One morning, Mr. Julius Weems sat in his studio, dressed in velvet working jacket and slouching hat. With palette on thumb, brush in hand, and pipe in mouth, Mr. Weems was endeavoring to give a sufficiently aged appearance to a “Saul and Witch of Endor,” by Salvator Rosa.
“Hang it,” said Mr. Weems to himself, as he placed a dab of burnt umber on the withered cheek of the hag, “everything seems to go wrong! It was bad enough to have old Cowdrick dupe me in the way he did; but right on top of that, to hear from Crook and Gudgem that the Rubens business is being overdone, and that they have had eight St. Ethelbertas offered to them during the week, is a little too much. If the entire profession of artists is going to turn to painting old masters, I will have to come down to modern art and poor prices. It’s the worst luck! There is no chance at all for a man to earn an honest living!”
Mr. Weems’s soliloquy was interrupted by a light knocking upon his door. Hastily throwing a cloth over the picture upon his easel, and turning two Titians and a Raphael with their faces to the wall, Mr. Weems opened the door and admitted the visitor.
“Good morning!” said the intruder. “Don’t know me, I suppose?”
“No.” responded Mr. Weems.
“My name is Gunn; Benjamin P. Gunn.”
“I have heard of you. You are interested in life assurance, I believe? A canvasser, or something?”
“Yes, I was; but I have given that up now. The business was overdone. I grew tired of it!”
“You don’t know anything, then, about Mr. Cowdrick’s case? I mean whether he had much on his life or not?”
“Oh! well, I have heard that he was insured for fifty thousand or so; I don’t remember the exact amount. But it makes no difference.”