"Six-one-and-a-’arf." "How much round the chest?" "Forty-two." "Round the arm?" "Twenty." "Got a shovel?" Mr. Prince’s smile gave place to a suspicious frown. "I could _get_ one," he said, at last. "Bring it along to-morrow," commanded the doctor. "We want you to sit. You’ll be well paid. You’re out of work, I suppose?" "I’m out of work all right," responded Mr. Prince. "But—but ... what you want me to do?" demanded Mr. Prince. "Never mind that," he was told. "Just come along. And wear your oldest clothes. And bring the spade." To the surprise of both Baffin and the doctor, Clarence did come along, accompanied by the spade. He was very out of work indeed, it seemed, and had sold his medals to pay for the comfort of having his teeth out, and for subsequent treatment at the "African Chief." He wanted work, and was willing, but this yere sitting game—"what was it?" Baffin took him to the "studio," _née_ wash-house, and there he drank some tea, and was confronted by an easel, and was induced to seat himself upon the extreme corner of a small chair, whilst Baffin pretended to sketch him. This proceeding is technically described as putting your model at his ease. At the end of an hour the soldier was asked to stand up and drink beer out of a jug, a function which he performed with very tolerable grace. He was then allowed to go home. "But come here early to-morrow morning," said Baffin. "Do you think you’ll like the work?" "Work seems all right," responded Mr. Prince. "I’ll come at nine o’clock." He arrived at the time stated, having carefully attired himself in his Sunday "blacks," and a white turn-down collar. He had likewise operated with sand upon the metal parts of his shovel, so that that instrument glittered exceedingly. Also, he had perfumed his hair. And Baffin ordered him to go home again and reinvest himself with the habiliments of toil. The spade we kept and improved upon in a corner of the doctor’s little garden—a corner in which rare bulbs were buried. Clarence returned to us looking natural and dirty, and wearing a resigned expression. Then he sat, or rather stood, in earnest, whilst Baffin "studied" him in pencil and charcoal and crayon, and in every other sort of pigment. And when the artist had tired of this employment, Mr. Prince came down from his platform and studied the pictures with an air of cold reserve. He said that he thought he might as well be going. And he went. The subsequent sittings were in all respects a repetition of the first. But at the end of the week, a strange thing happened. Mr. Clarence Gordon Prince permitted himself to give utterance to a remark. He had been paid his first week’s wages—a sovereign, and, having spat upon this coin and donned his jacket, he tapped Mr. Baffin with his knuckle and performed the feat in question. "One day—me lad," he said, "I’ll show ye _my_ pictures."