“Yes, I know, I know, I know. But these things happen every day--or, not to exaggerate, let us say every second day. It is simply doing for me what Ruskin did for Turner. Turner painted away all his life; nobody recognized him, and he died in Chelsea. Now I’m living in Chelsea, and I want recognition during my life. Of course my Ruskin will come along after I’m dead; but, like the fellow who was to be executed, I won’t be there to enjoy it. Things rarely happen at the right moment in this world, and my brazen proposal is merely to take events by the coat collar and hurry them up a bit. You see what I mean? Besides, I’m infinitely greater than Turner, don’t you know.” Haldiman smoked and meditated for some moments; then he said: “I’m not sure but the trick may be done, although I doubt if brutal barefaced bribery will do it. How would a magazine like ‘Our National Art’ suit you?” “Nothing could be better.” “And would a French art-critic like Viellieme be satisfactory?” “Perfectly. What he says is taken for gospel all the world over.” “Well, I happen to know that the editor of ‘Our National Art’ has been trying for a year to get Viellieme to write about English art; but the Frenchman won’t come over to London, even for a day, at any price. Viellieme is great as a writer, but greater still as a money-spender. I’ll run over to Paris and sound him. You couldn’t bribe the editor of ‘Our National Art,’ but he will print anything Viellieme will write for him. Now I know the Frenchman doesn’t care what he writes for England, although he is rather particular about what appears in Paris. He thinks there is no art in England.” “He’s right, too, as far as his knowledge goes; but he’s never seen anything of mine.” “Just so. Then, if Viellieme agrees, you would be willing to send some of your immortal works over to Paris for his inspection.” “All of them, my boy, all of them.” “Then we’ll look on that as settled. I’ll do my best.” “God bless you, my dear fellow! God bless you!” cried Barney with deep emotion, crushingly wringing the hand of the wincing man, whom he now declared to be his one friend on earth. He clattered noisily down the stair like a stalwart trooper, sprang into the waiting hansom, and departed. CHAPTER XXIX.