"Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly. It was a cheerful, irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent industry into the circle of these experiences. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. “They’re very good this year,” said Ann Veronica, avoiding controversial matter. Oh! Christ! de door's shut! It musht have schwung to during de schuffle!" "Shut!" exclaimed Wild. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. She had underestimated his animal ability to sense weakness. But it's better to have the bride without the weddin' dress, than the weddin' dress without the bride.
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