A gentleman made an observation to a lady who was evidently his wife. "Don't care for that kind of thing," he said.
"I think it's silly," she replied.
They moved on. A gentleman—obviously a country gentleman—stared at the picture for, perhaps, two seconds.
"What's it all about?" he inquired of a friend.
"Don't ask me. Some stuff or other."
And they moved on. Then two parsons commented, as they went by. One of them was a dictatorial sort of person. He pointed out the picture with his umbrella.
"If I wanted an example to point the remark that I was just making, there is one. I say that art in England must be at a low ebb indeed when they're obliged to admit that sort of thing."
"The colouring's not bad," ventured his companion, who did not appear to be quite so critical.
"Colouring! Pooh! Properly speaking, there is no colouring—that is, if you mean colour."
"Shows some idea of drawing."
"Drawing! After that, my good fellow, we'd better go and look at something else—say a Punch and Judy."
"Mr. Major."
As the two parsons were moving off—possibly in search of that Punch and Judy—the lucky artist, who seemed to have so hit the popular fancy, heard himself addressed by name. Turning, there was Miss Davidson, Mr. Major was momentarily confounded.
"Where is your picture, Mr. Major?"
