Phil looked at Caracal and winked his eye. Caracal answered by a prudent shrug. Phil was one of those rare Americans who can shrug and wink. The mute dialogue went on:
“That catches you, mon vieux Caracal!” said the wink.
“Idiot!” answered the shoulders; “you’ll pay me for this—to make fun of me—Caracal!”
“Each has his turn!” winked Phil.
Caracal fixed his eye-glass and stared at the picture.
“Very—very interesting—very original. That’s art—that ought to be at the Luxembourg! Oughtn’t it, cher ami?”
“The deuce!” thought Phil.
“And this, look at this!” said Caracal, taking up an abominable sketch for a pork-butcher’s sign. “Here’s the quintessence of animalism! Bravo, mon cher, you’re the man I’m looking for!”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Phil, to himself.
“Let me explain. I am looking for an artist to illustrate my new novel.”