"Accounts for what?"

"Well, you see," said Whistler, with an exquisite sneer, "I have been
watching you gentlemen of the press all morning. You are the only one
in the whole lot who seems to find anything here worth looking at, and
you have been taking such very serious interest that I was certain you
must be representing some church paper."

"Mr. Whistler," retorted Barnett, "make your mind easy. There is
nothing ecclesiastical about me nor the publication I have the honor
to represent; but all the same, for you this is the day of judgment!"

"I wish you good morning," rejoined the painter, pertly.

* * * * *

His "artistic" make-up of flat-brimmed hat, lemon-colored vest, curls,
eyeglass, and beribboned cane sometimes upset the cockney crowd.
R.A.M. Stevenson, cousin of Robert Louis, was working in his studio
one day when the bell rang violently. He ran to the door just in time
to rescue the symphony into which Whistler had turned himself from a
growling mob.

"For God's sake, Stevenson," said Whistler, "save me from these
howling brutes!"

He went home in a cab with all his trimmings.

* * * * *