stein.

The "private interests" of the Newport Art Gallery were as jealously
guarded as the inner secrets of Magdal's Pharmacy; furthermore, the
hidden post-office, telegraph exchange, and "private room" busied
the dealer from morn till eve.

Lilienthal was in a particularly good humor when he at last dispatched
the Danube "artist proof" by an especial messenger to Mr. Randall
Clayton's own rooms. It had all fallen about in a spirit of graceful
courtesy. And three hearts bounded with a hidden delight when the
happy incident occurred.

When Randall Clayton returned from the Astor Place Bank he had
discovered Mr. Adolph Lilienthal in a particularly cheerful frame
of mind. The young cashier had hastened to his office and delivered
over his bundle of exchange and checked-up bank-book. "I shall be
out for an hour," he sharply called to Einstein. "Wait here in my
office and let any callers return at two o'clock!"

There was a glow of expectancy on the handsome face of the customer
as Lilienthal rubbed his hands. "I have been fortunate enough to
carry out your wishes, Mr. Clayton," he obsequiously said. "Fraulein
Gluyas has called and paid for her picture. I have told her of your
longing for a replica, and, by telephoning down to my importer,
I have learned that I can get a duplicate in six weeks.

"She is not altogether satisfied with the framing of this one, and
I have begged her to allow me to sell you this one, so that I can
import one for her framed in our own Viennese manner.