Chapter IX The Train Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger
THE FIRST SITTING
Two days later the young artist sent word to Grace that he was ready to give her a first sitting.
She was not long in finding her way to the studio.
"You have not delayed Miss Framley on my account?" she said.
"No, but Miss Framley has gone to Milwaukee for a week, leaving me at leisure."
When Grace, following directions, had seated herself in the required attitude, Vernon engaged her in conversation about books and authors, and each discovered that the other had a mind rarely cultivated.
Miss Dearborn's face lighted up, and became animated. She forgot that she was sitting for her portrait, and for that very reason, perhaps, afforded a better study for the young artist. He could not help, from time to time, directing glances of scarcely disguised admiration at the fair sitter. But of this she was unconscious.
When the sitting closed, she was surprised to learn that she had been in the studio two hours.
"I hope you have not found it very tedious," said Vernon, apologetically.
"On the contrary," answered Grace, smiling. "The time has passed quickly."
"I am glad of that. Then you won't mind giving another sitting soon?"
"To-morrow, if you like."
"I should like it exceedingly, if it will not interfere with your engagements."
"Oh, my engagements are those of an idle young lady, and can easily be put off. May I see what progress you have made?"
"I would rather you would not look just yet. I have only made a beginning."
"I will be patient, then. Indeed, I can't say I am over anxious. My own face is quite familiar enough to me."
"If I can make it look natural, I shall be quite contented."
"I have confidence in your talent. Besides, I have heard one of your portraits highly praised."
"Indeed! May I ask where?"
"I cannot tell you. It is a friend of Miss Framley."
"Miss Cutler?"
"Very likely. I don't know either of the young ladies, but I overheard them in a street-car commending highly the portrait you had painted of Miss Cutler. They seemed equally pleased," she added with a smile, "with the low price which you asked for your work."
"Which she compelled me to accept, rather," said Vernon, with a curl of the lip. "I should starve if all my patrons were as bent upon a good bargain."
"Mr. Vernon," said Grace, earnestly, "I don't think you will have to paint another portrait at such a ridiculously low price."
"Not if all were as generously disposed as you," returned Vernon, gratefully.
"There may be others disposed to pay you a fair price. Indeed, I have persuaded my aunt to sit to you when my portrait is finished."
"How can I thank you for your kindness, Miss Dearborn?"
"No thanks are required where an equivalent service is rendered."
Frederic Vernon was elated by this second order, for he judged that the compensation would be equally liberal.
This was the case, for it was Grace who paid for her aunt's portrait. Mrs. Sheldon at first objected to sitting till her niece assured her that she wished the portrait for her own room, and wished the privilege of paying for it.
"But, my dear, it will be so tedious sitting in the young man's studio for an hour or two at a time."
"Oh, my dear aunt, I won't force you to do it alone. I will accompany you."
"If you will, Grace, I shall not mind it so much. I am afraid you will find it stupid."
"Oh, no; I think not. I can carry a magazine or novel, you know."
"To be sure."
Grace did carry some reading matter, but made little progress in it.
She and Vernon always found something to talk about, and sometimes her aunt joined in, when the subject was not above her comprehension.
She, too, approved the artist.
"Really, my dear," she said, "the young man seems very intelligent, and, indeed, distingue, if his clothes were better."
"Artists cannot dress handsomely at their work, Aunt Caroline."
"No, I suppose not. Still, I fancy Mr. Vernon is poor. He has a very plain studio."
"He hopes to get into a better one soon, he tells me."
"He looks as if he had seen better days," said Mrs. Sheldon, reflectively. "I've a great mind to ask him."
"Oh, pray don't, Aunt Caroline!" said Grace, in alarm.
"Why not?"
"He may be sensitive on the subject. It may arouse painful thoughts."
"Possibly; then I won't speak of it."
"I wouldn't, if I were you."
When Grace's portrait was sent home, she took pains to show it to her friends in the hope that she might procure additional work for the young artist. She was successful, and before Mrs. Sheldon's was completed, Mr. Vernon had received three orders from friends of the heiress, one a gentleman, who felt safe in patronizing one whom Miss Dearborn spoke well of.
With considerable diffidence, on the recommendation of Grace, Vernon ventured to charge the same sum—two hundred dollars—and was surprised to find that his new patrons more readily agreed to pay this sum than the very modest price he had formerly asked. They took it for granted that a man who demanded such prices must be an artist of high rank, and agreed to his terms without a word.
The fact that he had felt justified in taking a more commodious and spacious studio, and had purchased a new suit, helped him, for most people judge by appearances.
Before he left the old studio, however, he had a call from a friend of Miss Framley and Miss Cutler, who ignorant of the favorable turn in his affairs, expected to obtain his work on equally favorable terms.
Frederic Vernon was alone when the young lady—Miss Henrietta Simmons—came sailing in, rustling in silk, and modeled after the latest fashion plate.
"Mr. Vernon, I suppose?" she said, condescendingly.
"The same, miss."
"Two of my friends, Miss Cutler and Miss Framley, have sat to you for their portraits."
The artist bowed.
"Really, you succeeded very well in both," said the young lady, patronizingly.
"Thank you for saying so."
"I have about made up my mind to employ you."
"I shall be glad to accept your commission."
"I suppose the terms will be the same," said the young lady, carelessly.
"I am afraid not."
"Miss Framley told me you wouldn't charge me any more than she paid."
"Miss Framley is in error."
"I might be willing to pay you twenty-five dollars," said the young lady, disappointed, "though I felt sure you would charge me no more than my friends."
"I am charging two hundred dollars now for portraits," said the young artist, gravely.
"Two hundred dollars!" ejaculated the visitor. "Surely, no one would pay you that."
"I have three orders on hand, each of which will pay me that sum."
"I can't understand it," said Miss Simmons, bewildered.
"I believe the quality of my work is getting known and appreciated," said Vernon, smiling at the young lady's amazement. "Your friends were fortunate enough to employ me when I was wholly unknown."
Some months after—to anticipate a little—when Vernon had become a fashionable portrait painter, Miss Simmons actually sat to him, and paid his price.
It is the way of the world. We are willing to pay any sum at the bidding of Fashion, with little regard to what we pay for.
But while Vernon's worldly success had improved, there was another consequence of his acquaintance with Grace which disquieted him. In spite of all the arguments which reason could offer, he felt that he was drifting—had already drifted—into love for the beautiful girl to whose kindness of heart he owed his new prosperity.