“Quite so, quite so,” answered Barney, soothingly. “If you did, I would have to get rid of him and engage another, and, I can assure you, that perfectly useless persons six feet two in height are not to be picked up on every street corner. No, dear boy, they are not, I give you my word. People are so unthinking that they _will_ ask foolish questions. I intend to discourage this habit as much as possible. You want to know what he is there for? Now if I had placed a marble statue at the top of the stair, you would not have been offended if it did not answer your query, don’t you know, and you would not have asked what it was there for, don’t you know. There are so many useful things in this world that something untainted with utilitarianism ought to be welcomed by every thinking man, and if this deplorably proficuous country is ever to be redeemed, we artists must lead the way, don’t you see.” The grand individual at the head of the stair had his uses, nevertheless; for when Haldiman and another, accepting Barney’s effusively cordial invitations to attend one of his “At Homes,” entered-the hall below, and saw this magnificent person standing like a resplendent statue before and above them, Haldiman gasped, “Great Heavens!” and groped his way out on the pavement again, followed by the no less astounded other, who was an artist also struggling along in the black and white line. The two exchanged glances when at a safe distance from the studio, pausing as they did so. Their amazement was almost too great for words, yet Haldiman remarked solemnly: “I might have expected something of that sort. Imagine us dropping in there in these clothes! Lucky escape! I know a place on the King’s Road where there are fluids to drink. Let us go there and see if we can recover from this blow. O Barney, Barney, what deeds are done in thy name!” So the living statue silently warned off Barney’s two Bohemian friends, who are all right in Paris, don’t you know, but not at all desirable when a man settles down to serious work and expects nobility at his receptions. The calm dignity of Barney’s “man” was offset in a measure by the energetic activity of the boy in buttons who threw open the door with a flourish. “Buttons” might be likened to a torpedo boat, darting hither and thither under the shadow of a stately ironclad. While the left hand of the small boy opened the door, the right swept up to his cap in a semi-military salute that welcomed the coming and sped the parting guest.