A thick mustache
covered his lip, but the rest of his face was cleanly shaven, and
was strong and decided in its outlines rather than handsome.
"They say a woman's work is never done," remarked Ik Stanton, dropping
into the easiest chair in the studio, "and for this reason, were
there no other, your muse is evidently of the feminine persuasion.
I also admit that she is a lady of great antiquity. Indeed I would
place her nearer to the time when 'Adam delved and Eve span' than
to the classic age."
"My dear Ik," responded the artist, "I am often at a loss to know
whether I love or despise you most. If a little of the whirr of
our great grandam's spinning wheel would only get into your brain
the world might hear from you. You are a man of unbounded stomach
and unbounded heart, and so you have won all there is of me except
my head, and that disapproves of you."
"A fig for the world! what good will it do me or it to have it hear
from me? you ambitious fellows are already making such a din that
the poor old world is half ready for Bedlam; and would go stark mad
were it not for us quiet, easy-going people, who have time for a
good dinner and a snack between meals.
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