him well enough," breaks in J. Bayard, "even if he doesn't know me. I share the distinction with Gordon of having been, on one occasion, barred out of Twombley-Crane's office; only I got no farther than his private secretary. It meant a good deal to me at the time too, and wouldn't have hurt him at all. I merely wanted his firm to handle some bonds of a concern I was trying to promote. With merely a nod he could have opened the door of success for me. But he wouldn't. Oh, no! Played the rôle of haughty aristocrat, as usual, and never gave me another thought. But I managed to get back at him, in a small way."

"Oh, you did, eh?" says I.

"It was a couple of years later, in Paris," goes on Steele. "I was dining in one of those big cafés—Maxime's, I think,—when I recognized him at the next table. He was telling a friend of a find he'd made in an old printshop,—a pencil sketch by Whistler. He collects such things, I believe. Well, this was something he wanted very badly; but he'd happened to be caught without cash enough to pay for it. So he'd asked the dealer to put it aside until next day. There was my chance. I know something about etchings; own a few, in fact, although I'd never splurged on Whistlers. But I was on hand next morning when that shop24 opened, and for a bonus of twenty francs I persuaded the old pirate to sell me the sketch he was holding for Twombley-Crane. It was a beauty too; one of the half-dozen Whistler did in working up that portrait of his mother, perhaps his most famous piece. It's about the only sketch of the kind, too, not in a public gallery. How Twombley-Crane must have raved at that Frenchman! So, as the English put it, I did score off him a bit, you see."

24

"You sure did," says I. "That picture collection is what he's daffy over; even more so than over his horses. And right there, J. Bayard, is your cue."

"Eh?" says he, starin' puzzled.

"Simple as swearin' off taxes," says I. "Send him the sketch."

Mr. Steele gasps. "Wha-a-at!" says he. "Why, I've been offered ten times what I paid for it, and refused; although there have been times when—well, you understand. My dear McCabe, that little pencil drawing is much more to me than a fragment of genius. It stands for satisfaction. It's something that I own and he wants."

"And there you are," says I. "Been rackin' your nut to dig up something kind and generous to do for him, ain't you! Well?"

Say, you should have seen the look J. Bayard 

 Prev. P 15/197 next