Artists -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
to have been always regarded as an object of pity rather than envy; as
a man who was his own worst enemy, and of whom nothing could be said.
He had apparently caught some words of the conversation, for when he
arrived at the group a smile lit up his homely features, and his teeth
glistened again in the gaslight.
"What are you fellows joking about?" he asked, while he roared with
laughter, as if with an anticipatory relish of the fun. "Some chaff at
my expense, eh? Something about my not having made up my mind to do
something or not; the usual nonsense, I suppose?"
"Not at all Geoff," said Tom Wrigley. "The question asked by Mr.
Stompff here was--whether you wished to sell this picture, and what you
asked for it."
"Ah!" said Geoffrey Ludlow, his lips closing and the fun dying out
of his eyes. "Well, you see it's of course a compliment for you,
Mr. Stompff, to ask the question; but I've scarcely made up my
mind--whether--and indeed as to the price--"
"Stuff, Geoff! What rubbish you talk!" said Charley Potts, who had
rejoined the group. "You know well enough that you painted the picture
for sale. You know equally well that the price is two hundred guineas.
Are you answered, Mr. Stump?"
Ludlow started forward with a look of annoyance, but Stompff merely
grinned, and said quietly, "I take it at the price, and as many more as
Mr. Ludlow will paint of the same sort; stock, lock, and barrel, I'll
have the whole bilin'. Must change the title though, Ludlow, my boy.
None of your Sic wos non thingummy; none of your Hebrew classics for
the British public. 'The Vow,' or 'the Last Farewell,' or something in
that line.--Very neatly done of you, Charley, my boy; very neat bit
of dealing, I call it. I ought to deduct four-and-nine from the next
fifteen shillin' commission you get; but I'll make it up to you this
way,--you've evidently all the qualities of a salesman; come and be my
clerk, and I'll stand thirty shillings a-week and a commission on the
catalogues."
Charley Potts was too delighted at his friend's success to feel
annoyance at these remarks; he merely shook his fist laughingly, and
was passing on, with his arm through Ludlow's; but the vivacious
dealer, who had rapidly calculated where he could plant his
newly-acquired purchase, and what percentage he could make on it, was
not to be thus balked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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