prices through this evasion of customs laws.

"Nuts," chuckled Old Jimmie, "this junk wouldn't be so funny if you
didn't seem to believe you were really painting."

"Junk! Funny!" Hunt swung around, one big hand closed about Jimmie's
lean neck and the other seized his thin shoulder. "You grandfather of
the devil and all his male progeny, you talk like that and I'll chuck
you through the window!"

Old Jimmie grinned. The grip of the big hands of the painter, though
powerful, was light. They all knew that the loud ravings of the
painter never presaged violence. They had grown to like him, to accept
him as almost one of themselves; though of course they looked down
upon him with amused pity for his imbecility regarding his paintings.

"Get out of here," continued Hunt, "or cut out all this noise that
comes from your having a brain that rattles. I've got to work."

Hunt turned again to his easel, and Old Jimmie, still grinning,
lowered himself into a chair, lit a cigar, and winked at Barney. Hunt,
with brush poised, regarded Maggie a moment.

"You there, Maggie," he ordered, "chin up a bit more, some flash in
your eyes, more pep in your bearing--as though you were asking all the
dames of the Winter Garden, and the Charity Ball, and the Horse Show,
and that gang of tea-swilling women at the Ritzmore you sell
cigarettes to--as though you were asking them all who the dickens they
think they are ... O God, can't you do anything!"