Rocjean filled up glasses. Mr. Pinchfip declining, as he never drank before dinner, neither did he smoke before dinner. He told them that the late Doctor Phyzgig, who had always been their (the Pinchfips') family physician, had absolutely forbidden it. No one made any remark to this, unless Mr. Van Brick's expressive face could be translated as observing, in a quiet manner, that the late Doctor was possibly dyspeptic, and probably nervous. Rocjean's painting represented a view of the Claudian aqueduct, mountains in the distance; bold foreground, shepherd with flocks, a wayside shrine, peasants kneeling in front of it. Over all, bold cloud effects. A very ponderous volume balanced on top of the picture, and leaning against the easel, invited Uncle Bill's attention, and he asked Rocjean why he had put it there? The artist answered that it was a folio copy of _Josephus_, his works, and, as he was anxious to comply with the terms of Mr. Browne, he had placed it there in order to put the _most work_ on it. Mr. Pinchfip having asked Rocjean why, in placing that book there, he was like a passenger paying his fare to the driver of an omnibus? The latter at once answered: 'I give it up.' 'So you do,' replied Pinchfip. 'You are quick, sir, at answering conundrums.' Mr. Brick saw it. Finally Uncle Bill was made to comprehend. 'Very excellent, sir; very ingenious! Philadelphians may well be proud of the high position they have as punsters, utterers of _bon mots_ and conundrums,' said Rocjean; 'I have had the comfort of living in your city, and thoroughly appreciating your--markets.' After Rocjean's the judges and Uncle Bill went to Caper's studio. As they entered his room they found that ingenious youth walking, in his shirt-sleeves, in as large a circle as the room would permit, bearing on his head a large canvas, while a quite pretty female model, named Stella, sat on a sofa, marking down something on a piece of paper, using the sole of her shoe for a writing-desk. 'We-ell!' said Uncle Bill. 'One more round,' quoth Caper, with unmoved countenance, 'and I will be with you. That will make four hundred and fifty, won't it, Stella?' '_Eh, Gia_, one more is all you want.' And making an extra scratch with a pencil, the female model surveyed the new-comers with a triumphant air, plainly saying: 'See there! I can write, but I am not proud.' 'What are you about, Jim?' 'Look at that painting!' answered Caper. 'The Blessing of the Donkeys, Horses, etc.; it is one of the most imposing ceremonies of the Church. As my specialty is animal, I have chosen it for my painting; and not contented with laboring faithfully on it, I have determined, in order to put the thing beyond a doubt as to my gaining the prize, to put the _most work_ on it of any of my rivals; so I have actually, as Stella will tell you, carried it bodily four hundred and fifty times round this studio.'