offensive little gaiters. 'Must have spats! And now you jump into these,
and whistle a tune at the window for (say) three-quarters of an hour.
After that you can rejoin me on the field of glory.'

So saying, Michael returned to the studio. It was the morning of the
easterly gale; the wind blew shrilly among the statues in the garden,
and drove the rain upon the skylight in the studio ceiling; and at about
the same moment of the time when Morris attacked the hundredth version
of his uncle's signature in Bloomsbury, Michael, in Chelsea, began to
rip the wires out of the Broadwood grand.

Three-quarters of an hour later Pitman was admitted, to find the
closet-door standing open, the closet untenanted, and the piano
discreetly shut.

'It's a remarkably heavy instrument,' observed Michael, and turned
to consider his friend's disguise. 'You must shave off that beard of
yours,' he said.

'My beard!' cried Pitman. 'I cannot shave my beard. I cannot tamper with
my appearance--my principals would object. They hold very strong views
as to the appearance of the professors--young ladies are considered so
romantic. My beard was regarded as quite a feature when I went about the
place. It was regarded,' said the artist, with rising colour, 'it was
regarded as unbecoming.'

'You can let it grow again,' returned Michael, 'and then you'll be so
precious ugly that they'll raise your salary.'

'But I don't want to be ugly,' cried the artist.