The Corporal nodded but said nothing. The Mayor went on with his cigar. "I'm trying to remember the name of another artist chap who used to live in that cottage when I was a boy. We used to jang from school on fine afternoons in the summer and go bathing in Corfield Weir. And painting by the river was an old chap with a long beard like Tennyson--you've seen the picture of Tennyson"--Josiah pointed to a lithograph of the bard on the wall behind the Corporal--"but not quite so fierce looking. Wonderful blue eyes had that old feller ... lord love me, what _did_ they call him!... I remember we used to throw stones at his easel. We got one right through it once, when he had nearly finished his picture and he had to begin all over again. What _was_ the name of the old feller?" The Mayor fingered his cigar lovingly and looked into the fire. "Soft Billy ... that was it.... Soft Billy." Josiah sighed gently. "Poor, harmless old boy. I can see those blue eyes now." The Mayor drew gently at his cigar while the Corporal kept his eyes on the fire. "That reminds me.... I've got one of the old chap's pictures, somewhere." The Mayor laughed softly to himself. "Took it for a bad debt ... quite a small thing ... wonder what's become of it?" He grew pensive. "Must be up in the box room." Suddenly he rose from his chair. "I'll go and see if I can find it." The man of action went out of the room, leaving the Corporal in silent enjoyment of warmth, the tobacco and many reflections. In a few minutes Josiah returned in triumph with a small piece of unframed canvas in his hand. He rang the bell for a duster, of which it was much in need, and when the duster had been duly applied he held the picture up to the light. "It wants a frame." The tone was indulgent but casual. "Looks like Dibley Chase to me." He handed the landscape to the Corporal who gazed at it with wistful eagerness. "Dibley Chase was always a favorite pitch for these artist chaps. See the Sharrow gleaming between the trees?" Josiah traced with his finger the line of the river. "I like that bit o' sun creeping down the valley. Good work in it, I daresay ... but I don't pretend to be up in such matters. Very small but it may be worth a frame. Been up in the attic at Waterloo Villa for years ... aye, long before Waterloo Villa...." Josiah took a loving puff of his cigar. "I must have had that picture when I first went to the Duke o' Wellington in March, '79. How time gets on! Had it of that lame chap who used to keep the Corfield Arms who went up the spout finally. Used to supply him with beer. Gave me this for a barrel he couldn't pay for." The Mayor laughed richly and put on his spectacles. "Can you see the name o' the artist? What was the name o' that old Soft Billy ... ha, there it is." The Mayor brought his thumb to bear on the right-hand corner. "'J. Torrington, 1854' ... a long time ago. John Torrington, that was his name ... some of his work grew in value, I've heard say. A harmless old man!"