The big banker," he whispered. "Did you not get my letter? The price
is no object. I can show you the order." He had reached the easel now
and was standing with bent head, an unctuous smile playing about his
lips.

"No, I don't want to see it," remarked Gregg, squeezing a tube on his
palette. "I can't reach it for some time, you know."

"Yes, I have told them so, but the young gentleman wants to have the
entry made on the minutes and have the money appropriated. I had great
confidence, you see, in your goodness," and the little man touched his
forehead with one skinny finger and bowed obsequiously.

"I thought you said he had white hair."

"So he has. The portrait is to hang up in the directors' room of one
of the big copper companies. The young gentleman is a member of the
banking firm that is to pay for the picture, and is quite a young man.
He buys little curios of me now and then, and he asked me whom I would
recommend to paint the director's portrait, and, of course, there is
but one painter--" and the dealer bowed to the floor. "He's coming
to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock and will stay but a moment, for
he's a very busy man. You will, I know, receive him."

Gregg made no reply. Rich directors did not appeal to him; they were
generally flabby and well fed and out of drawing. If this one had
some color in him--and the dealer knew--some of the sort of vigor and
snap that would have appealed to Franz Hal, the case might be
different. The little man waited a moment, saw that Gregg was absorbed
in some brush stroke, and stepped back a pace or two. Better wait
until the master's mind was free. Then again he could sweep his eyes
around the interior without being detected--there was no telling what
might happen: some day there might be a sale, and then it would be
just as well to know where things like these could be found. Again he
tiptoed across the spacious room, stopping to gaze at the rich
tapestries lining the walls, examining with eye-glass held close the
gold snuffboxes and rare bits of Sevres and Dresden on the shelves of
the cabinet, and testing with his nervous fingers the quality of the
rich Utrecht velvet screening the door of an adjoining room.

Gregg kept at work, his square, strong shoulders, well-knit back and
straight limbs--a fulfilment of the promise of his youth--in
silhouette against the glare of the overhead light, its rays silvering
his iron-gray hair and the tips of his upturned mustache.