story, however improbable it may seem to you, is true.

Once upon a time there was an artist with historical leanings not
unassociated with the desire for pelf--pelf being, even to idealists,
what petrol is to a car. The blend brought him one day to Portsmouth,
where the _Victory_ lies, with the honourable purpose of painting a
picture of that famous ship with NELSON on board. What the ADMIRAL was
doing I cannot say--most probably dying--but the artist's intention was
to make the work as attractive as might be and thus draw a little profit
from the wave of naval enthusiasm which was then passing over the
country; for not only was the picture itself to be saleable, but
reproductions were to be made of it.

Permission having been obtained from the authorities, the artist boarded
the _Victory_, set up his easel on her deck and settled down to his
task, the monotony of which was pleasantly alleviated by the chatter of
the old salts who guard the ship and act as guides to the tourists who
visit her. All of these estimable men not only possessing views on art,
but having come by now to the firm belief that they had fought with
NELSON, their criticisms were not too easily combated and the artist
hadn't a tedious moment. Thus, painting, conversing and learning (as one
can learn only from a trained imparter of information), three or four
days passed quickly away and the picture was done.

So far there has been nothing--has there?--to strain credulity. No. But
a time will come--is, in fact, upon us.

On the evening of the last day, as the artist was sitting at early
dinner with a friend before catching the London train, his remarks
turned (as an artist's sometimes will) upon the work upon which he had
just been engaged. He expressed satisfaction with it in the main, but
could not, he said, help feeling that its chances of becoming a real
success would be sensibly increased if he could find as a model for the
central figure some one whose resemblance to NELSON was noticeable.

"There are, of course," he went on, "at the same time--that is to say,
among contemporaries--no two faces exactly alike. That is an axiom.
Strange as it may sound, among all the millions of countenances with two
eyes, a nose in the middle and a mouth below it, some difference exists
in each. That is, as I say, among contemporaries: in the world at this
moment in which I am speaking. But," he continued, warming to his
subject, for, as you will have alread