"Well, I am here on behalf of my special partner, Mr. Eggleston, who is also a director in one of our companies, and who had an appointment with you at four o'clock. He is detained at the trust company's office, and I came in his stead. The portrait, as I suppose that little fellow--I forget his name--has told you, is to hang up in the office of the Portage Copper Company--that's our company. We want a full-sized portrait--big and important. Mr. Eggleston is a good deal of a man, you know, and there's a business side to it--business side to most everything in the Street," this came with a half-laugh. "I'll tell you about that later. You never saw him, of course. No?--he's so busy he doesn't get around much uptown. Fine, large, rather imposing-looking--white hair, red face and big hands--lots of color about him--ought to paint him, I suppose, with his hand on a globe, or some books. I'm not posted on these things, but you'll know when you see him. He'll be up any day next week that you say. We want it right away, of course. Some business in that, too," and another faint laugh escaped his lips. All this time Gregg had been standing in front of the stranger waiting for an opportunity to offer him his hand and tell how sorry he was to have kept him waiting, explaining the meeting of the jury and his being obliged to be present, but the flow of talk had continued without a break and in a way that began to attract his attention. "Got a nice place here," the young man rattled on, gazing about him as he spoke; "first time I was ever in a studio, and first time, too, I ever met a real painter in his workshop. I'm so tied down. Valuable, these things you've got here, too--cost a lot of money. I buy a few myself now and then. By the bye, while I was waiting for you to come in I couldn't help looking at the pictures and things." He had stepped closer now, his eyes boring into Gregg's as if he were trying to read his mind. For an instant Gregg thought an extra cocktail on the way uptown was the cause of his garrulousness. "Of course I know it's all right, Mr. Gregg, or you wouldn't have it--and you needn't tell me if you don't want to--maybe I oughtn't to ask, been so long ago and everything lost track of--but you won't feel offended if I do, will you?" He had his hand on Gregg's shoulder now, his lips quivering, a peculiar look in his eyes. "Come across here with me, please. No--this way, to the fireplace. Where did you get that portrait?" Gregg felt a sudden relief. The man wasn't drunk--it was the beauty of the picture which had affected him. He could forgive him that, although he felt sure the next move would be an offer to purchase it. He had met his kind before. "I bought it at private sale," he answered simply. "When?" "Yesterday." "Who sold it to you?" "Schenck, the auctioneer." "Will you sell it to me?" "No; I never sell anything of that kind." "Not at a large price?"