"Move and I'll wipe my palette off on that Mardi Gras vest of yours!"
grunted the big painter autocratically through his mouthful of
brushes.

"O God--and I got a cramp in my back, and my neck's gone to sleep!"
groaned Old Jimmie, leaning forward on his cane. "Daughter, dear"--
plaintively to Maggie--"what is the crazy gentleman doing to me?"

"It's an awful smear, father." Maggie spoke slightingly, but with a
tone of doubt. It was not the sort of picture that eighteen has been
taught to like--yet the picture did possess an intangible something
that provoked doubt as to its quality. "You sure do look one old
burglar!"

"Not a cheap burglar?"--hopefully.

"Naw!" exploded the man at the easel in his big voice, first taking
the brushes from his mouth. "You're a swell-looking old pirate!--ready
to loot the sub-treasury and then scuttle the old craft with all
hands on board! A breathing, speaking, robbing likeness!"

"Maggie's right, and Nuts's right," put in Barney Palmer. "It's sure a
rotten picture, and then again it sure looks like you, Jimmie."

The smartly dressed Barney--Barney could not keep away from Broadway
tailors and haberdashers with their extravagant designs and color
schemes--dismissed the insignificant matter of the portrait, and
resumed the really important matter which had brought him to her.