“Do you really think so, Mr. Oakley?” said the little artist, delighted. “It may sound egotistical, but I have sometimes thought that myself—that these portraits of mine, bad as I know they must be, give a great deal of pleasure and happiness to their owners, and it's a great pleasure for me to do them, and we don't get much beyond that in this world, do we?”
CHAPTER IV
OAKLEY took the satchel from General Cornish's hand as the latter stepped from his private car.
“You got my note, I see,” he said. “I think I'll go to the hotel for the rest of the night.”
He glanced back over his shoulder, as he turned with Dan towards the bus which was waiting for them at the end of the platform.
“I guess no one else got off here. It's not much of a railroad centre.”
“No,” agreed Oakley, impartially; “there are towns where the traffic is heavier.”
Arrived at the hotel, Oakley led the way up-stairs to the general's room. It adjoined his own. Cornish paused on the threshold until he had lighted the gas.