Part 3 (2/2)

”Well, well!” says I soothin'. ”Maybe you have. But you don't force 'em on folks, do you? That ain't the point, though. The question before the house is about that----”

”Suppose I hand back Twombley-Crane's name,” says he, ”and try another?”

I shakes my head decided. ”No dodgin',” says I. ”That point was covered in Pyramid's gen'ral directions. If you do it at all, you got to take the list as it runs. But what's a picture more or less? All you got to do is wrap it up, s.h.i.+p it to Twombley-Crane, and----”

”I--I couldn't!” says J. Bayard, almost groanin'. ”Why, I've disliked him for years, ever since he sent out that cold no! I've always hoped that something would happen to bend that stiff neck of his; that a panic would smash him, as I was smashed. But he has gone on, growing richer and richer, colder and colder. And when I got this sketch away from him--well, that was a crumb of comfort. Don't you see?”

”Kind of stale and picayune, Steele, it strikes me,” says I. ”Course, you're the doctor. If you'd rather see all them other folks that you dislike come in for a hundred and fifty thousand apiece, with no rakeoff for you--why, that's your business. But I'd think it over.”

”Ye-e-es,” says he draggy. ”I--I suppose I must.”

With that he shakes his shoulders, gets on his feet, and walks out with his chin well up; leavin' me feelin' like I'd been tryin' to wish a dose of castor oil on a bad boy.

”Huh!” thinks I. ”I wonder if Pyramid guessed all he was lettin' me in for?”

What J. Bayard would decide to do--drop the whole shootin' match, or knuckle under in this case in the hopes of gettin' a fat commission on the next--was more'n I could dope out. But inside of an hour I had the answer. A messenger boy shows up with a package. It's the sketch from Steele, with a note sayin' I might send it to Twombley-Crane, if that would answer. He'd be hanged if he would! So I rings up another boy and s.h.i.+ps it down to Twombley-Crane's office, as the easiest way of gettin'

rid of it. I didn't know whether he was in town or not. If he wa'n't, he'd find the thing when he did come in. And while maybe that don't quite cover all the specifications, it's near enough so I can let it pa.s.s. Then I goes out to lunch.

Must have been about three o'clock that afternoon, and I'd just finished a session in the gym, when who should show up at the studio but Twombley-Crane. What do you suppose? Why, in spite of the fact that I'd sent the picture without any name or anything, he'd been so excited over gettin' it that he'd rung up the messenger office and bluffed 'em into tellin' where the call had come in from. And as long as I'd known him I've never seen Twombley-Crane thaw out so much. Why, he acts almost human as he shakes hands! Then he takes the package from under his arm and unwraps it.

”The Whistler that I'd given up all hope of ever getting!” says he, gazin' at it admirin' and enthusiastic.

”So?” says I, non-committal.

”And now it appears mysteriously, sent from here,” says he. ”Why, my dear fellow, how can I ever----”

”You don't have to,” I breaks in, ”because it wa'n't from me at all.”

”But they told me at the district office,” he goes on, ”that the call came from----”

”I know,” says I. ”That's straight enough as far as it goes. But you know that ain't in my line. I was only pa.s.sin' it on for someone else.”

”For whom?” he demands.

”That's tellin',” says I. ”It's a secret.”

”Oh, but I must know,” says he, ”to whom I am indebted so deeply. You don't realize, McCabe, how delighted I am to get hold of this gem of Whistler's. Why, it makes my collection the most complete to be found in any private gallery!”

”Well, you ought to be satisfied then,” says I. ”Why not let it go at that?”

But not him. No, he'd got to thank somebody; to pay 'em, if he could.

”How much, for instance?” says I.

”Why, I should readily have given five thousand for it,” says he; ”ten, if necessary.”

”Not fifteen?” says I.

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