“Ralston’s an unusual sort of fellow, anyhow,” said Miner, enigmatically. “But then—so am I, so is Crowdie—do you like Crowdie? Rude question, isn’t it? Well, I won’t ask it, then. Besides, if he’s to paint your picture you must have a pleasant expression—a smile that goes all round your head and is tied with a black ribbon behind—you know?”
“Oh, yes!” Katharine laughed again, as she generally did at the little man’s absurd sayings.
“But Crowdie knows,” he continued. “He’s clever—oh, to any extent—big things and little things. All his lions roar and all his mosquitoes buzz, just like real things. The only thing he can’t do is to paint children, and nobody can do that. By the bye, I’m repeating myself. It doesn’t take long to get all round a little man like me. There are lots of things about Crowdie, though. He sings like an angel. I never heard such a voice. It’s more like a contralto—like Scalchi’s as it was, though she’s good still,—than like a tenor. Oh, he’s full of talent. I wish he weren’t so queer!”
“Queer? How do you mean?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. There’s something different from other people. Is he a friend of yours? I mean, a great friend?”
“Oh, no—not at all. I’m very fond of Mrs. Crowdie. She’s a cousin, you know.”
“Yes. Well—I don’t know that I can make you understand what I mean, though. Besides, he’s a very good sort of fellow. Never heard of anything that wasn’t all right about him—at least—nothing particular. I don’t know. He’s like some kind of strange, pale, tropical fruit that’s gone bad at the core and might be poisonous. Horrid thing to say of a man, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I know just what you mean!” answered Katharine, with a little movement of disgust.
Miner suddenly became thoughtful again, and they reached the Crowdies’ house,—a pretty little one, with white stone steps, unlike the ordinary houses of New York. Lafayette Place is an unfashionable nook, rather quiet and apparently remote from civilization. It has, however, three dignities, as the astrologers used to say. The Bishop of New York has his official residence on one side of it, and on the other is the famous Astor Library. A little further down there was at that time a small club frequented by the great publishers and by some of their most expensive authors. No amateur ever twice crossed the threshold alive.
Miner rang the bell, and the door was opened by an extremely smart old man-servant in livery. The Crowdies were very prosperous people. Katharine asked if Hester were at home. The man answered that Mrs. Crowdie was not receiving, but that he believed she would wish to see Miss Katharine. He had been with the Ralstons in the Admiral’s lifetime and had known Katharine since she had been a baby. Crowdie was very proud of him on account of his thick white hair.