price"--he waved toward the van. Rowlatt turned his head and,
laughing, looked into the twinkling black eyes. "I don't for a
moment expect you to buy, sir, but I was only a-satisfying of my
artistic conscience."

Rowlatt shut his sketch-book with a snap, and rose. "Let us have a
drink," said he. "Artists should be better acquainted."

He whispered a message to Paul, who sped to the inn and presently
returned with a couple of the famous blue and white mugs frothing
deliciously at the brims. The men, their lips to the bubbles, nodded
to each other. The still beat of the August noon enveloped their
bodies, but a streak of heavenly coolness trickled through their
souls. Paul, looking at them enviously, longed to be grown up.

Then followed a pleasant half-hour of desultory talk. Although the
men did not make him, save for here and there a casual reference,
the subject of their conversation, Paul, with the Vision shimmering
before his eyes, was sensitive enough to perceive in a dim and
elusive way that he was at the back of each man's thoughts and that,
for his sake, each was trying to obtain the measure of the other. At
last Barney Bill, cocking at the sun the skilled eye of the dweller
in the wilderness, called the time for departure.

"Could I see th' picture?" asked Paul.

Rowlatt passed him the sketch-book. The sudden sight of oneself as
one appears in another's eyes is always a shock, even to the most
sophisticated sitter. To Paul it was uncanny. He had often seen his
own reflection and was familiar with his own appearance, but this