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“Mibby next week, Mr. Watt. It looks nearly finished.”

“Quite. It looked nearly finished three weeks ago. It looked finished a fortnight before that. Each time you suddenly painted most of it out and began what seemed a different picture.”

“I got ideas for improvement.”

“Quite so. If you get any more ideas, ignore them. I want that picture finished next week.”

Thaw stared uneasily at his feet and said in a low voice, “I’ll try to finish it next week, sir, but if I get a good idea I can’t promise to reject it.”−He was filled with sudden gaiety and tried hard not to grin.— “If I did that, God might not give me others.”

After a pause Mr. Watt said, “Show me your folder of work.” Thaw brought over a folder of drawings and the teacher looked slowly through them.

“Why all the ugly distortions?”

“I may have over-emphasized some shapes to make them clearer, but surely you don’t think all my work distorted, sir?”

Mr. Watt looked through the folder again, frowning slightly, and set aside a sheet of hands drawn in pencil. He said, “I like these. They’re well observed and carefully described.”

Thaw hunted through the folder and brought out a foreshortened drawing of a woman seen from the feet. He said, “Don’t you think she is beautiful?”

“No. I honestly think you’ve made her ugly and tortured-looking.”

Thaw shuffled the drawings back into the folder and said embar-rassedly, “I’m sorry. I can’t agree.”

“We’re going to discuss this later,” said the teacher in a muffled voice, and left the room. McAlpin, who was working nearby, looked up and said, “I enjoyed that. I kept wondering which of you would burst into tears first.”

“It was nearly me.”

“It’s a good thing the registrar likes your work.”

“Why?”

“It would take too long to explain.”

They worked in silence, then Thaw asked in a pleading voice, “Kenneth, am I impudent?”

“Oh, no. You obviously dislike having to hurt their feelings.”

On the way to the classroom next morning Thaw met Mr. Watt who said, “One moment, Thaw! I’d like a word with you.”

They stepped into a window recess and sat on a bench. Mr. Watt sucked grimly at his lower lip, then said, “I’ve just been talking about you to Mr. Peel. I told him that you rejected my advice, were a disturbing influence on other students, and that I didn’t want you in my class.”

Thaw’s heart began beating hard and heavily. He said, “I like you to advise me, sir, I like advice from anyone, but advice which can’t be rejected doesn’t deserve the name. Moreover—” “Let’s not discuss it. McAlpin tells me you share a studio near the park.”

“Yes.”

“I have asked Mr. Peel to let you paint there. You’ll come to school as usual for lectures, but the rest of the time you’ll work by yourself. At the end of the term we’ll see what you have to show.”

Thaw took a moment to digest this, then gave his teacher a look of such delight, affection, and pity that Mr. Watt stirred impatiently and said, “I’d be grateful for an answer to a strictly unofficial question, Thaw. Do you have the faintest notion what you’re trying to do?”

“No sir, but this new arrangement will help me find out. Can I start shifting my things today?”

“Start when you like.”

At home that evening Thaw packed books and papers he had not yet taken to the studio. To Mr. Thaw, who was helping, he said, “Could I take the spare mattress from the single bed?”

“So I’m to see even less of you than usual?”

“It helps to be in the same room as my work when I wake in the morning.”

“All right. Take the mattress. And sheets. And blankets. And why not the bed when you’re about it?”

“No. A mattress and sleeping bag are easily rolled out of the way. A real bed would be a waste of space.”

“All right, all right. But I’ll consider it a favour if you come home to see me sometimes, and not only when you need money.”

These words held such humility and bitterness that Thaw felt an unfamiliar pang. He said sadly, “I respect and admire you, Dad. I even like you. But I’m afraid of you, I don’t know why.”

“Perhaps we chastised you too much when you were wee.”

“Chastised …?”

“Thrashed.