Clyde. “Nothing will move him, until he has finished the two pictures. He lives for nothing else.” "But you,” Clyde said with a smile. “You’re right. No woman could be happier than I am. He’s such a dear, and he’s still a lover, thank heaven. I would’nt have him changed in any way. But I shall be glad when he’s got these pictures off his mind, and I can have him to myself. There’s so much I want to say to him—one thing particularly. But I have learnt that art is a relentless master, and requires constant and devoted service. I keep all troublesome things away from him. The mind must be quite free from outside influences. It is so easy to drive away the inspiration, that is necessary to his work. I used to think that that sort of thing was a pose, but in Tony’s case it’s very real. By the bye, there’s no money at the bank,” she wound up abruptly. Clyde whistled expressively, but offered no comment. “I suppose it’s all right,” she said doubtfully. “Doubtless. Banks keep quite accurate accounts. You mast let me know, if Tony really needs money. I happen to be overflowing with it,” Clyde said, with a smile. “There’s won't be any necessity to borow. There’s plenty to come. I do believe Tony has become more careful. I haven’t noticed any extravagance, for quite a time,” she said laughingly. “Not much opportunity, when he’s working.”

“Hello! What’s that?” Tony asked sleepily, and then recognised his friend. “Glad to see you, old chap. Help yourself to a whisky and soda, and give me one. Ye gods, I am tired,” he said with a yawn.

His face was pale and drawn, and there was an air of lassitude, that was very unusual, so far as he was concerned. Clyde watched him with some anxiety, and noticed that his hand trembled, as he applied a match to a cigarette.

“Ann’s got to take you away, for a change and rest. You’ll be having a breakdown, if 3'ou don’t take care,” Preston said warningly. “Rot. I’m tas fit as a fiddle. Only a bit tired. Have 3'ou seen the two last? They're nearly finished, and will bear inspection.” Tony turned on the electric lights at the end of the studio, and led his friend across to the easel, upon which there was the Loposki canvas. It was, indeed, a wonderful and powerful painting, that told Clyde that Tony had found himself. The dancer seemed to live, and the suggestion of motion was most convincing. (To be continued.)