Clara. As a little girl. Painted on ivory. See that quaint old coral necklace. And those adorable yellow curls. And the pink circle comb. Would you like it?
Thief. Trying to appeal to my sympathy. I've a good notion to take it to punish you. I wonder if it IS your grandmother. There isn't the slightest family resemblance. Look here!—it is!—it's a copy of the Selby miniature! Woman, do you know who that IS? It's Harriet Beecher Stowe at twelve. What have you done with my overcoat?
Charles. I give up. Here it is. Clara, that was too bad.
Clara. I wanted to see if he'd know.
Charles. There's no use trying to save us after this. We'll just have to bear the disgrace.
Thief. Charles, you're a trump! I'll even take that old daub for YOU. Give it to me.
Charles. Wait a minute. You won't have to. Say, Clara, where is that old picture of Cousin Paul? It's just as bad as it pretends to be, if genuineness is all you want.
Thief [suspiciously]. Who is Cousin Paul? Don't try to ring in Daniel Webster on me.
Charles. Cousin of mine. Lives on a farm near Madison, Wisconsin.
Thief. You don't claim the picture is by Sargent or Whistler?