has got to?'
'I told her it had been stolen. She thought it a great compliment, and was tickled to death. So that's all right.'
'And, of course, she'll paint you another.'
'Not while I have my strength she won't,' said J. B. Wheeler firmly. 'She's given up painting since I taught her golf, thank goodness, and my best efforts shall be employed in seeing that she doesn't have a relapse.'
'But, laddie,' said Archie, puzzled, 'you talk as though there were something wrong with the picture. I thought it dashed hot stuff.'
'God bless you!' said J. B. Wheeler.
Archie proceeded on his way, still mystified. Then he reflected that artists as a class were all pretty weird and rummy and talked more or less consistently through their hats. You couldn't ever take an artist's opinion on a picture. Nine out of ten of them had views on Art which would have admitted them to any looney-bin, and no questions asked. He had met several of the species who absolutely raved over things which any reasonable chappie would decline to be found dead in a ditch with. His admiration for the Wigmore Venus, which had faltered for a moment during his conversation with J. B. Wheeler, returned in all its pristine vigour. Absolute rot, he meant to say, to try to make out that it wasn't one of the ones and just like mother used to make. Look how Lucille had liked it!
At breakfast next morning, Archie once more brought up the question of the hanging of the picture. It was absurd to let a thing like that go on wasting its sweetness behind a sofa with its face to the wall.
'Touching the jolly old masterpiece,' he said, 'how about it? I think it's time we hoisted it up somewhere.'
Lucille fiddled pensively with her coffee-spoon.
'Archie, dear,' she said, 'I've been thinking.'
'And a very good thing to do,' said Archie. 'I've often meant to do it myself when I got a bit of time.'
'About that picture, I mean. Did you know it was father's birthday to-morrow?'
'Why no, old thing, I didn't, to be absolutely honest. Your revered parent doesn't confide in me much these days, as a matter of fact.'
'Well, it is. And I think we ought to give him a present.'
'Absolutely. But how? I'm all for spreading sweetness and light, and cheering up the jolly old pater's sorrowful existence, but I haven't a bean. And, what is more, things have come to such a pass that I scan the horizon without seeing a single soul I can touch. I suppose I could get into Reggie van Tuyl's ribs for a bit, but--I don't know-- touching poor old Reggie always seems to me rather like potting a pitting bird.'
'Of course, I don't want you to do anything like that. I was thinking--Archie, darling, would you be very hurt if I gave father the picture?'
'Oh, I say!'
'Well, I can't think of anything else.'
'But wouldn't you miss it most frightfully?'
'Oh, of course I should. But you see--father's birthday--'
Archie had always thought Lucille the dearest and most unselfish angel in the world, but never had the fact come home to him so forcibly as now. He kissed her fondly.
'By Jove!' he exclaimed. 'You really are, you know! This is the biggest thing since jolly old Sir Philip What's- his-name gave the drink of water to the poor blighter whose need was greater than his, if you recall the incident. I had to sweat it up at school, I remember. Sir Philip, poor old bean, had a most ghastly thirst on, and he was just going to have one on the house, so to speak, when... but it's all in the history-books. This is the sort of thing Boy Scouts do! Well, of course, it's up to you, queen of my soul. If you feel like making the sacrifice, right-o! Shall I bring the pater up here and show him the picture?'
'No, I shouldn't do that. Do you think you could get into his suite to-morrow morning and hang it up somewhere? You see, if he had the chance of--what I mean is, if--yes, I think it would be best to hang it up and let him discover it there.'
'It would give him a surprise, you mean, what?'
'Yes.'
Lucille sighed inaudibly. She was a girl with a conscience, and that conscience was troubling her a little. She agreed with Archie that the discovery of the Wigmore Venus in his artistically furnished suite would give Mr. Brewster a surprise. Surprise, indeed, was perhaps an inadequate word. She was sorry for her father, but the instinct of self-preservation is stronger than any other emotion.
Archie whistled merrily on the following morning as, having driven a nail into his father-in-law's wallpaper, he adjusted the cord from which the Wigmore Venus was suspended. He was a kind-hearted young man, and, though Mr. Daniel Brewster had on many occasions treated him with a good deal of austerity, his simple soul was pleased at the thought of doing him a good turn, He had just completed his work and was stepping cautiously down, when a voice behind him nearly caused him to overbalance.
'What the devil?'
Archie turned beamingly.
'Hullo, old thing! Many happy returns of the day!'
Mr. Brewster was standing in a frozen attitude. His strong face was slightly flushed.
'What--what--?' he gurgled.
Mr. Brewster was not in one of his sunniest moods that morning. The proprietor of a large hotel has many
