going to your home in Pittsburgh,
every Spaniard will hate you and every art-collector will hate you, too.
For it is the most wonderful art treasure in Europe. And what a bargain,
Mr. Faust! What a bargain!"

To make sure that the reporter was within hearing, Mr. Faust glanced
in the direction of Philip and, seeing that he had heard, frowned
importantly. That the reporter might hear still more, he also raised his
voice.

"Nothing can be called a bargain, Baron," he said, "that costs three
hundred thousand dollars!"

Again he could not resist glancing toward Philip, and so eagerly
that Philip deemed it would be only polite to look interested. So he
obligingly assumed a startled look, with which he endeavored to mingle
simulations of surprise, awe, and envy.

The next instant an expression of real surprise overspread his features.

Mr. Faust continued. "If you will come upstairs," he said to the
picture-dealer, "I will give you your check; and then I should like to
drive to your apartments and take a farewell look at the picture."

"I am sorry," the Baron said, "but I have had it moved to my art gallery
to be packed."

"Then let's go to the gallery," urged the patron of art. "We've just
time before lunch." He rose to his feet, and on the instant the soul of
the picture-dealer was filled with alarm.

In actual words he said: "The picture is already boxed and in its lead
coffin. No doubt by now it is on its way to Liverpool. I am sorry." But
his thoughts, as Philip easily read them, were: "Fancy my letting this
vulgar fool into the Tate Street workshop! Even HE would know that old
masters are not found in a half-finished state on Chelsea-made frames
and canvases. Fancy my letting him see those two half-completed Van
Dycks, the new Hals, the half-dozen Corots. He would even see his own
copy of Velasquez next to the one exactly like it--the one MacMillan
finished yesterday and that I am sending to Oporto, where next year, in
a convent, we shall 'discover' it."

Philip's surprise gave way to intense amusement. In his delight at the
situation upon which he had stumbled, he laughed aloud. The two men,
who had risen, surprised at the spectacle of a young man laughing at
nothing, turned and stared. Philip also rose.

"Pardon me," he said to Faust, "but you spoke so loud I couldn't help
overhearing. I think we've met before, when I was a reporter on the
Republic."

The Pittsburgh millionaire made a pretense, of annoy