"You knew Whistler?"
"Oh yes."
We left him with Punch and a copy of an art journal. Ajax said to me, as we went back to the barn--
"I'll bet he's an artist of sorts."
It happened that we had in our cellar some fine claret; a few magnums of Léoville, '74, a present from a millionaire friend. We never drank it except upon great occasions. Ajax suggested a bottle of this elixir, not entirely out of charity. Such tipple would warm a graven image into speech, and my brother is inordinately curious. Our guest had nothing to give to us except his confidence, and that he had withheld.
We decanted the claret very carefully. As soon as our guest tasted it, he sighed and said quietly--
"I never expected to taste that again. It's Léoville, isn't it? And in exquisite condition."
He sipped the wine in silence, while I thought of the bundle of foul rags upon our rubbish heap. Ajax was talking shop, describing with some humour our latest deal, and the present high price of fat steers. Our guest listened politely, and when Ajax paused, he said ironically- -
"Yours is a gospel of hard work. I dare say you have ridden two horses to a standstill to-day? Just so. I can't ride, or plough, or dig."
Ajax opened his lips to reply, and closed them. Our guest smiled.