"I' t' daylight, proddin' 'em up wi' a stick—to say nowt o' Port Skillian bathin'-place of a fine Sunda'——"
"That hoary old lie, that Socialism means sharing——"
"Oh, at any artists' colourman's——"
"No; it will probably be published privately——"
"Van Gogh——"
"Oh, you're entirely wrong!——"
And then, in the middle of a sudden and mysterious lull, the man who had come without his safety-lamp was heard addressing Cosimo again:—
"Well, what about t' new paaper? Owt settled yet?... Nay, ye needn't look; Wilkinson telled me; it's all right; nowt 'at's said 'll go beyond these fower walls. Wilkinson's gotten a rare list together, names an' right, I can tell ye! But t' way I look at it is this——"
Cosimo looked blank.
"But, my dear—I'm afraid I didn't catch your name——," he said.