Henry C. Rowland

“ His jaw dropped, and the glasses all but fell from his palsied hand. but he did not need them now, for there could no longer be any doubt. It was Ailsa's fresh, smiling face, and Ailsa's tall, supple figure that the sign painter had depicted on his board. Jeremiah gasped, and one hand went to his skinny throat. Was he the victim of hallucination:
“Now who can the body be?” he whispered to himself, “who kens Ailsa and kens auld Wally and he with the hole still in his plaid as true as life? ”

“ Jeremiah could not hear what was being said, but it was evident from the little sideways ducking motions of the big officer's head that his remarks were of an appreciative quality. The artist smiled, and resumed his work, while Patrolman Kelly hooked his thumbs in his belt, and stood with his feet apart and his head cocked on one side, the picture of approving artistic criticism.
“Whoever the man may be, he has the paintin',” said Jeremiah to himself. “Now, if Archie could only have done the like, instead of his shamefu' naked wenches! ”

“ Archie jerked his head toward the sign across the street.
“That's a whisky ad. Got to plaster it with letters as soon as the picture's finished.”
“What!” cried Jeremiah, leaning forward. “Y'are goin' to spoil it with letterin'? Not that there is much to spoil,” he added, remembering himself.
“Seems a pity, doesn't it? But, you see, Uncle Jerry, there's art for art's sake, and art for the artist's sake. This is art for whisky's sake. Your old brand—'auld peet rick.'”
Jeremiah grunted. “And how long have ye been workin' at the sign paintin'?” he asked. ”

“ He dabbed his eyes again, and fixed his gaze upon the picture, hungrily watching every stroke of the swift brush.
Others were watching also—a group of passers-by whose gestures made it evident that the sign was receiving all the consideration it deserved by its very real merit. Presently the big policeman of the beat came sauntering along, and joined the knot of admirers. He spoke to the artist, who turned his chin on his shoulder, and stopped painting for a moment to reply. ”

“ She's the coming portraitiste, and her prices are reasonable.”
“A woman, is it?”
“A young Scotch girl. You ought to have your portrait done, really. Hang it in some board room, or leave it to some——”
“Ye have worked that once. Have done with ye.”
Archie chuckled into his coffee cup. Had he been looking at Jeremiah, he might have observed that wry, twisted expression that came rarely when the old man's startled features were forced protestingly into a grin.
“Well, Uncle Jerry, I must be getting back on the job.” He turned to the old man with a smile. “Many thanks for the hospitality. ”

“ What's become of the young lady?”
“I hear she is gettin' on. Teachin' or the like. Here is your food. I suppose ye do not get much canvasback and terrapin these days?”
“No; I usually put up at farmhouses. ”