"Not in our parts, there bain't. Stop a bit. What be ye going to paint,
sir? Housen, or folk?"

"Oh, hang it, not houses. Figures, landscapes."

"Well, ye might just make shift to live at it, I suppose, with here and
there a signboard. They are the best paid, our way: but, Lord bless ye,
THEY wants headpiece. Well, sir, let me see your work. Then we'll talk
further."

"I'll go to work this afternoon," said Falcon eagerly; then with
affected surprise, "Bless me; I forgot. I have no palette, no canvas, no
colors. You couldn't lend me a couple of sovereigns to buy them, could
you?"

"Ay, sir; I could. But I woan't. I'll lend ye the things, though, if you
have a mind to go with me and buy 'em."

Falcon agreed, with a lofty smile; and the purchases were made.

Mr. Falcon painted a landscape or two out of his imagination. The
dealers to whom he took them declined them; one advised the gentleman
painter to color tea-boards. "That's your line," said he.

"The world has no taste," said the gentleman painter: "but it has got
lots of vanity: I'll paint portraits."

He did; and formidable ones: his portraits were amazingly like the
people, and yet unlike men and women, especially about the face. One