Children of the Whirlwind
the Italian mother, and hid it in his chiffonier. Whatever he might do
in his endeavor to make good his boast to Hunt, for the present he would
regard Maggie's portrait as his private property. To use the painting as
he had vaguely planned, before he had been surprised to find it Maggie's
portrait, would be to pass it on into other possession where it
might become public--where, through some chance, the Maggie of the
working-girl's cheap shirt-waist might be identified with the rich Miss
Cameron of the Grantham, to Maggie's great discomfiture, and possibly to
her entanglement with the police.
When Miss Sherwood came into the library a little later, Larry tried to
put Maggie and all matters pertaining to his previous night's adventure
out of his mind. He had enough other affairs which he was trying
adroitly to handle--for instance, Miss Sherwood and Hunt; and when his
business talk with her was ended, he remarked:
“I saw Mr. Hunt last evening.”
He watched her closely, but he could detect no flash of interest at
Hunt's name.
“You went down to your grandmother's?”
“Yes.”
“That was a very great risk for you to take,” she reproved him. “I'm
glad you got back safely.”
Despite the disturbance Maggie had been to his thoughts, part of his
brain had been trying to make plans to forward this other aim; so he
now told Miss Sherwood of his wager with Hunt and his bringing away
a picture--he said “one picture.” He wanted to awaken the suppressed
interest each had in the other; to help bridge or close the chasm which
he sensed had opened between them. So he brought the picture of the
Italian mother from his room. She regarded it critically, but with no
sign of approval or disapproval.
“What do you think of it?” she asked.
“It's a most remarkable piece of work!” he said emphatically--wishing he
could bring in that picture of Maggie as additional evidence supporting
his opinion.
She made no further comment, and it was up to Larry to keep the
conversation alive. “What is the most Mr. Hunt ever was paid for a
painting? I mean one of what he swears at as his `pretty pictures'?”
“I believe about two thousand dollars.”
That was part of the information necessary to Larry's plan.
“Miss Sherwood, I'm going to ask another favor of you. In connection
with a bet I made with Mr. Hunt. I want to talk with a picture
dealer--the best one there is. I can't very well go to him. Can you
manage to have him come here?”
“Easily. I know the man best for your purpose. I'll telephone, and if
he's in New York he'll come to see you this afternoon.”
“Thank you.”
She started out, then turned. “Better finish your business with him
to-day if you can. We go to the country to-morrow or the day after. I've
just had word that the workmen are finally out of the house; though the
grounds, of course, are in bad shape, and will probably remain so. With
this labor situation, it's practically impossible to get men.”
Larry remembered something else. “Miss Sherwood, you recall my once
speaking about a man I got to be friends with in prison--Joe Ellison?”
“Yes.”
“I've written him, under an assumed name, of course, and have had an
answer. He'll be out in a very few days now. He's through with his old
ways. I know he'd like nothing better than a quiet place to work, off to
himself somewhere. I'm sure you can trust him.”
“We'll arrange to have him come out to Cedar Crest. Oh, don't think I'm
being generous or sentimental,” she interrupted smilingly as he started
to thank her. “I'd be glad to put two or three more ex-convicts to work
on our place if I could get them. And so would my friends; they can't
get workmen of any kind.”
That afternoon the picture dealer came. Miss Sherwood introduced Larry
to him as Mr. Brandon, her cousin, and then left the two men together.
Larry appraised Mr. Graham as a shrewd man who knew his business and who
would like to score a triumph in his own particular field. He decided
that the dealer had to be handled with a great deal of frankness, and
with some stiff bluffing which must appear equally frank. The secret
of Larry's earlier success had been to establish confidence and even
enthusiasm in something which had little or no value. In selling an
honest thing at an honest price, the first and fundamental procedure was
the same, to establish confidence and, if possible, enthusiasm.
From the moment of introduction Larry quietly assumed the manner of an
art collector who was very sure of himself; which manner was abetted by
the setting of the Sherwood library. He felt something of the old zest
when wits had been matched against wits, even though this was to be a
strictly honorable enterprise.
“You know the work of Mr. Jerome Hunt?” he asked.
“I have handled practically all his work since he began to sell,”
replied Mr. Graham.
“I was referring to work in his recent manner.”
“He has not been doing any work recently,” corrected Mr. Graham.
“No?” Larry picked up the Italian mother which for this occasion he had
mounted with thumb-tacks upon a drawing-board, and stood it upon a chair
in the most advantageous light. “There is a little thing in Mr. Hunt's
recent manner which I lately purchased.”
Mr. Graham regarded the painting long and critically.
Finally he remarked:
“At least it is different.”
“Different and better,” said Larry with his quiet positiveness. “So much
better that I paid him three thousand dollars for it.”
“Three thousand!” The dealer regarded Larry sharply. “Three thousand for
that?”
“Yes. And I consider that I got a bargain.”
Mr. Graham was silent for several moments. Then he said “For what reason
have I been asked here?”
“I want you to undertake to sell this picture.”
“For how much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“Five thousand dollars!”
“It is easily worth five thousand,” Larry said quietly.
“If you value it so highly, why do you want to sell?”
“I am pressed by the present money shortage. Also I secured a second
picture when I got this one. That second picture I shall not sell. You
should have no difficulty in selling this,” Larry continued, “if you
handle the matter right. Think of how people have started again to talk
about Gaugin: about his starting to paint in a new manner down there in
the Marquesas Islands, of his trading a picture for a stick of furniture
or selling it for a few hundred francs--which same paintings are now
each worth a small fortune. Capitalize this Gaugin talk; also the talk
about poor mad Blakeslie. You've got a new sensation. One all your own.”
“You can't start a sensation with one painting,” Mr. Graham remarked
dryly.
This had been the very remark Larry had adroitly been trying to draw
from the dealer.
“Why, that's so!” he exclaimed. And then as if the thought had only that
moment come to him: “Why not have an exhibition of paintings done in his
new manner? He's got a studio full of things just as characteristic as
this one.”
Larry caught the gleam which came into the dealer's eyes. It was
instantly masked.
“Too late in the spring for a picture show. Couldn't put on an
exhibition before next season.”
“But why not have a private pre-exhibition showing?” Larry argued--“with
special invitations sent to a small, carefully chosen list, putting it
over strong to them that you were offering them the chance of a first
and exclusive view of something very remarkable. Most of them will feel
flattered and will come. And that will start talk and stir up interest
in your public exhibition in the fall. That's the idea!”
Again there was the gleam, quickly masked, in the dealer's eyes. But
Larry got it.
“How do I know this picture here isn't just an accident?--the only one
of the sort Mr. Hunt has ever painted, or ever will paint?” cautiously
inquired Mr. Graham. “You said you had a second picture. May I see it?”
Larry hesitated. But he believed he had the dealer almost “sold”; a
little more and Mr. Graham would be convinced. So he brought in Maggie's
portrait. The dealer looked it over with a face which he tried to keep
expressionless.
“How much is this one?” he asked at length.
“It is not for sale.”
“It will bring more money than the other. It's a more interesting
subject.”
“That's why I'm keeping it,” said Larry. “I think you'll admit, Mr.
Graham, that this proves that Mr. Hunt is not now painting accidents.”
“You're right.” The mask suddenly dropped from Mr. Graham's face; he was
no longer merely an art merchant; he was also an art enthusiast. “Hunt
has struck something bold and fresh, and I think I can put him over.
I'll try that scheme you mentioned. Tell me where I can find him and
I'll see him at once.”
“That picture has got to be sold before I give you his address. No use
seeing him until then; he'd laugh at you, and not listen to anything.
He's sore at the world; thinks it doesn't understand him. An actual sale
would be the only argument that would have weight with him.”
“All right--I'll buy the picture myself. Hunt and I have had a falling
out, and I'd like him to have proof that I believe in him.” Again Mr.
Graham was the art merchant. “Though, of course, I can't pay the five
thousand you ask. Hunt's new manner may catch on, and it may not. It's a
big gamble.”
“What will you pay?”
“What you paid for it--three thousand.”
“That's an awful drop from what I expected. When can you pay it?”
“I'll send you my check by an assistant as soon as I get back to my
place.”
“I told you I was squeezed financially--so the picture is yours. I'll
send you Mr. Hunt's present address when I receive your check. Make it
payable to 'cash.'”
When Mr. Graham had gone with the Italian mother--it was then the very
end of the afternoon--Larry wondered if his plan to draw Hunt out of his
hermitage was going to succeed; and wondered what would be the result,
if any, upon the relationship between Hunt and Miss Sherwood if Hunt
should come openly back into his world an acclaimed success, and
come with the changed attitude toward every one and every thing that
recognition bestows.
But something was to make Larry wonder even more a few minutes later.
Dick, that habitual late riser, had had to hurry away that morning
without speaking to him. Now, when he came home toward six o'clock, Dick
shouted cheerily from the hallway:
“Ahoy! Where you anchored, Captain Nemo?”
Larry did not answer. He sat over his papers as one frozen. He knew
now whose had been the elusively familiar voice he had heard outside
Maggie's door. It was Dick Sherwood's.
Dick paused without to take some messages from Judkins, and Larry's mind
raced feverishly. Dick Sherwood was the victim Maggie and Barney and Old
Jimmie were so cautiously and elaborately trying to trim! It seemed an
impossible coincidence. But no, not impossible, after all. Their net
had been spread for just such game: a young man, impressionable,
pleasure-loving, with plenty of money, and with no strings tied to his
spending of it. That Barney should have made his acquaintance was easily
explained; to establish acquaintance with such persons as Dick was
Barney's specialty. What more natural than that the high-spirited,
irresponsible Dick should fall into this trap?--or indeed that he should
have been picked out in advance as the ideal victim and have been drawn
into it?
“Hello, there!” grumbled Dick, entering. “Why didn't you answer a
shipmate's hail?”
“I heard you; but just then I was adding a column of figures, and I knew
you'd look in.”
At that moment Larry noted the portrait of Maggie, looking up from the
chair beside him. With a swiftness which he tried to disguise into a
mechanical action, he seized the painting and rolled it up, face inside.
“What's that you've got?” demanded Dick.
“Just a little daub of my own.”