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"
Well." Judicious pause. "I should hardly call myself a Nartist, you
know. I DO paint a little. And sketch, you know--skitty kind of things."
He plucked and began to nibble a blade of grass. It was really not
so much lying as his quick imagination that prompted him to add, "In
Papers, you know, and all that."
"
I see," said Jessie, looking at him thoughtfully. Artists were a very
heterogeneous class certainly, and geniuses had a trick of being a
little odd. He avoided her eye and bit his grass. "I don't do MUCH, you
know."
"It's not your profession?
"Oh, no," said Hoopdriver, anxious now to hedge. "I don't make a regular
thing of it, you know. Jest now and then something comes into my head
and down it goes. No--I'm not a regular artist."
"Then you don't practise any regular profession?" Mr. Hoopdriver looked
into her eyes and saw their quiet unsuspicious regard. He had vague
ideas of resuming the detective role. "It's like this," he said, to
gain time. "I have a sort of profession. Only there's a kind of
reason--nothing much, you know."
"
I beg your pardon for cross-examining you."
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