"NELSON's face," the painter continued, "was an uncommon one. So large
and so mobile a mouth is rare. But I have no doubt that a duplicate
exists, and no matter who is the owner of it, even were he an
archbishop, I should not hesitate to go up and ask him to sit to me."
(For the benefit of any feminine reader of this veracious history I
should say that the repetition which she has just noticed is not an
accident, but has been carefully set down. It is an attempt to give
verisimilitude to the conversation--because men always say things like
that twice.)
The friend again remarked that the painter's resolve did him infinite
credit, and the two started for the station, still conversing on the
same theme.
On entering their carriage the first thing to take their attention was a
quiet little man in black, who was the absolute double of the hero of
Trafalgar.
"Good gracious!" whispered the painter excitedly, "do you see that?
There's the very man. The likeness to NELSON is astonishing. I never saw
anything like it. I don't care who he is, I must tackle him. It's the
most extraordinary chance that ever occurred."
Assuming his most silky and deferential manner--for, though clearly not
an archbishop, unless in mufti, this might yet be a person of
importance--the painter approached the stranger and tendered a card.
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