Also, of course Clive drew Alfred and the nursery in general,
Aunt Ann and the Blenheim spaniels, the majestic John bringing in the
coal-scuttle, and all persons or objects in that establishment with which
he was familiar.
"What a genius the lad has," the complimentary Mr. Smee averred; "what a
force and individuality there is in all his drawings! Look at his horses!
Capital, by Jove, capital! And Alfred on his pony, and Miss Ethel in her
Spanish hat, with her hair flowing in the wind! I must take this sketch,
I positively must now, and show it to Landseer."
And the courtly artist daintily enveloped the drawing in a sheet of
paper, put it away in his hat, and vowed subsequently that the great
painter had been delighted with the young man's performance. Smee was not
only charmed with Clive's skill as an artist, but thought his head would
be an admirable one to paint. Such a rich complexion, such fine turns in
his hair! Such eyes! To see real blue eyes was so rare now-a-days! And
the Colonel too, if the Colonel would but give him a few sittings, the
grey uniform of the Bengal Cavalry, the silver lace, the little bit of
red ribbon just to warm up the picture! It was seldom, Mr. Smee declared,
that an artist could get such an opportunity for colour. But no
cajoleries could induce the Colonel to sit to any artist save one.
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