58 The Light That Failed He turned over a few half-finished sketches, drummed on a new canvas, cleaned three brushes, set Binkie to bite the toes of the lay figure, rattled through his collection of arms and accoutrements, and then went out abruptly, declaring that he had done enough for the day. “This is positively indecent,” said Torpenhow, “and the first time that Dick has ever broken up a light morning. Perhaps he has found out that he has a soul, or an artistic temperament, or something equally valuable. That comes of leaving him alone for a month. Perhaps he has been going out of evenings. I must look to this.” He rang for the bald-headed old housekeeper, whom nothing could astonish or annoy. “Beeton, did Mr. Heldar dine out at all while I was out of town?” “Never laid ’is dress-clothes out once, sir, all the time. Mostly ’e dined in; but ’e brought some most remarkable young gentlemen up ’ere after theaters once or twice. Remarkable fancy they was. You gentlemen on the top floor does very much as you likes, but it do seem to me, sit, droppin’ a walkin’-stick down five flights o’ stairs an’ then goin’ down four abreast to pick it up again at half-past two in the mornin’, singin’ ‘Bring back the whiskey, Willie darlin’, — not once or twice, but scores 0’ times, — isn’t charity to the other tenants. What I say is, ‘Do as you would be done by.’ That’s my motto.” “Of course! of course! I’m afraid the top floor isn’t the quietest in the house.” “I make no complaints, sir. I have spoke to Mr. Heldar friendly, an’ he laughed, an’ did me a picture of the missis that is as good as a colored print. It ’asn’t the high shine of a photograph, but what I say is, ‘Never look a gift-horse in the mouth. Mr. Heldar’s dress-clothes ’aven’t been on him for weeks.”