it. I recalled the fact that in all our talks I had never heard Oscar use a
gross word. His mind, I said to myself, is like Spenser's, vowed away from
coarseness and vulgarity: he's the most perfect intellectual companion in the
world. He may have wanted to talk to the boys just to see what effect his talk
would have on them. His vanity is greedy enough to desire even such applause as
theirs. . . . . Of course, that was the explanation--vanity. My affection for
him, tormented by doubt, had found at length a satisfactory solution. It was
the artist in him, I said to myself, that wanted a model.

But why not boys of his own class? The answer suggested itself; boys of his own
class could teach him nothing; his own boyhood would supply him with all the
necessary information about well-bred youth. But if he wanted a gutter-snipe in
one of his plays, he would have to find a gutter-lad and paint him from life.
That was probably the truth, I concluded. So satisfied was I with my discovery
that I developed it to Gattie; but he would not hear of it.

"Gattie has nothing of the artist in him," I decided, "and therefore cannot
understand." And I went on arguing, if Gattie were right, why "two" boys?
It seemed evident to me that my reading of the riddle was the only plausible
one. Besides it left my affection unaffected and free. Still, the giggle, the
plastered oily hair and the venal leering eyes came back to me again and again
in spite of myself.




CHAPTER XI--THE THREATENING CLOUD DRAWS NEARER