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.

* * * * *