"No, sir, I ain't."
Then, turning to his friend, who had overheard the conversation, Whistler said: "I don't think he could get that dirty in seven years; do you?"
* * * * *
Benrimo, the dramatist, who wrote "The Yellow Jacket," relates that when he was a young writer, fresh from the breezy atmosphere of San Francisco, he visited London. Coming out of the Burlington Gallery one day, he saw a little man mincing toward him, carrying a cane held before him as he walked, whom he recognized as Whistler. With Western audacity he stopped the pedestrian, introduced himself, and broke into an elaborate outburst of acclamation for the works of the master, who "ate it up," as the saying goes.
Waving his wand gently toward the famous gallery, Whistler queried:
"Been in there?"
"Oh, yes."
"See anything worth while?"
"Some splendid things, magnificent examples—"
"I'm sorry you ever approved of me," observed the master, majestically, and on he went, leaving Benrimo withered under his disdain.