Carve. Either you remember it exactly or you don't remember it at all. Life-size picture of a policeman blowing his whistle.
Pascoe. Yes; it must have been odd, that must.
Carve. Not a bit. The oddness of the fellow——
Pascoe. What 'fellow'—your governor?
Carve. (Nods.) His oddness came out in this way—although the thing had really a great success, from that day to this he's never painted another life-size picture of a policeman blowing his whistle.
Pascoe. I don't see anything very odd there——
Carve. Don't you? Well, perhaps you don't go in for art much. If you did, you'd know that the usual and correct thing for a painter who has made a great success with a life-size picture of a policeman blowing his whistle, is to keep on doing life-size pictures of a policeman blowing his whistle for ever and ever, so that the public can always count on getting from him a life-size picture of a policeman blowing his whistle.
Pascoe. I observe you are one of those comic valets. Nervousness again, no doubt.
Carve. (Smiling and continuing.) Seeing the way he invariably flouted the public, it's always been a mystery to me how he managed to make a name, to say nothing of money.
Pascoe. Money! He must make pots. You say I don't go in for art much, but I always read the big sales at Christie's. Why, wasn't it that policeman picture that Lord Leonard Alcar bought for 2000 guineas last year?