"
"We can't," said my brother. "It's too beastly to think of you like
this."
Nevertheless, we had to argue the matter, and I ought to add that
although we prevailed in the end, both Ajax and I were aware that the
man's acceptance of what we offered imposed an obligation upon us
rather than upon him. As he was about to enter the bath-house, he
turned with the derisive smile on his lips--
"If it amuses you," he murmured, "I shall have earned my bath and
supper."
When he reappeared, nobody would have recognised him. So far, the
experiment had succeeded beyond expectation. A new man walked into our
sitting-room and glanced with intelligent interest at our household
gods. Over the mantel-piece hung an etching of the Grand Canal at
Venice. He surveyed it critically, putting up a pair of thin hands, as
so to shut off an excess of light.
"Jimmie Whistler taught that fellow a trick or two," he remarked.
"You knew Whistler?"
"Oh yes."
We left him with _Punch_ and a copy of an art journal. Ajax said
to me, as we went back to the barn--
"I'll bet he's an artist of sorts."
It happened that we had in our cellar some fine claret; a few magnums
of Leoville, '74, a present from a millionaire friend.
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