welcome," he added. "You aren't much of an expert on pictures, are you?"
"Well," said Archie, "I don't know that you'd call me an absolute nib, don't you know, but of course I know enough to see that this particular exhibit is not a little fruity. Absolutely one of the best things you've ever done, laddie."
A slight purple tinge manifested itself in Mr. Wheeler's round and rosy face. His eyes bulged.
"What are you talking about, you Tishbite? You misguided son of Belial, are you under the impression that I painted that thing?"
"Didn't you?"
Mr. Wheeler swallowed a little convulsively.
"My fiancée painted it," he said shortly.
"Your fiancée? My dear old lad, I didn't know you were engaged. Who is she? Do I know her?"
"Her name is Alice Wigmore. You don't know her."
"And she painted that picture?" Archie was perturbed. "But, I say! Won't she be apt to wonder where the thing 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."
