“Rembrandts with any pedigree are getting scarcer and scarcer every year, sir. You wouldn't feel justified in going as far as two pounds if you saw one that you took a fancy to, I suppose? No? Well, I'll see what I can do for you at your price, but I may tell you that it's rather below than above the figure for a genuine hand-painted Rembrandt.” One day two gentlemen called when I was in the gallery--a major in the Gunners and a brother officer. “Morning,” said the former. “I hope you got the frame in order.” “Yes, sir,” replied the dealer, bustling off to where a picture was lying with its face down on a bench. He picked it up and bore it to an easel, on which he placed it in a moderately good light. “That's it, sir. I happened to lay my hands on a more suitable frame, so I didn't trouble with the old one; it's impossible to put a touch of gold leaf on an old frame without making it look patchy.” “I think that's a far better frame than the old one,” said the major. “I brought my friend in to look at the picture. Who did you say it was by?” “Rubens, sir--an early Rubens, I think it is.” “Ah yes, that was the name. Looks well, doesn't it?” said the officer to his friend. “Very well indeed. I never saw anything that took my fancy better,” said the other. “Look at that silk--rippin', I call it--absolutely rippin'.” “I thought you'd like it,” said the major. “There's nothing looks so well in a room as a good old picture. But, of course, it's easy overdoing that sort of thing.” “Nothing easier--like those American Johnnies,” acquiesced his friend. “Yes, a rippin' picture, I call that--good colour, you know, but all well toned down. Do you know what it is--I've a great mind to have one too.” “Good!” cried the major. “You really couldn't do better, you know--six guineas, frame included.” “I believe you're right. Yes, I'll take one too,” said the other, turning to the dealer, who was standing silently by. “Very good, sir,” said the dealer. “I'll look one out for you by to-morrow afternoon, if that would suit you.” “Suit me well. Six guineas in the frame, I suppose?” “Yes, sir, six guineas, unless---- Would you like a pair of them, sir? I might be able to take a little off for a pair.” The grave way in which he suggested a pair of Rubenses, as if it were customary to sell Rubenses in braces like pheasants, was too much for my nerves. I looked at my watch and made for the door, and I hope that I was well round the corner before I burst out. I heard afterwards that the officer had no use for a brace of Rubenses; but he bought a nice little Dutch village scene, by a painter named Teniers, for three pounds. It was not signed by the artist; but I have no doubt, if he had made a point of it, the dealer would have obliged him: the work of restoration frequently includes the restoring of an artist's signature. So it was impressed on me that there is a humorous side even to picture dealing in the provinces.