The Moon and Sixpence by W. Somerset Maugham Page B

glanced at me once or twice reflectively, but for the most part seemed occupied with his own thoughts; and certainly without Stroeve's babble the conversation would have been difficult. In half an hour the Dutchman, looking at his watch, announced that he must go. He asked whether I would come too. I thought, alone, I might get something out of Strickland, and so answered that I would stay.
    When the fat man had left I said:
    'Dirk Stroeve thinks you're a great artist.'
    'What the hell do you suppose I care?'
    'Will you let me see your pictures?'
    'Why should I?'
    'I might feel inclined to buy one.'
    'I might not feel inclined to sell one.'
    'Are you making a good living?' I asked, smiling.
    He chuckled.
    'Do I look it?'
    'You look half starved.'
    'I am half starved.'
    'Then come and let's have a bit of dinner.'
    'Why do you ask me?'
    'Not out of charity', I answered coolly. 'I don't really care a twopenny damn if you starve or not.'
    His eyes lit up again.
    'Come on, then', he said, getting up. 'I'd like a decent meal.'

21
    I let him take me to a restaurant of his choice, but on the way I bought a paper. When he had ordered our dinner, I propped it against a bottle of St Galmier and began to read. We ate in silence. I felt him looking at me now and again, but I took no notice. I meant to force him to conversation.
    'Is there anything in the paper?' he said, as we approached the end of our silent meal.
    I fancied there was in his tone a slight note of exasperation.
    'I always like to read the feuilleton on the drama,' I said.
    I folded the paper and put it down beside me.
    'I've enjoyed my dinner', he remarked.
    'I think we might have our coffee here, don't you?'
    'Yes.'
    We lit our cigars. I smoked in silence. I noticed that now and then his eyes rested on me with a faint smile of amusement. I waited patiently.
    'What have you been up to since I saw you last?' he asked at length.
    I had not very much to say. It was a record of hard work and of little adventure; of experiments in this direction and in that; of the gradual acquisition of the knowledge of books and of men. I took care to ask Strickland nothing about his own doings. I showed not the least interest in him, and at last I was rewarded. He began to talk of himself. But with his poor gift of expression he gave but indications of what he had gone through, and I had to fill up the gaps with my own imagination. It was tantalizing to get no more than hints into a character that interested me so much. It was like making one's way through a mutilated manuscript. I received the impression of a life which was a bitter struggle against every sort of difficulty; but I realized that much which would have seemed horrible to most people did not in the least affect him. Strickland was distinguished from most Englishmen by his perfect indifference to comfort; it did not irk him to live always in one shabby room; he had no need to be surrounded by beautiful things. I do not suppose he had ever noticed how dingy was the paper on the wall of the room in which on my first visit I found him. He did not want arm-chairs to sit in; he really felt more at his ease on a kitchen-chair. He ate with appetite, but was indifferent to what he ate; to him it was only food that he devoured to still the pangs of hunger; and when no food was to be had he seemed capable of doing without. I learned that for six months he had lived on a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk a day. He was a sensual man and yet was indifferent to sensual things. He looked upon privation as no hardship. There was something impressive in the manner in which he lived a life wholly of the spirit.
    When the small sum of money which he brought with him from London came to an end he suffered from no dismay. He sold no pictures; I think he made little attempt to sell any; he set about finding some way to make a bit of money. He told me with grim humour of the time he had spent acting as guide to Cockneys who wanted to see the right