all to our taste.

It went on to say that Signor Lanion, a young Spanish
artist, had just arrived in New York and had taken
apartments at No. Fifth Avenue. "Lanion" was the name which
had appeared on our bill for picture-framing, the clerk who
had waited on us having taken it down incorrectly.
"Unfortunately," the article continued, "Signor Lanion does
not speak English, and for that reason the reporter was
unable to interview him."

The paper described Rayel's personal charms at much length,
and claimed the credit of having discovered a genius who,
although still a youth, had done work worthy of an
acknowledged master.

We had deep respect for the influence of that newspaper
before another week ended. Art managers, tailors,
advertising agents, auctioneers and numerous men and women
prompted by no motive but idle curiosity, besieged us until
we bolted our doors in dismay against all comers. The mail,
too, brought us missives of varying import from persons who
had read the article, one of which was a polite letter from
Francis Paddington, a Wall Street broker, whose name I had
heard frequently during my American travels.

"It was not stated," said he, referring to the newspaper
article, "whether or not any of Signor Lanion's paintings
are for sale. If they are, I would be glad to look at them
with a view to making some purchases for my art collection."