Artist. I mean, sir, will you be pleased to smile with your mouth?
Mr. B. (aside.) With my mouth? Of course, with my mouth. Does the young man fancy that I propose to drink through my nose, like an elephant? (Aloud.) Oh, yes, I'll smile with my mouth, of course.
Artist. I perceive you do not understand me, sir. I allude to the expression.
Mr. B. Oh! I'm perfectly familiar with the expression—perfectly familiar with the expression.
Artist. Mr. Winglebully, I wish you to assume an agreeable expression of countenance in order that I may transfer your beautiful features to my canvas in a manner satisfactory to yourself, myself, and mankind generally.
Mr. B. Oh, ah! yes, certainly—exactly—to be sure—bless my soul—yes. (Mr. B. grins in an exaggerated manner).
Artist. Ah—yes; that's it—that's it—just so. A little to the left. I'm afraid—keep your head up—I cannot give you a very long sitting to-day—I'm so crowded with sitters. (Mr. B. forgets that he is sitting for his portrait and begins to look very melancholy and miserable.) I am obliged to—smile, if you please. (Mr. B. starts and resumes his exaggerated grin.) I'm obliged to fix certain days and hours to receive my friends and patrons, otherwise they—will you smile, if you please?—otherwise they would not leave me a—will you smile, if you please, sir? Look at me and think of something pleasant. Think of a lady (Mr. B. looks miserable and frightened). (Aside—He doesn't look as if he were thinking of a lady, does he?) Think of something pleasant, now—something pleasing. Think of Hash (Mr. B. brightens up). Yes, hash. Keep on thinking of hash, hash, hash! Good gracious! will you smile, sir? Hash—hash—hash! Keep smiling—hash—that's it; hash! There, sir, will you be kind enough to look at that? You are a little rough and raw (Mr. B. starts), but, of course, I have only rubbed you in. You will come out better at the second painting.
Mr. B. (rising and advancing towards the picture). Oh, yes—yes, very good. The shirt-collar and the cravat are extremely like; but don't you think you might alter the rest?
Artist. Well—ah—umph! I don't know. I think I have hit your eye exactly. (Mr. B. starts slightly.) The hair is very fair, and I've got hold of your nose very satisfactorily. (Mr. B. rubs his nose.) The mouth might look all the better, perhaps, for a little madder, but——
Mr. B. Oh, dear, no, it's quite mad enough. I don't wish to have a severe expression of countenance.