The conversation need not be given in detail. The artist and the Major developed at some length how a Hunsicker married a Dunwoody; how a Dunwoody eloped with a Moyer, a cousin of the Hunsickers; how a Dunwoody fought a duel with another Hunsicker over a political dispute, and shook hands afterwards; and how the loves and hates, and bargains and enterprises, and contests and schemes of the Dunwoodys and Hunsickers had filled the history of Clarion County for a quarter of a century past.
At last the Major said,—
“But you haven’t given me your name yet.”
“Pandora M’Duffy is my name. My mother, you know, married Senator M’Duffy, state senator. Poor father died many years ago, and we are now living in Washington.”
“Studying art, I presume?” asked the Major, glancing at the easel.
“Yes,” replied Pandora; “I am an artist.”
“Is not this rather—rather a—a queer place to come to for sketches?”
“Oh, no,” said Pandora, laughing; “I came here to study anatomy for a great picture I am going to paint. You see what that is?” said she, lifting the cardboard, and showing the sketch to the Major.
“That is a—a—I should say that was a picture of—well, of the elbow of a stove-pipe. Isn’t it?”
“You are not very complimentary,” said Pandora. “I know it is very raw and unfinished; but it is at least a fair likeness of that human leg in the jar of alcohol over there.”