"Has she had it FRAMED, Snedecor?" asked Oliver, with a light laugh.
"Not to any alarming extent! I made that frame for Mr. Peter Fish. She sent it here for sale, and Fish bought it. He's wild about it. Says it's the best thing since Sully. He wants you to paint his daughter; that's what I wanted to see you about. Great card for you, Mr. Horn. I congratulate you!"
Oliver gave a low whistle. His own good fortune was for the moment forgotten in his surprise at the woman's audacity. Selling a sketch painted by one of the club! one which had virtually been GIVEN to her.
"Poor Bianchi! He does pick up the queerest people. I wonder if she was out of stockings," he said half-aloud.
"Oh, you needn't worry about the Madame; she won't suffer for clothes as long as she's got that pair of eyes in her head. You just ought to have seen her handle old Fish. It was beautiful. But, see here now, you don't want to make old Peter a present of this portrait of his daughter. He's good for a thousand, I tell you. She got a cracking price for that one," and he pointed to the picture.
Again Oliver laughed.
"A cracking price? She must have needed the money bad." The more he thought of it the funnier it seemed.
Snedecor looked surprised. He was thinking of Fish's order and the amount of his commission. Most of Oliver's remarks were unintelligible to him—especially his reference to the stockings.
"What shall I say to him?" Snedecor asked at last.
"Oh, nothing in particular. Just send him to my studio. I'll be in all to-morrow morning."