length I had him once more quieted.

"Now, sir," I said, when I had got him from the barber's shop, to the
barber's manifest relief: "I fancy we've time to do a few objects of
art before luncheon. I've the book here for your comments," I added.

"Quite so," he replied, and led me at a rapid pace along the street in
what I presumed was the direction of the art museum. At the end of a
few blocks he paused at one of those open-air public houses that
disgracefully line the streets of the French capital. I mean to say
that chairs and tables are set out upon the pavement in the most
brazen manner and occupied by the populace, who there drink their
silly beverages and idle away their time. After scanning the score or
so of persons present, even at so early an hour as ten of the morning,
he fell into one of the iron chairs at one of the iron tables and
motioned me to another at his side.

When I had seated myself he said "Beer" to the waiter who appeared,
and held up two fingers.

"Now, look at here," he resumed to me, "this is a good place to do
about four pages of art, and then we can go out and have some
recreation somewhere." Seeing that I was puzzled, he added: "This
way--you take that notebook and write in it out of this here other
book till I think you've done enough, then I'll tell you to stop." And
while I was still bewildered, he drew from an inner pocket a small,
well-thumbed volume which I took from him and saw to be entitled "One
Hundred Masterpieces of the Louvre."

"Open her about the middle," he directed, "and pick out something that