In a narrow turning off Greek Street, and within hail of the popular
Bohemian restaurants, he paused before a doorway sandwiched between a
Continental newsagent's and a tiny French cafe; and, having fumbled
in his greasy raiment he presently produced a key, opened the door,
carefully closed it behind him, and mounted the dark stair.
On the top floor he entered a studio, boasting a skylight upon which the
rain was drumming steadily and drearily. Lighting a gas burner in
one corner of the place which bore no evidence of being used for its
legitimate purpose--he entered a little adjoining dressing-room. Hot
and cold water were laid on there, and a large zinc bath stood upon the
floor. With the aid of an enamel bucket, Mr. Abraham Levinsky filled the
bath.
Leaving him to his ablutions, let us glance around the dressing-room.
Although there was no easel in the studio, and no indication of artistic
activity, the dressing-room was well stocked with costumes. Two huge
dress-baskets were piled in one corner, and their contents hung upon
hooks around the three available walls. A dressing table, with a
triplicate mirror and a suitably shaded light, presented a spectacle
reminiscent less of a model's dressing-room than of an actor's.
At the expiration of some twenty-five minutes, the door of this
dressing-room opened; and although Abraham Levinsky had gone in, Abraham
Levinsky did not come out!
Carefully flicking a particle of ash from a fold of his elegant,
silk-lined cloak, a most distinguished looking gentleman stepped out
onto the bleak and dirty studio.
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