He wore spectacles perched at the very end of his nose, and looked down over rather than through them as he dipped the brush in the can of paint beside him on the floor.
"Hello, Shavin's," hailed Mr.Bearse, blithely.
The tall man applied the brush to the nude pine legs of the wooden sailor.

One side of those legs were modestly covered forthwith by a pair of sky-blue breeches.

The artist regarded the breeches dreamily.

Then he said: "Hello, Gab." His voice was a drawl, very deliberate, very quiet, rather soft and pleasant.

But Mr.Bearse was not pleased.
"Don't call me that," he snapped.
The brush was again dipped in the paint pot and the rear elevation of the pine sailor became sky-blue like the other side of him.
Then the tall man asked: "Call you what ?" "Gab.