Don't Pick Me

CHAPTER XXX

These days of stress, mental upheaval, and emotional unrest were having their effect upon Jerry's work, as well as upon his mind. He painted with a veritable fury. Melisande in the wood became the outlet for his surcharged feelings. Jane came upon him, one late afternoon, after Althea had gone, studying his work from every angle.

"Jerry, do you realize how this grows? I find it absorbing to watch."

"Do you, Jane?" gratefully.

"It has been like a miracle, like spring. First the bare outlines; then came the trees, sky, earth; then branches, clouds, the grass; then a sweep of colour, soft as a May wind; then you did something to it that made it a place of mystery."

"Does it have all that for you, Jane?"

"Yes, and more. It has the proof of my belief in your power."

"Why do you hate the portraits so?"

"Because they are not you—they are things to sell. You are clever enough to make people look as they want to look, not as you know they are."

"Heavens, Jane, that would ruin us!"

"There, you've said it. We are prostituting your soul to pay our rent."

"It's just a crutch, Jane. I'll discard it as soon as I can. Don't take it too seriously."

"I can't help it. You see, I take the creative instinct seriously; it is our share of Godhood."

"I know, but all of us have to pot boil."

"Not all of us."

"You chose manual labour instead, didn't you? But we aren't all made of the stuff you are, Jane."

"It isn't that. It is only that if you worship Godhood, even in yourself, you cannot prostitute it."

"But Baby and you and I must live. Doesn't the motive make any difference, to your mind?"

"We don't have to live in this house with those things about us."

"Yes, we do. The very wells of my soul dry up in poverty and ugliness. I'm not a genius, Jane, I'm only just a talent."

"When I am doing my share, you will be freer to grow, Jerry."

He made no answer to that. He began to put away the canvas.

"Won't you leave it out? Martin and Bobs are coming to dinner, you remember. They would enjoy seeing it."

"Better wait until it's finished," he said, but left it in easy reach.

Bobs arrived early to see the baby put to bed. She adored him, even to his mother's entire content. She referred to him as His Majesty, brought him gifts, surrounded him with adoration and incense.

"Great excitement in my shop to-day," she said, when they were down in the studio, waiting for Martin. "I got a commission for a fountain to stand in a public square in Columbus, Ohio."

"Good work, Bobs, we'll crack a bottle on it to-night and celebrate your luck," cried Jerry, wringing her hand.

"I am delighted, dear," said Jane. "Any plans for it?"

"Not yet. I'm in that agonized state of groping for the idea. You know—something inside clutching in the dark, darting here and there, trying to get hold of things that slip away. No torture like it."

"Also no satisfaction like the minute when the idea comes, like the night-blooming cereus, in the dark."

"Yes, that's the fun, and later, examining the leaves, the blossom, the calyx, the stem, saying to yourself, 'Why, of course, how else?'"