“Why Jeeves? What’s Jeeves got to do with it? Who wants Jeeves? Jeeves is the fool who suggested the scheme that has led——” 

 “Listen, Corky, old top! If you think I am going to face that uncle of yours without Jeeves’s support, you’re mistaken. I’d sooner go into a den of wild beasts and bite a lion on the back of the neck.” 

 “Oh, all right,” said Corky. Not cordially, but he said it; so I rang for Jeeves, and explained the situation. 

 “Very good, sir,” said Jeeves. 

 That’s the sort of chap he is. You can’t rattle him. 

 We found Corky near the door, looking at the picture, with one hand up in a defensive sort of way, as if he thought it might swing on him. 

 “Stand right where you are, Bertie,” he said, without moving. “Now, tell me honestly, how does it strike you?” 

 The light from the big window fell right on the picture. I took a good look at it. Then I shifted a bit nearer and took another look. Then I went back to where I had been at first, because it hadn’t seemed quite so bad from there. 

 “Well?” said Corky, anxiously. 

 I hesitated a bit. 

 “Of course, old man, I only saw the kid once, and then only for a moment, but—but it was an ugly sort of kid, wasn’t it, if I remember rightly?” 

 “As ugly as that?” 

 I looked again, and honesty compelled me to be frank. 

 “I don’t see how it could have been, old chap.” 

 Poor old Corky ran his fingers through his hair in a temperamental sort of way. He groaned. 

 “You’re right quite, Bertie. Something’s gone wrong with the darned thing. My private impression is that, without knowing it, I’ve worked that stunt that Sargent and those fellows pull—painting the soul of the sitter. I’ve got through the mere outward appearance, and have put the child’s soul on canvas.” 

 “But could a child of that age have a soul like that? I don’t see how he could have managed it in the 

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