"Well, won't they be a sensation, when we show them in Washington?" said Will, viewing the picture critically. "I really think I will make it the subject of an oil painting."
"And I want that painting at any price, if you will ever sell it," cried the Doctor.
"I will paint one for each of the company—except Sing. That apathetic heathen would not care half so much for it as he would for a highly colored chromo."
"Don't be so hard upon poor Sing. I am sure that he would be just delighted with one of those paintings," said Mattie.
"Call him in and let's see. If there is a particle of the aesthetic about him, I have failed thus far to see it," declared Will.
So Mattie called Sing from the kitchen. He looked so neat in his white apron and cap that Will began to fear that he had slandered the poor fellow. He was shown the photograph, and Mattie said:
"You sabe that picture, Sing?"
"Yes, me sabe."
"What is it?"
Sing grinned a moment as he looked slyly around upon, the company, and answered: