“You call it,” Mr. Bender impartially inquired, “a very wonderful thing?”
“Well, as a Lawrence, it has quite bowled me over”—Hugh spoke as for the strictly aesthetic awkwardness of that. “But you know I take my pictures hard.” He gave a punch to his hat, pressed for time in this connection as he was glad truly to appear to his friend. “I must make my little rapport.” Yet before it he did seek briefly to explain. “We’re a band of young men who care—and we watch the great things. Also—for I must give you the real truth about myself—we watch the great people.”
“Well, I guess I’m used to being watched—if that’s the worst you can do.” To which Mr. Bender added in his homely way: “But you know, Mr. Crimble, what I’m really after.”
Hugh’s strategy on this would again have peeped out for us. “The man in this morning’s ‘Journal’ appears at least to have discovered.”
“Yes, the man in this morning’s ‘Journal’ has discovered three or four weeks—as it appears to take you here for everything—after my beginning to talk. Why, they knew I was talking that time ago on the other side.”
“Oh, they know things in the States,” Hugh cheerfully agreed, “so independently of their happening! But you must have talked loud.”
“Well, I haven’t so much talked as raved,” Mr. Bender conceded—“for I’m afraid that when I do want a thing I rave till I get it. You heard me at Ded-borough, and your enterprising daily press has at last caught the echo.”
“Then they’ll make up for lost time! But have you done it,” Hugh asked, “to prepare an alibi?”
“An alibi?”
“By ‘raving,’ as you say, the saddle on the wrong horse. I don’t think you at all believe you’ll get the Sir Joshua—but meanwhile we shall have cleared up the question of the Moretto.”