"Whistler had never talked that way before, and I have since thought that he was thinking that the end was not far away. I told him, more to get the notion, if he had it, out of his mind than anything else, that I would not think of taking the picture, and that if he didn't put on one of those finishing touches until I got back, so much the better, for then I could see him work. That seemed to bring him back to himself, and he said:
"'So be it, your Reverence. Now we'll say au revoir in a couple of mint-juleps.' He sent for the materials, made the cups, and, just as the sun was setting, we drank to each other and the homeland, and I was off to catch a train for Liverpool and the steamer. So it was that Whistler and his last subject parted."
* * * * *
A group of American and English artists were discussing the manifold perfections of the late Lord Leighton, president of the Royal Academy.
"Exquisite musician—played the violin like a professional," said one.
"One of the best-dressed men in London," said another.
"Danced divinely," remarked the third.
"Ever read his essays?" asked a fourth. "In my opinion they're the best of the kind ever written."
Whistler, who had remained silent, tapped the last speaker on the shoulder.
"Painted, too, didn't he?" he said.