“Why, a young lady with golden hair. You were talking to her when I came in.” “Oh, with golden hair--oh, yes.” The blank look gave way to an intelligent and slightly quizzical one. “But why do you want to know?” “She's such a remarkable bit of coloring,” explained Elias; “the finest I've seen this long while. I'd give my right hand to be allowed to paint her.” “Your right hand! Rather a high offer that, ain't it?” “Well, but there's not much danger of its being accepted.” “I don't know,” said Redwood, reflectively, “I'm not so sure.” “What?” cried Elias. The syllable did duty for expletive and interrogatory at the same time. “I say I'm not sure but it might be managed.” Breathlessly: “But _what_ might be managed?” Redwood's meaning was clear enough; but it seemed to Elias too good and too surprising to be true. So he chose to have it set forth in terms of positive affirmation. “Why, what are we talking about? But she might be got to sit for ye.” “You don't say so? Are you serious? How?” “Well, we're pretty well acquainted, she and I. I might propose it to her.” “Do--do, by all means. But is there any likelihood of her consenting?” “Why, yes, I guess she'd consent--that is, if I urged her.” “Oh, well, you will urge her, won't you?” The old man closed one eye, and twirled his mustache. “Hum; that depends. You must make it worth my while.” “Worth your while?” faltered Elias, surprised, and somewhat shocked, at discovering old Redwood to be so mercenary. “Well--well, what do you want?” “I want--let me see. Well, I guess I want the picture. You must make me a present of the picture.” “Oh, come; that's unreasonable.” “I thought you said you'd give your right hand I shouldn't have much use for that. So I'll take your handiwork, instead.” “That was a figure of speech. I'll pay a fair price, though. Name one that will satisfy you.” “I've just done so.” “Oh, but that's ridiculous.” “Well, that's the only price I'll talk about. And I'll tell you this, besides: she never'll sit for you at all, unless I advise her to. She sets great store by my opinion. You promise me the picture, and I'll guarantee you her consent.” “It's asking a great deal. It's asking far too much.” “All right. Then say no more about it.” “But--” “Oh, you can't beat me down, Mr. Bacharach. When I say a thing, I mean it. You'll only waste your breath, trying to haggle with me. The picture, or nothing--those are my terms.” Elias's eyes were full of the young girl's beauty; his ears still rang with the music of her laughter; the prospect that old Redwood held out was such an unexpected and such a tempting one: “So be it,” he said impulsively. “You shall have the picture.” “It's a bargain,” cried Redwood. “Shake on it.” After they had shaken hands: “When would you like to begin?” “At once--as soon as possible.” “I'll ask her to fix an early day.” “But are you sure? Is there no chance of her refusing?”