Brian made a half-movement toward him, and then looked at the unconscious Charlotte Carlaw, made a comical grimace, and shook his head. As Comethup went on up the stairs, still looking back at the other in perplexity, Brian stepped forward softly and motioned to him to come down again and join him there. Comethup nodded, and continued his way upstairs. He conducted his aunt to her room, and then hurried down again to Brian. That young man received him rapturously, and airily plunged into an explanation.
"Dear old boy, you know you wrote to me, like the good fellow you are, and told me where you were staying. I don't mind confessing that at first I was wild with envy. Thought I, 'Paris is the place for inspiration, for beauty, the very home of a poet.' And then I thought: 'No, my boy; you've got your work to do, and, gray skies or blue, sunshine or rain, you must do it.' And I do assure you, old fellow, that I went at it hammer and tongs; I did indeed. Can't we go into the smoking room or somewhere and have a chat?"
Comethup led the way into a corner of the room and they sat down. He began to be a little frightened at the business--a little afraid of this harlequin cousin, who was forever springing upon him, and whose presence he must keep secret.
"But then, while I worked," pursued Brian, "and I give you my word I _did_ work, away went the money. You've no idea what it is in London; you've had some one to provide everything for you--I had to provide for myself. And then I found that the days of genius out-at-elbows are gone past; genius must be well dressed now, and make something of a figure, or he'll be mistaken for a beggar. It would take too long to explain, but the thing has to be done; it's absolutely necessary. And so"--with a smile and a shrug of his shoulder--"the money went."
"All of it?" asked Comethup, in a low voice.
"Most of it. I know it seems a lot, but there it is--or rather there it isn't. Dear old boy"--he leaned affectionately nearer to Comethup--"I suppose we poor devils who live by our wits don't take life quite in the same way as a more sober citizen might do. I can't account for it, but if you look back, as I have done, over the histories of any men who've made anything of a stir in the world, you'll find they were improvident, thriftless rascals, who never ought to have been trusted with a penny. They ought to have been given two suits of clothes a year, without any pockets, and fed by the state. It's a horrible condition of things, that a man who's doing work that he hopes will live should have to fight and beg for bread and butter. There, it's no use moralizing; that's what I told myself two days ago in London, when I'd come down to the last five-pound note. 'I'll go to Comethup,' said I; 'Comethup is a dear good chap, with plenty of money and nothing to do with it; Comethup knows what I'm going to do, and how I'm working, and all my hopes and plans; Comethup won't see me fall to the ground.' So here I am."