Blyth, with a tap on Columbus, which struck a sound from the canvas like a thump on a muffled drum. "On art, Doctor? I only want to say that, as Columbus's early life must have exercised him considerably in hauling ropes and pulling oars, I have shown the large development of his Biceps muscle (which is principally used in those actions) through his sleeves, as a good characteristic point to insist on in his physical formation.--That's all! As to the origin--"
"The origin of the Biceps Flexor Cubiti, your Ladyship," resumed the pertinacious Doctor; "is by two heads. The first begins, if I may so express myself, tendinous, from the glenoid cavity of the scapula--"
"That man is a pedantic jackass," whispered Mr. Hemlock to his friend.
"And yet he hasn't a bad head for a bust!" rejoined Mr. Bullivant.
"Pray, Mr. Blyth," pleaded the polite and ever-admiring Mr. Gimble--"pray let me beg you, in the name of the company to proceed with your most interesting and suggestive explanations and views on art!"
"Indeed, Mr. Gimble," said Valentine, a little crest-fallen under the anatomical castigation inflicted on him by the Doctor, "I am very much delighted and gratified by your approval; but I have nothing more to read. I thought that point about Columbus a good point to leave off with, and considered that I might safely allow the rest of the picture to explain itself to the intelligent spectator."
Hearing this, some of the spectators, evidently distrusting their own intelligence, rose to take leave--new visitors making their appearance, however, to fill the vacant chairs and receive Mr. Blyth's hearty welcome. Meanwhile, through all the bustle of departing and arriving friends, and through all the fast-strengthening hum of general talk, the voice of the unyielding doctor still murmured solemnly of "capsular ligaments," "adjacent tendons," and "corracoid processes" to Lady Brambledown, who listened to him with satirical curiosity, as a species of polite medical buffoon whom it rather amused her to become acquainted with.
Among the next applicants for admission at the painting-room door were two whom Valentine had expected to see at a much earlier period of the day--Mr. Matthew Marksman and Zack.
"How late you are!" he said, as he shook hands with young Thorpe.
"I wish I could have come earlier, my dear fellow," answered Zack, rather importantly; "but I had some business to do" (he had been recovering his watch from the pawnbroker); "and my friend here had some business to do also" (Mr. Marksman had been toasting red herrings for an early dinner); "and so somehow we couldn't get here before. Mat, let me introduce you. This is my old friend, Mr. Blyth, whom I told you of."
Valentine had barely time to take the hand of the new guest before his attention was claimed by fresh visitors. Young Thorpe did the honors of the painting-room in the artist's absence. "Lots of people, as I told you. My friend's a great genius," whispered Zack, wondering, as he spoke, whether the scene of civilized life now displayed before Mr. Marksman would at all tend to upset his barbarian self-possession.
No: not in the least. There stood Mat, just as grave, cool, and quietly observant of things about him as ever. Neither the pictures, nor the company, nor the staring of many eyes that wondered at his black skull-cap and scarred swarthy face, were capable of disturbing the Olympian serenity of this Jupiter of the back-woods.
"There!" cried Zack, pointing triumphantly across the room to "Columbus." "Cudgel your brains, old boy, and guess what that is a picture of, without coming to me to help you."
Mat attentively surveyed the figure of Columbus, the rig of his ship, and the wings of the typical female spirits, hovering overhead in the morning clouds--thought a little--then gravely and deliberately answered:--
"Peter Wilkins taking a voyage along with his flying wives."
Zack pulled out his handkerchief, and stifled his laughter as well as he could, out of consideration for Mat, who, however, took not the smallest notice of him, but added, still staring intently at the picture.
"Peter Wilkins was the only book I had, when I was a lad aboard ship. I used to read it over and over again, at odds and ends of spare time, till I pretty nigh got it by heart. That was many a year ago; and a good lot of what I knowed then I don't know now. But, mind ye, it's my belief that Peter Wilkins was something of a sailor."
"Well?" whispered Zack, humoring him, "suppose he was, what of that?"
"Do you think a man as was anything of a sailor would ever be fool enough to put to sea in such a craft as that?" asked Mr. Marksman, pointing scornfully to Columbus's ship.
"Hush! old Rough and Tough: the picture hasn't anything to do with Peter Wilkins," said Zack. "Keep quiet, and wait here a minute for me. There are some friends of mine at the other end of the room that I must go and speak to. And, I say, if Blyth comes up to you and asks you about the picture, say it's Columbus, and remarkably like him."
Left by himself, Mat looked about for better standing-room than he then happened to occupy; and seeing a vacant space left between the door-post and Mr. Blyth's bureau, retreated to it. Putting his hands in his pockets, he leaned comfortably against the wall, and began to examine the room and everything in it at his leisure. It was not long, however, before he was disturbed. One of his neighbors, seeing that his back was against a large paper sketch nailed on the wall behind him, told him bluntly that he was doing mischief there, and made him change his position. He moved accordingly to the door-post; but even here he was not left in repose. A fresh relay of visitors arrived, and obliged him to make way for them to pass into the room--which he did by politely rolling himself round the door-post into the passage.
As he disappeared in this way, Mr. Blyth bustled up to the place where Mat had been standing, and received his guests there, with great cordiality, but also with some appearance of flurry and perplexity of mind. The fact was, that Lady Brambledown had just remembered that she had not examined Valentine's works yet, through one of those artistic tubes which effectively concentrate the rays of light on a picture, when applied to the eye. Knowing, by former experience, that the studio was furnished with one of these little instruments, her ladyship now intimated her ardent desire to use it instantly on "Columbus." Valentine promised to get it, with his usual ready politeness; but he had not the slightest idea where it actually was, for all that. Among the litter of small things that had been cleared out of the way, when the painting-room was put in order, there were several which he vaguely remembered having huddled together for safety in the bottom of his bureau. The tube might possibly have been among them; so in this place he determined to look for it--being quite ignorant, if the search turned out unsuccessful, where he ought to look next.
After begging the new visitors to walk in, he opened the bureau, which was large and old-fashioned, with a little bright key hanging by a chain that he unhooked from his watch-guard; and began searching inside amid infinite confusion--all his attention concentrated in the effort to discover the lost tube.