Mr. L.-B. You're qui' right. Now I'm the lasht man in the world to shwagger; shtill, I'm goin' to ashk you to lemme have my lil' shwagger now. I happened to be at Rome shor' time ago, and I met Middleman there. We had our lil' chat together and what not—he'sh no pershonal friend o' mine. Well; I picked up a lil' drawing by a Roman chap; worth nothing more than what I got it for, or anything, as you may shay. Middleman had the whole run of this chap's studio. I saw this drawing—didn't care mush about it—but thought it wash a gem, and gave the modesh shum of a hundred an' fifty lire for it. Put it in my portmanteau between a couple o' shirts——
First Comm. (still pining for notice). When you say shirts, Sir, I presume you mean clean ones?
Mr. L.-B. No man with the shlightest feelin' or reverence for Art would put sush a queshtion! (The First Comm. collapses.) Between a couple of—(underlining the word) Shirts, and brought it home. Now I'm comin' to my point. One afternoon after my return, I wash walking down Bond Street, when I saw a sketch exhibited in a window by the shame f'ler. I went in and shaid, "What are you asking for thish? Mind I don' wanter buy it; ashk me any price yer like!" And they shaid forty guineash.
Mr. Milb. Apparently they availed themselves of your permission, and did ask you any price they liked.
Mr. L.-B. No doubt; but wait till I've done. I saw another—a finished drawing not qui' so good as mine, there. Then I shaid to them quietly, "Now, look here, why don' you go an' buy 'em for yourshelves in the artist's own shtudio?" It shtruck me as sho odd, a man like Middleman, being there, and having the pick, shouldn' buy more of 'em!
Mr. Milb. Wasn't worth his while; he can't buy everything!
Mr. L.-B. (after considering this impartially with some more whiskey). No; your ansher is a very good one, and a very fair one. He can't buy everything. I did pick, however, an' I gorrit. I said to him, "How mush?" an' he tol' me, and there wash an end of it, do you shee?
Mr. Milb. It's the ordinary course of business, isn't it?
Mr. L.-B. Egshackly. But how few do it! Now, I'll tell you 'nother shtory 'bout my poo' dear father. He came 'pon a sculpture in a curioshity shop; it wash very dirty and used up, but my dear father saw it was worth shpotting, and a thing to be shpotted, and sho he put hish finger on it!
First Comm. (undaunted by past failure). And was it antique, Sir?