"You seem very confident, Mr. Pitts; but it's one thing to sell fish, which is a necessity, and quite another to sell water-colours, which are a luxury. Have you any prospective purchaser in mind?"
"Yes, a dozen of them."
"Tell me the name of one."
"You wouldn't know their names if I mentioned them. Fishmongers in Billingsgate, most of them."
"Billingsgate? I thought their speciality was language rather than art."
"The Billingsgate people are all rich, and they do love to decorate their homes with pictures of fishermen, out of whom they make their money. They grind us poor mariners dreadfully, and that's why we won't sell 'em our fish."
"But if you refuse to sell them fish, how can you expect them to buy pictures? I should feel less anxious, Mr. Pitts, if you were looking to the West End rather than to Billingsgate for the return of your money."
"I have West End connections, too."
"Do you mean picture dealers? I warn you at the beginning that they have been unable to sell the work of my brush for even the ten shillings each."
"I won't trouble with dealers at all, Miss Drummond. My plan is to go to the purchaser direct and hypnotise him."
"On whom will you make your first attempt?"
