“Young fellow, still keeping all those commandments you wrote for yourself?”
“So far, my bucko.”
“Keep on keeping 'em, and write yourself a few more, and you'll have a brand-new decalogue. And we'll have a little Moses of our own. But in the meantime, son, what's the great idea of coming down here?”
“For one thing, I came to ask for a couple of your paintings.”
“My paintings!” Hunt regarded the other suspiciously. “What the hell you want my paintings for?”
“They might make good towels if I can scrape the paint off.”
“Aw, cut out the vaudeville stuff! I asked you what you wanted my paintings for? Give me a straight answer!”
“All right—here's your straight answer: I want your paintings to sell them.”
“Sell my paintings! Say, are you trying to say something still funnier?”
“I want them to sell them. Remember I once told you that I could sell them—that I could sell anything. Let me have them, and then just see.”