y, with all this talk about A. E. Barrett, however many
sandwiches had I eaten? The last question seemed the most impossible to
answer, so I said "eight," to be on the safe side, and went back to
work.

In the evening I called upon Peter. My acquaintance of the afternoon had
assumed too readily that I should allow myself to be on friendly terms
with artists; but Peter's wife illustrates books, and they both talk in
a disparaging way of our greatest Academicians.

"Who," I began at once, as I shook hands, "did I remind you of as I came
in at the door?"

Peter was silent. Mrs. Peter, feeling that some answer was called for,
said, "The cat."

"No, no. Now I'll come in again." I went out and returned dramatically.
"Now then, tell me frankly, doesn't that remind you of A. E. Barrett
entering his studio?"

"Who is A. E. Barrett?"

I was amazed at their ignorance.

"He's the well-known artist. _Surely_ you've heard of him?"

"I seem to know the name," lied Peter. "What did he paint?"

"'Sunrise on the Alps,' 'A Corner of the West,' 'The Long Day
Wanes'--_I_ don't know. Something. The usual thing."

"And are you supposed to be like him?"

"I am. Particularly when eating sandwiches."

"Is it worth while getting you some, in order to observe the likeness?"
asked Mrs. Peter.

"If you've never seen A. E. Barrett I fear you'd miss the likeness, even
in the most favourable circumstances. Anyhow, you must have heard of
him--dear old A. E.!"

They were utterly ignorant of him, so I sat down and told them what I
knew; which, put shortly, was that he was a very remarkable-looking
fellow.

. . . . .

I have not been to the sandwich-place since. Detesting the sandwiches as
I do, I find A. E. Barrett a good excuse for keeping away. For, upon the
day after that when he came into my life, I had a sudden cold fear that
the thing was a plant. How, in what way, I cannot imagine. That I am to
be sold a _Guide to Cambridge_ at the next meeting; that an A. E.
Barrett hair-restorer is about to be placed on the market; that an offer
will be made to enlarge my photograph (or Barrett's) free of charge if I
buy the frame--no, I cannot think what it can be.

Yet, after all, why should it be a plant? We Barretts are not the sort
of men to be mixed up with fraud. Impetuous the Barrett type may be,
obstinate, jealous--so much you see in our features. But dishonest?
Never!

Still, as I did honestly dete