“you know Lord D?”
“Just as a bookie. Now would you like a horse that will make you rich, Stevie old man?”
I shook my head, “I'd rather not take any money from you, Colonel.”
The Colonel slapped my back. “Have no mercy on me, boy! Show me no mercy at all!”
“Oh liy off, dearie,” said Mrs. Bags, “'e's an artist chap what don't care about ‘orses’ 'oofs or anything else.”
“Oh well,” said the Colonel, kissing his wife (being her husband didn't keep him from obeying the house rules), “I only like to see a chap make a way for himself in this world…even if it costs me dear.”
“'Ow jolly,” said Mrs, Bags, winking at me as she helped the colonel up to his room; it seemed he had to drink Scotch to carry home all the heavy silver shillings he took in as bets; he was the only man I ever knew who could grow strong on drink.
I met Ned in front of the Tate Gallery and we had a few dry Martinis to keep out a wet night and drove to Lord D's place. All the lights were on there and a steady stream of people were coming and going, actors, writers, prize fighters, Hindus, and eaters of pork, and all those bright people who went to places in London in those days.
Lord D himself stood at the head of the stairs greeting everyone even it he didn't know him. He was round as a ball, had a toothbrush mustache, little fat hands, and the brightest blue eyes in the world. He collected beauty (living or painted), owned coal mines, and was floating a huge company to send divers down to locate the German liner sunk in 1914, loaded with gold…
Ned did the honors and then left to help a red-headed girl find the bar. Lord D was very pleased to hear I was a painter and asked me if he should buy Picasso and I said of course and did he still collect Renoir, and he said no, he was a little tired of the impressionists.
“Too much color in London, you know, looks a little garish.”
“What do you like?”
“The calm school. Dutch, Flemish, some of the French…but not too modern.”
“Daumier?”
“Yes, and Corot. Love that man,” he said, sounding like a song title.
“I would like to see your Corots.”
“I have only six,” he said, as if I had caught him eating out of a tin can.
“A great master of light,”
“Oh, of course.”
“You have some of his best, I hear, Lord D.”
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