Proud and shy as he was, Montfort could not help accepting an invitation so frankly and pleasantly tendered. He promised to come.
"One favor more," said Mr. Greville. "You won't sell that picture. Will you lend it to me for a day or two?"
"I cannot refuse you, of course, Mr. Greville."
"If you have the slightest objection, say so frankly," said the kind-hearted merchant.
"I have not the slightest objection, Mr. Greville. It is entirely at your disposal."
Mr. Greville was profuse in his thanks.
"Shall I send it to your house?" said the picture framer.
"No, Mr. Tennant," replied the merchant. "It is too valuable to be trusted out of my hands. I am personally responsible, and I fear that I am not rich enough to remunerate the artist, if any harm happens to it."
With these words, bowing to the artist, Mr. Greville took the picture carefully under his arm, and left the shop, Montfort soon following.
"Well, I declare," said the picture framer, when he was left alone, "artists is queer animils, and no mistake. Neglect 'em, and it makes 'em as mad as a short-horned bull in fly time; coax 'em and pat 'em, and they lets fly their heels in your face. Seems to me, if I was an artist, I shouldn't be particular about being a hog, too. There ain't no sense in it. Now, it beats my notion all to pieces to see how Mr. Greville could talk so pleasantly and gentlemanly to that dratted Montfort, and he flyin' into his face all the time like a tarrier dog. I'd a punched his head for him, I would—if they'd had me up afore the Sessions for saltin' and batterin'. Consequently it's better to be a pictur' framer than a pictur' painter. Cause why?—a pictur' framer is a gentleman, and a pictur' painter is a hog."