"Want a check—when—now? My dear sir! when I bought that Monet was there anything said about my paying for it in twenty-four hours? To-morrow, when my argosies arrive laden with the spoils of the far East, but not now. I never pay for anything immediately—it would injure my credit. Sit down and let me offer you a cigar—my governor imports 'em and so you can be assured they are good. By the way—what's become of that Ziem I saw in your window last week? The Metropolitan ought to have that picture."
The one-eyed dealer—Jack was right, he had but one eye—at once agreed with Jack as to the proper ultimate destination of the Ziem, and under the influence of the cigar which Jack had insisted on lighting for him, assisted by Jack's casual mention of his father—a name that was known to be good for half a million—and encouraged—greatly encouraged indeed—by an aside from Sam that the painter had already been offered more than he paid for it by a man worth millions—under all these influences, assistances, and encouragements, I say, the one-eyed dealer so modified his demands that an additional twenty-four hours was granted Jack in which to settle his account, the Monet to remain in his possession.
When Sam returned from this second bowing-out his language was more temperate. "You're a Cracker-Jack," was all he said, and closed the door behind him.
During the ten days that followed, Jack gloated over the Monet and staved off his various creditors until his father's semi-monthly remittance arrived. Whenever the owner of the Monet mounted the stairs by appointment and pounded at Jack's door, Jack let him pound, tiptoeing about his room until he heard the anxious dealer's footsteps echoing down the stairs in retreat.
On the day that the "governor's" remittance arrived—it came on the fifteenth and the first of every month—Sam found a furniture van backed up opposite Jack's studio street entrance. The gravity of the situation instantly became apparent. The dealer had lost patience and had sent for the picture; the van told the story. Had he not been sure of getting it he would not have sent the van.
Sam went up three steps at a time and burst into Jack's studio. He found its owner directing two men where to place an inlaid cabinet. It was a large cabinet of ebony, elaborately carved and decorated, and the two furniture men—judging from the way they were breathing—had had their hands full in getting it up the three flights of stairs. Jack was pushing back the easels and pictures to make room for it when Sam entered. His first thought was for the unpaid-for picture.
"Monet gone, Jack?" he asked, glancing around the room hurriedly in his anxiety to find it.
"Yea—last night. He came and took it away. Here," (this to the two men) "shove it close to the wall," pointing to the cabinet. "There—now go down and get the top, and look out you don't break those little drawers. What's the matter with you, Samuel? You look as if somebody had walked over your grave."
"And you had no trouble?"
"Trouble! What are you dilating about, Samuel? We never have any trouble up here."