“Going to sling some paint?”

“What?”

“You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What kind—cow, sea bathing or just green grass?”

Dangerfield looked at him a moment, and gradually a smile broke through.

“I see. Well, I am only a portrait painter.”

“Like Tootles,” said Flick.

Dangerfield glanced at Tootles, who acknowledged this tribute by bowing and saying with dignity, after making sure that no remnants of Wimpfheimer & Goldfinch’s cartoons were visible: