"Now came the best part of the feast. Every man tiptoed out of the room, overhauled his sketch-trap, took out charcoal, color tubes and brushes, red chalk, whatever came handy, and started in to work--some standing on chairs above where the old man sat sound asleep, others working away like mad on the coarse, whitewashed walls, making portraits of him--sketches of the landing and fish houses we had seen during our waiting--outlines of the bar and background, no one breathing loud or even whispering, so afraid they would wake him--until every square foot of the walls were covered with sketches. When we were through, someone coughed, and the old man sat up and began to rub his eyes. Pleased! Well, I should think so! He gave one bound, made a tour of the room studying each sketch, dodged under his bar and began to set up things, and would have continued to set up things all night had we permitted it. Every spring after that, when he rewhitewashed the old room, he would work carefully around each sketch, the new whitewash making a mat for the pictures. People came for miles up and down the bay to see them, and there was more extra-dry and trimmings sold that summer than ever before. Ever after that, whenever a friend of any member of the Stone Mugs went ashore at Cap Tree Island, and after settling his score mentioned incidentally that he knew So-and-So of the Mugs, and had heard of the wonderful dinner, etc., the old man would always push his money back to him with: "'Not a cent--not a cent! Stay a week and order what you want, and if you don't want everything in the house I'll get my gun.'" "Haven't got a time-table, have you, Marny," asked Boggs feelingly, "of the boat that goes to Cap Tree Island?" "Do you no good, Boggs," answered Jack Stirling. "The old man has been in heaven these ten years. I knew his broiled blue-fish--none better. Marny is right--they were wonderful. But really, Marny, do you call that a good dinner?--ten men, fifteen bottles of assorted wines, five steaks, five broiled fish, and----" "Well, what else would you call it? What would you want?" retorted Marny. "What else? Oh, my dear Marny! and you ask that question!" "Wasn't there enough to eat?" "Plenty." "Wine all right?" "Perfect." "Jolly crowd of the best fellows in the world?" "Yes." "What then?" "What then, you fish-monger? Why, just one woman! Let me tell you of a dinner!" Jack was on his feet now, his hand outstretched, his eyes partly closed as if the scene he was about to describe lay immediately beneath his gaze. "It was on a balcony overlooking St. Cloud--all Paris swimming in a golden haze. There were violets--and a pair of long gray gloves on the white cloth--and a wide-brimmed hat crowned with roses, shading a pair of brown eyes. Oh! such eyes! 'A pint of Chablis,' I said to the waiter; 'sole à la Marguerey, some broiled mushrooms, and a fruit salad--and please take the candles away; we prefer the twilight.'