Our Art writer is awakened. Listen to him.
Dear Continental: You were kind enough to inform me that you would be much obliged if I would let you know if there was anything stirring in the world of Art.
The last thing which stirred in my world—I mean in my workshop in the Studio Building—was a German of the carpenter persuasion. At least he had a side pocket, and folding two-feet rule, with a shaving on his left curl.
'Bees you a poor-trait bainter?' he inquired.
'Truly I am!' I replied.
'I wants you to baint de likeness to my fader.'
'With pleasure. Bring him here.'
'Yas—see now, dat is not bossiple. He lies geburied in the purying crount in Stuttgart in Shermany.'
'Well, have you a photograph of him?'