The Outcry

“Oh, we don’t depend here on the Mr. Crimbles!” Lord John returned.

Mr. Bender took a longer look at him. “Are you aware of the value yourself?”

His friend resorted again, as for the amusement of the thing, to their entertainer. “Am I aware of the value of the Moretto?”

Lord Theign, who had meanwhile lighted another cigarette, appeared, a bit extravagantly smoking, to wish to put an end to his effect of hovering aloof.

“That question needn’t trouble us—when I see how much Mr. Bender himself knows about it.”

“Well, Lord Theign, I only know what that young man puts it at.” And then as the others waited, “Ten thousand,” said Mr. Bender.

“Ten thousand?” The owner of the work showed no emotion.

“Well,” said Lord John again in Mr. Bender’s style, “what’s the matter with ten thousand?”

The subject of his gay tribute considered. “There’s nothing the matter with ten thousand.”

“Then,” Lord Theign asked, “is there anything the matter with the picture?”

“Yes, sir—I guess there is.”

It gave an upward push to his lordship’s eyebrows. “But what in the world–?”

“Well, that’s just the question!”

The eyebrows continued to rise. “Does he pretend there’s a question of whether it is a Moretto?”

“That’s what he was up there trying to find out.”

“But if the value’s, according to himself, ten thousand–?”

“Why, of course,” said Mr. Bender, “it’s a fine work anyway.”

“Then,” Lord Theign brought good-naturedly out, “what’s the matter with you, Mr. Bender?”

That gentleman was perfectly clear. “The matter with me, Lord Theign, is that I’ve no use for a ten thousand picture.”

“‘No use?’”—the expression had an oddity. “But what’s it your idea to do with such things?”

“I mean,” Mr. Bender explained, “that a picture of that rank is not what I’m after.”

“The figure,” said his noble host—speaking thus, under pressure, commercially—“is beyond what you see your way to?”

But Lord John had jumped at the truth. “The matter with Mr. Bender is that he sees his way much further.”

“Further?” their companion echoed.

“The matter with Mr. Bender is that he wants to give millions.”

Lord Theign sounded this abyss with a smile. “Well, there would be no difficulty about that, I think!”

“Ah,” said his guest, “you know the basis, sir, on which I’m ready to pay.”

“On the basis then of the Sir Joshua,” Lord John inquired, “how far would you go?”

Mr. Bender indicated by a gesture that on a question reduced to a moiety by its conditional form he could give but semi-satisfaction. “Well, I’d go all the way.”

“He wants, you see,” Lord John elucidated, “an ideally expensive thing.”

Lord Theign appeared to decide after a moment to enter into the pleasant spirit of this; which he did by addressing his younger friend. “Then why shouldn’t I make even the Moretto as expensive as he desires?”

“Because you can’t do violence to that master’s natural modesty,” Mr. Bender declared before Lord John had time to speak. And conscious at this moment of the reappearance of his fellow-explorer, he at once supplied a further light. “I guess this gentleman at any rate can tell you.”

VIII

Hugh Crimble had come back from his voyage of discovery, and it was visible as he stood there flushed and quite radiant that he had caught in his approach Lord Theign’s last inquiry and Mr. Bender’s reply to it. You would have imputed to him on the spot the lively possession of a new idea, the sustaining sense of a message important enough to justify his irruption. He looked from one to the other of the three men, scattered a little by the sight of him, but attached eyes of recognition then to Lord Theign’s, whom he remained an instant longer communicatively smiling at. After which, as you might have gathered, he all confidently plunged, taking up the talk where the others had left it. “I should say, Lord Theign, if you’ll allow me, in regard to what you appear to have been discussing, that it depends a good deal on just that question—of what your Moretto, at any rate, may be presumed or proved to ‘be.’ Let me thank you,” he cheerfully went on, “for your kind leave to go over your treasures.”

The personage he so addressed was, as we know, nothing if not generally affable; yet if that was just then apparent it was through a shade of coolness for the slightly heated familiarity of so plain, or at least so free, a young man in eye-glasses, now for the first time definitely apprehended. “Oh, I’ve scarcely ‘treasures’—but I’ve some things of interest.”

Hugh, however, entering the opulent circle, as it were, clearly took account of no breath of a chill. “I think possible, my lord, that you’ve a great treasure—if you’ve really so high a rarity as a splendid Manto-vano.”

“A ‘Mantovano’?” You wouldn’t have been sure that his lordship didn’t pronounce the word for the first time in his life.

“There have been supposed to be only seven real examples about the world; so that if by an extraordinary chance you find yourself the possessor of a magnificent eighth–”

But Lord John had already broken in. “Why, there you are, Mr. Bender!”

“Oh, Mr. Bender, with whom I’ve made acquaintance,” Hugh returned, “was there as it began to work in me—”

“That your Moretto, Lord Theign”—Mr. Bender took their informant up—“isn’t, after all, a Moretto at all.” And he continued amusedly to Hugh: “It began to work in you, sir, like very strong drink!”

“Do I understand you to suggest,” Lord Theign asked of the startling young man, “that my precious picture isn’t genuine?”

Well, Hugh knew exactly what he suggested. “As a picture, Lord Theign, as a great portrait, one of the most genuine things in Europe. But it strikes me as probable that from far back—for reasons!—there has been a wrong attribution; that the work has been, in other words, traditionally, obstinately miscalled. It has passed for a Moretto, and at first I quite took it for one; but I suddenly, as I looked and looked and saw and saw, began to doubt, and now I know why I doubted.”

Lord Theign had during this speech kept his eyes on the ground; but he raised them to Mr. Crimble’s almost palpitating presence for the remark: “I’m bound to say that I hope you’ve some very good grounds!”

“I’ve three or four, Lord Theign; they seem to me of the best—as yet. They made me wonder and wonder—and then light splendidly broke.”

His lordship didn’t stint his attention. “Reflected, you mean, from other Mantovanos—that I don’t know?”

“I mean from those I know myself,” said Hugh; “and I mean from fine analogies with one in particular.”

“Analogies that in all these years, these centuries, have so remarkably not been noticed?”

“Well,” Hugh competently explained, “they’re a sort of thing the very sense of, the value and meaning of, are a highly modern—in fact a quite recent growth.”

Lord John at this professed with cordiality that he at least quite understood. “Oh, we know a lot more about our pictures and things than ever our ancestors did!”