He liked to be waited on. He wanted what he wanted when he wanted it.
The greater part of his attention being occupied at this period with
the important duty of chewing his thumb, he assigned the drudgery of
life to his dependants. Their duties were to see that he got up in the
morning, dressed, and took his tub; and after that to hang around on
the chance of general orders.
Any idea Kirk may have had of resuming his work was abandoned during
these months. No model, young and breezy or white-haired and motherly,
passed the studio doors. Life was far too interesting for work. The
canvas which might have become "Carmen" or "A Reverie" or even "The
Toreador's Bride" lay unfinished and neglected in a corner.
It astonished Kirk to find how strong the paternal instinct was in him.
In the days when he had allowed his mind to dwell upon the abstract
wife he had sometimes gone a step further and conjured up the abstract
baby. The result had always been to fill him with a firm conviction
that the most persuasive of wild horses should not drag him from his
bachelor seclusion. He had had definite ideas on babies as a class. And
here he was with his world pivoting on one of them. It was curious.
The White Hope, as Steve called his godson--possibly with the idea of
influencing him by suggestion--grew. The ailments which attacked lesser
babies passed him by.
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