(A STUDY IN SPIRITS AND WATERS.)
_The Smoke-room of a Provincial Hotel. TIME--Towards midnight.
CHARACTERS--MR. LUCESLIPP-BLETHERON, a middle-aged Art Patron and
Dilettante. He has arrived at his third tumbler of whiskey and water,
and the stage at which a man alludes freely before strangers to his
"poor dear father." MR. MILBOARD, a Painter, on a sketching tour. He is
enduring MR. L.-B. with a patience which will last for just one more
pipe. FIRST COMMERCIAL, who considers Mr. L.-B. a highly agreeable and
well-informed gentleman, and is anxious to be included in his audience.
SECOND COMMERCIAL, who doesn't intend to join in the conversation until
he feels he can do so with crushing effect._
MR. LUCESLIPP-BLETHERON. Yes, I assure you, I never come acrosh a David
Cox but I say to myself, "_There_'sh a Bit!" (_Here he fixes his
eye-glass, sips whiskey and water, and looks at MR. MILBOARD as if he
expected him to express admiration at this evidence of penetration. The
only tribute he extorts, however, is a grunt._) Now, we've a Cornelius
Janssen at home. Itsh only hishtory is--my dear father bought it. He was
an artist himself, painted a bit, travelled man, an' all that short o'
thing. Well, _he_ picked it up for ten pounds!
FIRST COMMERCIAL (_deferentially_). Did he reelly now? A Johnson for ten
pounds! Did he get a warranty with it, Sir?
MR. L.-B. (_after bringing the eye-glass to bear on the intruder for a
second_). Then I've a Mieris--at leasht, _shome_ clever f'ler painted
it, and it'sh a pleashure to look at it, and you can't get over _that_,
can you?
MR. MILBOARD. I don't intend to _try_ to get over it.
MR. L.-B. You're qui' right. Now I'm the lasht man in the world to
shwagger; shtill, I'm goin' to ashk you to lemme have my lil' shwagger
now. I happened to be at Rome shor' time ago, and I met Middleman there.
We had our lil' chat together and what not--he'sh no pershonal friend o'
mine. Well; I picked up a lil' drawing by a Roman chap; worth nothing
more than what I got it for, or _anything_, as you may shay. Middleman
had the whole run of this chap's studio. I saw this drawing--didn't care
mush about it--but thought it wash a gem, and gave the modesh shum of a
hundred an' fifty _lire_ for it. Put it in my portmanteau between a
couple o' shirts----
FIRST COMM. (_still pining for notice_). When you say shirts, Sir, I
presume you mean _clean_ ones?
MR. L.-B. No man with the shlightest feelin' or reverence for Art would
_put_ sush a queshtion! (_The FIRST COMM. collapses._) Between a couple
of--(_underlining the word_) Shirts, and brought it home. Now I'm comin'
to my point. One afternoon after my return, I wash walking down Bond
Street, when I saw a sketch exhibited in a window by the shame f'ler. I
went in and shaid, "What are you asking for thish? Mind I don' wanter
_buy_ it; ashk me any price yer like!" And they shaid forty guineash.
MR. MILB. Apparently they availed themselves of your permission, and
_did_ ask you any price they liked.
MR. L.-B. No doubt; but wait till I've _done_. I saw another--a finished
drawing not qui' so good as mine, there. Then I shaid to them quietly,
"Now, look _here_, why don' you go an' buy 'em for yourshelves in the
artist's own shtudio?" It shtruck me as sho odd, a man like Middleman,
being there, and having the pick, shouldn' buy _more_ of 'em!
MR. MILB. Wasn't worth his while; he can't buy _everything_!
MR. L.-B. (_after considering this impartially with some more whiskey_).
No; your ansher is a very _good_ one, and a very _fair_ one. He _can't_
buy everything. I _did_ pick, however, an' I gorrit. I said to him, "How
mush?" an' he tol' me, and there wash an end of it, do you shee?
MR. MILB. It's the ordinary course of business, isn't it?
MR. L.-B. Egshackly. But how few _do_ it! Now, I'll tell you 'nother
shtory 'bout my poo' dear father. He came 'pon a sculpture in a
curioshity shop; it wash very dirty and used up, but my dear father saw
it was worth shpotting, and a thing to _be_ shpotted, and sho he put
hish _finger_ on it!
FIRST COMM. (_undaunted by past failure_). And was it antique, Sir?
MR. L.-B. That'sh more'n I can tell you; it wash very dirty, at any
rate, and he only gave fifty guineash for it. Wasn't a _great_ shum----
FIRST COMM. (_encouraged by his affability_). No, indeed; a mere
nothing, so to speak, Sir!
MR. L.-B. (_annoyed_). Will you have the goodnesh to lemme finish what I
was telling thish gentleman? When my poo' father got that busht home, it
was the mos' perfect likenesh o' Napoleon!
[Illustration: "They haven't the _patiensh_ for it."]
MR. MILB. Ha! puts me in mind of the old story of the man who picked up
a dingy panel somewhere or other, took it home, cleaned it, and found a
genuine Morland; went on cleaning and discovered an undoubted Rembrandt;
cleaned _that_, and came to a Crivelli; couldn't stop, kept on cleaning,
and was rewarded by a portrait of George the Fourth!
FIRST COMM. (_deeply impressed_). And all of them genuine? How _very_
extraordinary, to be sure!
MR. L.-B. (_wagging his head sapiently_). I could tell you shtranger
things than _that_. But as I was shaying, here was this busht of
Napoleon, by some French chap--which _you_ would tell me was _against_
it.
MR. MILB. Why? The French are the best sculptors in the world.
MR. L.-B. The Frensh! I can _not_ bring myshelf to believe that, if only
for thish shimple reashon, they haven't the _patiensh_ for it.
FIRST COMM. So _I_ should have said. For my own part--not knowing much
_about_ it, very likely--I should have put the _Italians_ first.