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which was exercise, and Dick's exercise consisted chiefly in walking up to Philip Forsyth's studio from his house in Dorset-square. Dick was of fair complexion, wore his beard broad and curly, had a massive forehead, grey eyes, a rich unctious manner of speech, and was known rather for his pluck and cleverness than for the solidity of his character or the perspicuity of his political views, though he was an established and independent journalist and something more. As a descriptive writer and a war correspondent he was a decided success. In other enterprises of later days he had not failed. His literary work and his criticisms in the world of art were clearer, sharper, and better defined than his political opinions, though in his somewhat complicated politics he had before him the encouragement of many melancholy examples. As a journalist on the warpath he had told the story of the Zulu War, and had marched with Roberts through Afghanistan. He had exploited the Irish revolt in the American cities, had cabled the earliest declarations of the American-Irish plotters from Mill-street, had written the first interview with Rossa, and had reported one of the secret meetings of the Dynamiters in New York. He had traveled through Russia on a journalistic mission, and had seen the world under many and varying circumstances, having begun his newspaper career at eighteen.
When we make Dick Chetwynd's acquaintance he had settled down to the pleasant work of independent journalism and the secretaryship of an Art Club, which had under his excellent management become a monopoly of art-trading in a quiet but profitable groove of what seemed dilettanteism, but which in reality was solid business. "The Rossetti" was a club and gallery controlled by half a dozen wealthy noblemen, who were guided by the discreet and clever hand of Dick Chetwynd. It gave parties, held exhibitions, published an Art Magazine, dealt in art
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