the Duchess were all engaged in getting the dinner upon the table.
Additional help would only be interference, so Larry's eyes wandered
casually to the canvases standing in the shadows against the walls.

"Mr. Hunt," he remarked, "you seem to have earned a very real reputation
of its sort in the neighborhood. Old Isaac downstairs told me you were
crazy--said they called you 'Nuts'--said you were the worst painter that
ever happened."

"Yeh, that's what they say," agreed Hunt.

"They certainly are awful, Larry," put in Maggie, coming to his side.
"Father thinks they are jokes, and father certainly knows pictures. Just
look at a few of them."

"Yeh, look at 'em and have a good laugh," invited Hunt.

Larry carried the portrait of the Duchess to beneath the swinging
electric bulb and examined it closely. Maggie, at his shoulder, waited
for his mirth; and Hunt regarded him with a sidelong gaze. But Larry
did not laugh. He silently returned the picture, and then examined the
portrait of Old Jimmie--then of Maggie--then of the Italian madonna,
throned on her curbstone. He replaced this last and crossed swiftly to
Hunt. Maggie watched this move in amazement.

Larry faced the big painter. His figure was tense, his features hard
with suspicion. That moment one could understand why he was sometimes
called "Terrible Larry"; just then he looked a devastating explosion
that was still unexploded.

"What's your game down here, Hunt?" he demanded harshly.

"My game?" repeated the big painter. "I don't get you."

"Yes, you do! You're down here posing as a boob who smears up canvases!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Only this: those are not crazy daubs. They're real pictures!"

"Eh!" exclaimed Hunt. Maggie stared in bewilderment at the two men.

Hunt spoke again. "What the dickens do you know about pictures? Old
Jimmie, who's said to be a shark, thinks all these things are just
comics."

"Jimmie only thinks a picture's good after a thousand press-agents have
said it's good," Larry returned. "I studied at the Academy of Design for
two years, till I learned I could never paint. But I know pictures."

"And you think mine are good?"

"Not in the popular manner--they're too original. But they're great. And
you're a great painter. And I want to know--"

"Hurray!" shouted Hunt, and flung an enthusiastic arm about Larry, and
began to pound his back. "Oh, boy! Oh, boy!"

Larry wrenched himself free. "Cut that out. Then you admit