"No; what was it?"
"He wants to know which one of us decorated the walls!"
"Mr. Littlejourneys meant illumined the walls," jerked Peachblow, over her shoulder.
Then Anglaise gravely brought a battered box of crayon and told me I must make a picture somewhere on the wall or ceiling: all the pictures were made by visitors—no visitor was ever exempt.
I took the crayons and made a picture such as was never seen on land or sea. Having thus placed myself on record, I began to examine the other decorations. There were heads and faces, and architectural scraps, trees and animals, and bits of landscape and ships that pass in the night. Most of the work was decidedly sketchy, but some of the faces were very good.
Suddenly my eye spied the form of a sleeping dog, a great shaggy Saint Bernard with head outstretched on his paws, sound asleep. I stopped and whistled.
The girls laughed.
"It is only the picture of a dog," said Soubrette.
"I know; but you should pay dog-tax on such a picture—did you draw it?" I asked White Pigeon.
"Did I! If I could draw like that, would I copy pictures in the Louvre?"