"Who got it?"
"The Honorable Parker Ridgway, R.A., P.Q., and I don't know but
X.Y.Z.," roared Waller.
"I'd like to know how?" asked Watson, reaching over Fred's arm for the bottle of turpentine.
"That's what he did," snapped out Waller.
"Did what?"
"Knew how."
"But he doesn't know how," cried Munson from across the table. "I sat alongside of that fellow at the Ecole for two years. He can't draw, and never could. His flesh was beastly, his modelling worse, and his technique—a botch. You can see what color he uses," and he pointed to the palette Jack was trying to clean.
"Granted, my boy," said Waller. "I didn't say he could PAINT; I said he knew how to earn $4,000 in three months painting portraits."
"He never painted a portrait worth four cents. Why, I knew—"
"Dry up, Munson!" interrupted Jack. "Go on, Waller, tell us how he did it."