When Mr. Bowker had once made up his mind to carry any thing out, he never rested until it was achieved; so that on quitting Elm Lodge he at once made his way to Mr. Stompff's "gallery of modern masters," which he entered, greatly to the surprise of the proprietor, who was hovering about the room like a great spider on the watch for flies. There had never been any thing like cordiality between the great entrepreneur and the rough old artist; and the former opened his eyes to their widest extent, and pulled his whisker through his teeth, as he bowed somewhat sarcastically and said, "This is an honour and no flies?" But before his visitor left, Mr. Stompff had occasion to rub his eyes very hard with a bright silk pocket-handkerchief, and to resort to a cupboard under the desk on which the catalogues stood, whence he produced a tapering flask, from which he and Mr. Bowker refreshed themselves--his last words being, as Mr. Bowker took his departure, "You leave it to me, old fellow--you leave it to me."
Carrying out apparently the arrangement herein entered upon, the next day the great Mr. Stompff's brougham stopped at Elm Lodge, and the great Mr. Stompff himself descended therefrom, exhibiting far less than his usual self-sufficiency, swagger, and noise. To the servant who opened the door in answer to his modest ring he gave a note which he had prepared; and Geoffrey coming down into the dining-room found him waiting there, apparently deep in a photographic album. He rose, as the door opened, and caught Geoffrey warmly by the hand.
"How are you, Ludlow? How are you, my dear fellow? It must have been pressing business that brought me here just now, worrying you when you're only just recovered from your illness, my boy; pressing business, you may take your oath of that." And all the time Mr. Stompff held Geoffrey's hand between his own, and looked into his eyes with a wavering unsettled glance.
"I'm better, thank you, Mr. Stompff, much better; so much better that I hope soon to be at work again," said Geoff nervously.
"That's right; that's the best hearing possible. Nothing like getting back to work to set a man straight and bring him to his bearings."
"You were getting nervous about the 'Esplanade,'" said Geoff with a sickly smile--"as well indeed you might, for it's been a long time about. But you need not be frightened about that; Ive managed to finish it."
"Have you?" said Stompff, very dry and husky in the throat.
"Yes; if you'll step into the studio, I'll show it you." They went down the little steps which Margaret had traversed so oft; and Geoffrey, as he pulled the big easel round into the light, said, "It's not quite what I wished. I--circumstances, you know, were against me--and but--it can be altered, you know; altered in any manner you wish."
"Altered be--hanged!" cried Stompff, very nearly relapsing into the vernacular; "altered!" he repeated, gazing at it with delight; now approaching closely to the canvas, now stepping away and looking at it under the shade of his hand; "why, that's first chop, that is. You've done it up brown! you've made reg'ler ten-strike, as the Yankees say. Altered! I wouldn't have a brush laid upon that for a fifty-pun' note By George, Ludlow, well or ill, you lick the lot in your own line. There's none of 'em can touch you, d'ye hear? Altered!--damme it's splendid."
"I'm very glad you like it," said Geoff wearily, "ye glad; more especially as it may be a long time before paint again."