“What's your game down here, Hunt?” he demanded harshly.
“My game?” repeated the big painter. “I don't get you.”
“Yes, you do! You're down here posing as a boob who smears up canvases!”
“What's wrong with that?”
“Only this: those are not crazy daubs. They're real pictures!”
“Eh!” exclaimed Hunt. Maggie stared in bewilderment at the two men.
Hunt spoke again. “What the dickens do you know about pictures? Old Jimmie, who's said to be a shark, thinks all these things are just comics.”
“Jimmie only thinks a picture's good after a thousand press-agents have said it's good,” Larry returned. “I studied at the Academy of Design for two years, till I learned I could never paint. But I know pictures.”
“And you think mine are good?”
“Not in the popular manner—they're too original. But they're great. And you're a great painter. And I want to know—”