By HARRY ANABLE KNIFFIN
From Brief Stories
The Little Chap reached up a chubby hand to the doorknob. A few persistent tugs and
twists and it turned in his grasp. Slowly pushing the door open, he stood hesitating on the
threshold of the studio.
The Big Chap looked up from his easel by the window. His gray eyes kindled into a
kindly smile, its welcoming effect offset by an admonitory headshake. "Not now, Son,"
he said. "I'm busy."
"Can't I stay a little while, Daddy?" The sturdy little legs carried their owner across the
floor as he spoke. "I'll be quiet, like--like I was asleep."
The Big Chap hesitated, looking first at his canvas and then at the small replica of
himself standing before him.
"I got on my new pants," the youngster was saying, conversationally easing the
embarrassment of a possible capitulation. "Mummy says I ought to be proud of them, and
because I'm five years old."
The artist looked gravely down at him. "Proud, Son?" he asked, in the peculiar way he
had of reasoning with the Little Chap. "Have you reached the age of five because of
anything you have done? Or did you acquire the trousers with money you earned?"
The Little Chap looked up at him questioningly. He had inherited his father's wide gray
eyes, and at present their expression was troubled. Then, evidently seeking a more easily
comprehended topic, his eyes left his father's and sought the canvas on which was
depicted a court scene of mediaeval times. "Who is that, Daddy?" His small index finger
pointed to the most prominent figure in the painting.
His father continued to regard him thoughtfully. "One of England's proud kings, Son."
"And what did he do to be proud of?" came quickly from the youthful inquisitioner.
A hearty laugh escaped the artist. "Bully for you, Son! That's a poser! Aside from taxing
the poor and having enemies beheaded, I'm puzzled to know what he really did do to earn
his high position."
The Little Chap squirmed himself between his father's knees and started to scale the
heights to his lap, where he finally settled down with a sigh of comfort. "Tell me a story
about him," he said eagerly. "A story with castles, 'n' wars, 'n' everything."
