" Then aloud--with deep
irony--
"Visiting our great country for recreation and amusement, no doubt.
I suppose you find that traveling in the majestic expanses of our Far
West is--"
"I haven't been West, and haven't been devoting myself to amusement with
any sort of exclusiveness, I assure you. In fact, to merely live, an
artist has got to work, not play."
"Artist!" said Hawkins to himself, thinking of the rifled bank; "that is
a name for it!"
"Are you an artist?" asked the colonel; and added to himself, "now I'm
going to catch him."
"In a humble way, yes."
"What line?" pursued the sly veteran.
"Oils."
"I've got him!" said Sellers to himself. Then aloud, "This is fortunate.
Could I engage you to restore some of my paintings that need that
attention?"
"I shall be very glad. Pray let me see them."
No shuffling, no evasion, no embarrassment, even under this crucial test.
The Colonel was nonplussed. He led Tracy to a chromo which had suffered
damage in a former owner's hands through being used as a lamp mat, and
said, with a flourish of his hand toward the picture--
"This del Sarto--"
"Is that a del Sarto?"
The colonel bent a look of reproach upon Tracy, allowed it to sink home,
then resumed as if there had been no interruption--
"This del Sarto is perhaps the only original of that sublime master in
our country.
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