Part 16 (1/2)

”A. E. Barrett.”

I tried to think of a reply, both graceful and witty. The only one I could think of was, ”Oh?”

”It's extraordinary. If your hair were just a little longer the likeness would be perfect.”

I thought of offering to go away now and come back in a month's time.

Anyway, it would be an excuse for going now.

”I first knew him at Cambridge,” he explained. ”We were up together in the 'seventies.”

”Ah, I was up in the nineteen hundreds,” I said. ”I just missed you both.”

”Well, didn't they ever tell you at Cambridge that you were the image of A. E. Barrett?”

I tried to think. They had told me lots of things at Cambridge, but I couldn't remember any talk about A. E. Barrett.

”I should have thought every one would have noticed it,” he said.

I had something graceful for him this time all right.

”Probably,” I said, ”those who were unfortunate enough to know me had not the honour of knowing A. E. Barrett.”

”But everybody knew A. E. Barrett. _You've_ heard of him, of course?”

The dreadful moment had arrived. I knew it would.

”Of course,” I said.

”A charming fellow.”

”Very brainy,” I agreed.

”Well, just ask any of your artist friends if they don't notice the likeness. The nose, the eyes, the expression--wonderful! But I must be going. Perhaps I shall see you here again some day. Good afternoon”; and he raised his hat and left me.

You can understand that I was considerably disturbed. First, why had I never heard of A. E. Barrett? Secondly, what sort of looking fellow was he? Thirdly, with all this talk about A. E. Barrett, however many sandwiches had I eaten? The last question seemed the most impossible to answer, so I said ”eight,” to be on the safe side, and went back to work.

In the evening I called upon Peter. My acquaintance of the afternoon had a.s.sumed too readily that I should allow myself to be on friendly terms with artists; but Peter's wife ill.u.s.trates books, and they both talk in a disparaging way of our greatest Academicians.

”Who,” I began at once, as I shook hands, ”did I remind you of as I came in at the door?”

Peter was silent. Mrs. Peter, feeling that some answer was called for, said, ”The cat.”

”No, no. Now I'll come in again.” I went out and returned dramatically.

”Now then, tell me frankly, doesn't that remind you of A. E. Barrett entering his studio?”

”Who is A. E. Barrett?”

I was amazed at their ignorance.

”He's the well-known artist. _Surely_ you've heard of him?”