."

"Change along with me," said Mat. "I don't mind heat, nor cold neither,
for the matter of that."

Valentine accepted this offer with great gratitude. "By-the-bye, Zack,"
he said, placing himself comfortably in his host's chair, between the
table and the wall--"I was going to ask a favor of our excellent friend
here, when you suggested that wonderful and matchless trial of strength
which we have just had. You have been of such inestimable assistance to
me already, my dear sir," he continued, turning towards Mat, with all
his natural cordiality of disposition now fully developed, under the
fostering influence of the Squaw's Mixture. "You have laid me under such
an inexpressible obligation in saving my picture from destruction--"

"I wish you could make up your mind to say what you want in plain
words," interrupted Mat. "I'm one of your rough-handed, thick-headed
sort, _I_ am. I'm not gentleman enough to understand parlarver. It don't
do me no good: it only worrits me into a perspiration." And Mat, shaking
down his shirt-sleeve, drew it several times across his forehead, as a
proof of the truth of his last assertion.

"Quite right! quite right!" cried Mr. Blyth, patting him on the shoulder
in the most friendly manner imaginable. "In plain words, then, when I
mentioned, just now, how much I admired your arms in an artistic point
of view, I was only paving the way for asking you to let me make a
drawing of them, in black and white, for a large picture that I mean
to paint later in the year. My classical figure composition, you know,
Zack--you have seen the sketch--Hercules bringing to Eurystheus the
Erymanthian boar--a glorious subject; and our friend's arms, and,
indeed, his chest, too, if he would kindly consent to sit for it, would
make the very studies I most want for Hercules."

"What on earth _is_ he driving at?" asked Mat, addressing himself to
young Thorpe, after staring at Valentine for a moment or two in a state
of speechless amazement.

"He wants to draw your arms--of course you will be only too happy to let
him--you can't understand anything about it now--but you will when
you begin to sit--pass the cigars--thank Blyth for meaning to make a
Hercules of you-and tell him you'll come to the painting-room whenever
he likes," answered Zack, joining his sentences together in his most
offhand manner, all in a breath.

"What painting-room? Where is it?" asked Mat, still in a densely
stupefied condition.

"M