The big painter, in his full-blooded, boyish fashion,
fairly gasconaded over the success of his exhibit. Larry smiled at the
other's exuberant enthusiasm. Hunt was one man who could boast without
ever being offensively egotistical, for Hunt, added to his other
gifts, had the divine gift of being able to laugh at himself.
Larry saw here an opportunity to forward that other ambition of his:
the bringing of Hunt and Miss Sherwood together. And at this instant
it flashed upon him that Miss Sherwood's seemingly casual remarks
about Hunt had not been casual at all. Perhaps they had been carefully
thought out and spoken with a definite purpose. Perhaps Miss Sherwood
had been very subtly appointing him her ambassador. She was clever
enough for that.
"Stop declaiming those self-written press notices of your
unapproachable superiority," Larry interrupted. "If you use your
breath up like that you'll drown on dry land. Besides, I just heard
something better than this mere articulated air of yours. Better
because from a person in her senses."
"Heard it from whom?"
"Miss Sherwood."
"Miss Sherwood! What did she say?"
"That you were a really great painter."
"Huh!" snorted Hunt. "Why shouldn't she say that? I've proved it!"
"Hunt," said Larry evenly, "you are the greatest painter I ever met,
but you also have the distinction of being the greatest of all damned
fools.
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