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"
Tell
me
as
soon
as
you
have
finished
,
"
said
Johnsy
,
closing
her
eyes
,
and
lying
white
and
still
as
a
fallen
statue
,
"
because
I
want
to
see
the
last
one
fall
.
I
'm
tired
of
waiting
.
I
'm
tired
of
thinking
.
I
want
to
turn
loose
my
hold
on
everything
,
and
go
sailing
down
,
down
,
just
like
one
of
those
poor
,
tired
leaves
.
"
"
Try
to
sleep
,
"
said
Sue
.
"
I
must
call
Behrman
up
to
be
my
model
for
the
old
hermit
miner
.
I
'll
not
be
gone
a
minute
.
Do
n't
try
to
move
'
till
I
come
back
.
"
Old
Behrman
was
a
painter
who
lived
on
the
ground
floor
beneath
them
.
He
was
past
sixty
and
had
a
Michael
Angelo
's
Moses
beard
curling
down
from
the
head
of
a
satyr
along
the
body
of
an
imp
.
Behrman
was
a
failure
in
art
.
Forty
years
he
had
wielded
the
brush
without
getting
near
enough
to
touch
the
hem
of
his
Mistress
's
robe
.
He
had
been
always
about
to
paint
a
masterpiece
,
but
had
never
yet
begun
it
.
For
several
years
he
had
painted
nothing
except
now
and
then
a
daub
in
the
line
of
commerce
or
advertising
.
He
earned
a
little
by
serving
as
a
model
to
those
young
artists
in
the
colony
who
could
not
pay
the
price
of
a
professional
.
He
drank
gin
to
excess
,
and
still
talked
of
his
coming
masterpiece
.
For
the
rest
he
was
a
fierce
little
old
man
,
who
scoffed
terribly
at
softness
in
any
one
,
and
who
regarded
himself
as
especial
mastiff-inwaiting
to
protect
the
two
young
artists
in
the
studio
above
.
Sue
found
Behrman
smelling
strongly
of
juniper
berries
in
his
dimly
lighted
den
below
.
In
one
corner
was
a
blank
canvas
on
an
easel
that
had
been
waiting
there
for
twenty-five
years
to
receive
the
first
line
of
the
masterpiece
.
She
told
him
of
Johnsy
's
fancy
,
and
how
she
feared
she
would
,
indeed
,
light
and
fragile
as
a
leaf
herself
,
float
away
when
her
slight
hold
upon
the
world
grew
weaker
.
Old
Behrman
,
with
his
red
eyes
,
plainly
streaming
,
shouted
his
contempt
and
derision
for
such
idiotic
imaginings
.
"
Vass
!
"
he
cried
.
"
Is
dere
people
in
de
world
mit
der
foolishness
to
die
because
leafs
dey
drop
off
from
a
confounded
vine
?
I
haf
not
heard
of
such
a
thing
.
No
,
I
will
not
bose
as
a
model
for
your
fool
hermit-dunderhead
.
Vy
do
you
allow
dot
silly
pusiness
to
come
in
der
prain
of
her
?
Ach
,
dot
poor
lettle
Miss
Johnsy
.
"
"
She
is
very
ill
and
weak
,
"
said
Sue
,
"
and
the
fever
has
left
her
mind
morbid
and
full
of
strange
fancies
.
Very
well
,
Mr.
Behrman
,
if
you
do
not
care
to
pose
for
me
,
you
need
n't
.
But
I
think
you
are
a
horrid
old
--
old
flibbertigibbet
.
"
"
You
are
just
like
a
woman
!
"
yelled
Behrman
.
"
Who
said
I
will
not
bose
?
Go
on
.
I
come
mit
you
.
For
half
an
hour
I
haf
peen
trying
to
say
dot
I
am
ready
to
bose
.
Gott
!
dis
is
not
any
blace
in
which
one
so
goot
as
Miss
Yohnsy
shall
lie
sick
.
Some
day
I
vill
baint
a
masterpiece
,
and
ve
shall
all
go
away
.
Gott
!
yes
.
"
Johnsy
was
sleeping
when
they
went
upstairs
.
Sue
pulled
the
shade
down
to
the
window-sill
,
and
motioned
Behrman
into
the
other
room
.
In
there
they
peered
out
the
window
fearfully
at
the
ivy
vine
.
