"Excellent! most excellent! Beautiful! beautiful! beautiful! What flesh tints! What colouring! What refinement of drawing and expression! As a likeness it is perfect, there is no gainsaying. Then, the pose—simple, graceful, and natural. My dear young friend," he said, shaking our artist by the hand, and seeming overcome by emotion, "Do you know what you have realised? Why, it is the hand of a master!" etc., etc.
Then each of the members in turn made their own remarks upon the portrait.
"What a picture of life and health!" cried Dr. Bleedem.
"What a face for the stage!" remarked the tragedian.
"Ah! why was not I born a painter?" sighed Mr. Parnassus.
The analytical chemist made a few scientific remarks upon the properties of pigments, in which Professor Cyanite joined, whilst our artist silently removed the colours from his palette.
"And what do you propose doing with the portrait, Mr.—er—Mr. McGuilp?" inquired Mr. Hardcase. "Keep it," replied our artist, laconically.
"What! keep it all to yourself!" exclaimed Mr. Oldstone. "For your own selfish gratification, thereby depriving others of the pleasure to be derived therefrom! Mr. McGuilp, I am surprised at you. Gentlemen," proceeded the antiquary, addressing his fellow members, "I protest against this decision of our young friend. That picture does not leave this inn if I can help it. Mr. McGuilp, your price. What is it? We will all club together and buy it, won't we gentlemen?"
"Ay, ay! so say we all," cried several voices at once.
"Impossible, my dear sir—impossible," remonstrated our artist.