“There! what do you think of my picture?” said he, turning to Genius.
“Your picture? It belongs to me,” he answered. And there was evident annoyance in his tone.
“Pardon,” replied Plucritus, lightly. “You and I lately seem rather to have rubbed each other and quarrelled over trifles. This is a little print in black and white—not worth a farthing—it is in an old frame scarce worth a cent. It is therefore worthy of the flames—and therefore, by most biblical reasoning, it belongs to me.”
“The Bible be damned!” said Genius, striking his hand upon the maple bed-post. “I say it belongs to me.”
“Virginius, he has damned the Bible,” commented Plucritus, ignoring the last remark. He spoke in a half-serious, half-comic tone, with just a little heightening of surprise in it.
“No,” said Genius, quickly recovering himself. “I simply wanted to express an opinion upon biblical reasoning.”
“But still for all that you have damned the Bible.”
“You enjoy the repetition.”
“Well, it sticks to me. It is but a trifle; but then I remember trifles—life is made up of them.”
“Yes. It is for that precise reason that I demand the rights of the picture. It belongs to me.”