'And a very safe guess,' I answered, leading him on. 'You can't go far wrong in mentioning Raphael, can you? But after him?'
He dived into the recesses of his memory again, peered about him for a minute or two, and brought back nothing. 'I can't remembah the othah fellahs' names,' he went on; 'they're all so much alike: all in elli, don't yah know; but I recollect at the time they impressed me awfully.'
'No doubt,' I answered.
He tried to look through me, and failed. Then he plunged, like a noble sportsman that he was, on a second fetch of memory. 'Ah—and Michael Angelo,' he went on, quite proud of his treasure-trove. 'Sweet things, Michael Angelo's!'
'Very sweet,' I admitted. 'So simple; so touching; so tender; so domestic!'
I thought Elsie would explode; but she kept her countenance. The pea-green young man gazed at me uneasily. He had half an idea by this time that I was making game of him.
However, he fished up a name once more, and clutched at it. 'Savonarola, too,' he adventured. 'I adore Savonarola. His pickchahs are beautiful.'
'And so rare!' Elsie murmured.
'Then there is Fra Diavolo?' I suggested, going one better. 'How do you like Fra Diavolo?'
He seemed to have heard the name before, but still he hesitated. 'Ah—what did he paint?' he asked, with growing caution.