While Sam was bowing the millionnaire out (there was nothing but the Monet, of course, which he wanted now that he couldn't buy it), Jack occupied the minutes in making a caricature of His Finance on a fresh canvas. Sam's opening sentences on his return, out of breath with his run back up the three flights of stairs, were not complimentary. They began by impeaching Jack's intelligence in terms more profane than polite, and ended in the fervent hope that he make an instantaneous visit to His Satanic Majesty. In the midst of this discussion--in which one side roared his displeasure and the other answered in pantomime between shouts of his own laughter--there came another knock at the door, and the owner of the Monet walked in. He, too, was in a disturbed state of mind. He had heard some things during the day bearing directly on Jack's credit, and had brought a bill with him for the value of the picture. He would like the money then and there. Jack's manner with the dealer was even more lordly and condescending than with the would-be buyer. "Want a check--when--now? My dear sir! when I bought that Monet was there anything said about my paying for it in twenty-four hours? To-morrow, when my argosies arrive laden with the spoils of the far East, but not now. I never pay for anything immediately--it would injure my credit. Sit down and let me offer you a cigar--my governor imports 'em and so you can be assured they are good. By the way--what's become of that Ziem I saw in your window last week? The Metropolitan ought to have that picture." The one-eyed dealer--Jack was right, he had but one eye--at once agreed with Jack as to the proper ultimate destination of the Ziem, and under the influence of the cigar which Jack had insisted on lighting for him, assisted by Jack's casual mention of his father--a name that was known to be good for half a million--and encouraged--greatly encouraged indeed--by an aside from Sam that the painter had already been offered more than he paid for it by a man worth millions--under all these influences, assistances, and encouragements, I say, the one-eyed dealer so modified his demands that an additional twenty-four hours was granted Jack in which to settle his account, the Monet to remain in his possession. When Sam returned from this second bowing-out his language was more temperate. "You're a Cracker-Jack," was all he said, and closed the door behind him. During the ten days that followed, Jack gloated over the Monet and staved off his various creditors until his father's semi-monthly remittance arrived. Whenever the owner of the Monet mounted the stairs by appointment and pounded at Jack's door, Jack let him pound, tiptoeing about his room until he heard the anxious dealer's footsteps echoing down the stairs in retreat.