In Aunt Hannah's black silk lap Spunk stretched luxuriously, and blinked sleepy eyes; then with a long purr of content he curled himself for another nap--still Spunk.
It was some time after luncheon that day that Bertram heard a knock at his studio door. Bertram was busy. His particular pet "Face of a Girl" was to be submitted soon to the judges of a forthcoming Art Exhibition, and it was not yet finished. He was trying to make up now for the many hours lost during the last few days; and even Bertram, at times, did not like interruptions. His model had gone, but he was still working rapidly when the knock came. His tone was not quite cordial when he answered.
"Well?"
"It's I--Spunk and I. May we come in?" called a confident voice.
Bertram said a sharp word behind his teeth--but he opened the door.
"Of course! I was--painting," he announced.
"How lovely! And I'll watch you. Oh, my--what a pretty room!""I'm glad you like it."
"Indeed I do; I like it ever so much. I shall stay here lots, Iknow."
"Oh, you--will!" For once even Bertram's ready tongue failed to find fitting response.
"Yes. Now paint. I want to see you. Aunt Hannah has gone out anyway, and I'm lonesome. I think I'll stay.""But I can't--that is, I'm not used to spectators.""Of course you aren't, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isn't going to be that way, any more, you know, now that I've come. Isha'n't let you be lonesome."
"I could swear to that," declared the man, with sudden fervor; and for Billy's peace of mind it was just as well, perhaps, that she did not know the exact source of that fervency.
"Now paint," commanded Billy again.
Because he did not know what else to do, Bertram picked up a brush;but he did not paint. The first stroke of his brush against the canvas was to Spunk a challenge; and Spunk never refused a challenge. With a bound he was on Bertram's knee, gleeful paw outstretched, batting at the end of the brush.
"Tut, tut--no, no--naughty Spunk! Say, but wasn't that cute?"chuckled Billy. "Do it again!"
The artist gave an exasperated sigh.
"My dear girl," he protested, "cruel as it may seem to you, this picture is not a kindergarten game for the edification of small cats. I must politely ask Spunk to desist.""But he won't!" laughed Billy. "Never mind; we will take it some day when he's asleep. Let's not paint any more, anyhow. I've come to see your rooms." And she sprang blithely to her feet. "Dear, dear, what a lot of faces!--and all girls, too! How funny! Why don't you paint other things? Still, they are rather nice.""Thank you," accepted Bertram; dryly.
Bertram did not paint any more that afternoon. Billy found much to interest her, and she asked numberless questions. She was greatly excited when she understood the full significance of the omnipresent "Face of a Girl"; and she graciously offered to pose herself for the artist. She spent, indeed, quite half an hour turning her head from side to side, and demanding "Now how's that?--and that?" Tiring at last of this, she suggested Spunk as a substitute, remarking that, after all, cats--pretty cats like Spunk--were even nicer to paint than girls.
She rescued Spunk then from the paint-box where he had been holding high carnival with Bertram's tubes of paint, and demanded if Bertram ever saw a more delightful, more entrancing, more altogether-to-be-desired model. She was so artless, so merry, so frankly charmed with it all that Bertram could not find it in his heart to be angry, notwithstanding his annoyance. But when at four o'clock, she took herself and her cat cheerily up-stairs, he lifted his hands in despair.
"Great Scott!" he groaned. "If this is a sample of what's coming--I'm GOING, that's all!"
