“You sent it off?”
“Yes.” The young man was silent a minute. “Sergia took them—all of them—when I fell sick. They were not ready—not even framed. She was to send them to the committee. I have not heard.”
“I’ll go see ’em in the mornin’,” said Uncle William.
“I don’t know that you can—”
“Can’t anybody go in—if it’s an exhibit—by payin’ suthin’?”
“I mean, I don’t know that they’re hung.”
“Well, I wouldn’t bother about that. I’d like to see ’em jest as well if they ain’t hung. I’m putty tall, but I can scooch down as well as anybody. It’ll seem kind o’ good to see the ol’ place. I was thinkin’ this mornin’ I wish’t there was two-three rocks round somewheres. I guess that’s what picters are for. Some folks hev to live in New York—can’t get away. I sha’n’t mind if they ain’t hung up. I can see ’em all right, scoochin’ a little.”
The young man smiled. “I don’t know that they’re accepted.”
“Why not—if she sent ’em?”
“Oh, she sent them all right. They may have been refused.”