The captain looked at her, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, and, rising, walked across the room. Adjusting his glasses, he inspected the Corot in silence for a few minutes. Then he drew a long breath.
“Well!” he sighed. “Well.” Then, after an interval, “Was this the only one he ever painted?”
“The only one? The only picture Corot painted? Of course not! There are many more.”
“Did—did this Corot feller get as much for every job as he did for this?”
“I presume so. I know father considered this one a bargain.”
“Did, hey? Humph! I ought to know enough by this time not to believe all I hear, but I kind of had an idea that picture paintin’ was starvation work. I’ve read about artists committin’ suicide, and livin’ in attics, and such. Whew! About two such bargain sale jobs as this, and I’d guarantee not to starve—and to live as nigh the ground as a second-floor bedroom anyhow. How about this next one? This feller in a dory—coddin’, I guess he is. Did—did Mr. Corot do him?”
“No. That is by a well-known American artist. It is a good piece of work, but not like the other. It is worth much less. Perhaps five thousand.”
“So? Well, even for that I’d undertake to buy consider’ble many dories, and hire fellers to fish from ’em, too. Humph! I guess I’m out of soundin’s. When I thought fifteen dollars was a high price for paintin’ a view of a house I was slightly mistaken. Next time I’ll offer the paintin’ feller the house and ask him what he considers a fair boot, besides. Sam Cahoon’s a better speculator than I thought he was. Hello, Commodore! what’s worryin’ you now?”
Edwards appeared to announce that dinner was served. Caroline rose and led the way to the dining room. Captain Elisha followed, looking curiously about him as he did so. Stephen, who had been sulkily dressing in his own room, entered immediately after.
The captain surveyed the dining room with interest. Like the others of the suite, it was sumptuously and tastefully furnished. He took the chair indicated by the solemn Edwards, and the meal began.