“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.
“Crabtree—Eli Crabtree. This is t’ point I want to mak’, mister. Ye see, I can’t put things grammar; but there’s lots about ’at can; so I thowt we’d get a sec’etary, an’ I’d sit an’ smoke whol’ my thowts come, and then I’d tell him t’ tale. Ye see, ye want to go slap into t’ middle o’ t’ lives o’ t’ people. Now comin’ up o’ t’ tram-top I bethowt me of a champion series: ‘Back to Back Houses I’ve Known.’ I’ll bet a crahn that wi’ somb’dy to put it grammar for me——”
“My dear Crabtree, I’m afraid, don’t you know, that there’s been some mistake——”