thrusting himself into other people's affairs without arousing their
resentment. He was keen to learn Maggie's attitude toward Larry; and
he spoke not so much to gain knowledge of Larry as to draw her out.

"This Larry--what sort of chap is he, Maggie?" As with most artists,
talking did not interfere with Hunt's painting.

Warm color slowly tinted Maggie's cheeks. "He's clever," she said
positively. "You already know that. But I was only a girl when he was
sent away."

Hunt smiled at her idea of her present maturity, implied by her last
sentence. "But you lived with the Duchess for a year before he was
sent away. You must have seen a lot of him, and got to know him well."

"Oh, he used to come down now and then to see his grandmother--I was
only fifteen or sixteen then--just a girl, and he didn't pay much
attention to me. Father can tell you better just how smart he is."

Old Jimmie spoke up promptly. He knew Hunt was not a police stool, and
he liked the painter as much as it was in him to like any man; so he
felt none of the reserve or caution that might have controlled him in
other company.

"You bet Larry's smart! Got the quickest brain of any con man in the
business--and him only about twenty-seven now. Some think I'm a smooth
proposition myself, but Larry puts it all over me. That's why I'm
willing to let him be my boss. He's a wonder at thinking up new
stunts, and then at working out safe new ways of putting them across."