ent. Larry expected questions about Miss
Sherwood, for he knew the quality of the painter's interest. But Hunt
seemed quite as determined to avoid any personal question relating to
Miss Sherwood as she had been about personal questions relating to him;
for his next remark was:

"Young fellow, still keeping all those commandments you wrote for
yourself?"

"So far, my bucko."

"Keep on keeping 'em, and write yourself a few more, and you'll have a
brand-new decalogue. And we'll have a little Moses of our own. But in
the meantime, son, what's the great idea of coming down here?"

"For one thing, I came to ask for a couple of your paintings."

"My paintings!" Hunt regarded the other suspiciously. "What the hell you
want my paintings for?"

"They might make good towels if I can scrape the paint off."

"Aw, cut out the vaudeville stuff! I asked you what you wanted my
paintings for? Give me a straight answer!"

"All right--here's your straight answer: I want your paintings to sell
them."

"Sell my paintings! Say, are you trying to say something still funnier?"

"I want them to sell them. Remember I once told you that I could sell
them--that I could sell anything. Let me have them, and then just see."

"You'd sure have to be able to sell anything to sell them!" A
challenging glint had come into Hunt's eyes. "Young fellow, you're so
damned fresh that if you had any dough I'd bet you five thousand, any
odds you like, that you couldn't even GIVE one of the things away!"

"Loan me five thousand," Larry returned evenly, "and I'll cover the bet
with even money--it being understood that I'm to sell the picture at a
price not less than the highest price you ever received for one of
your 'pretty pictures' which you delight to curse and which made your
fortune. Now bring down your pictures--or shut up!"

Hunt's jaw set. "Young fellow, I take that bet! And I'll not let you
off, either--you'll have to pay it! Which pictures do you want?"

"That young Italian woman sitting on the curb nursing her baby--and any
other picture you want to put with it."

Hunt went clumping up the stairway. When he was out of earshot, the
Duchess remarked quietly:

"What did you really come for, Larry?"

Larry was somewhat taken aback by his grandmother's penetration, but he
did not try to evade the question nor the steady gaze of the old eyes.

"I thought you might know where Maggie is, and I came to ask."

"That's what I thought."

"Do