Then his face lighted; he ran
to the wall and began to dust off a peculiarly atrocious chromo with his
handkerchief. Then he brought it reverently, offered it to the
collector, averted his face and said:
"Take it, but don't let me see it go. It's the sole remaining Rembrandt
that--"
"Rembrandt be damned, it's a chromo."
"Oh, don't speak of it so, I beg you. It's the only really great
original, the only supreme example of that mighty school of art which--"
"Art! It's the sickest looking thing I--"
The colonel was already bringing another horror and tenderly dusting it.
"Take this one too--the gem of my collection--the only genuine Fra
Angelico that--"
"Illuminated liver-pad, that's what it is. Give it here--good day--
people will think I've robbed a' nigger barber-shop."
As he slammed the door behind him the Colonel shouted with an anguished
accent--
"Do please cover them up--don't let the damp get at them. The delicate
tints in the Angelico--"
But the man was gone.
Washington re-appeared and said he had looked everywhere, and so had Mrs.
Sellers and the servants, but in vain; and went on to say he wished he
could get his eye on a certain man about this time--no need to hunt up
that pocket-book then.
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