"
So saying, the stranger departed, leaving Brown not a whit better
impressed with him than at first.
The next morning the two called again, when the gentleman made an
examination of the room selected the day before, having met Mr. Brown
in the hall-way and invited him in. On entering, the new occupant took
from his pocket a piece of chalk and a compass and made a number of
circles and figures on the floor to determine when the sun would shine
in the room. Brown watched him with a certain degree of curiosity and
amusement, and finally, concluding he was half crazy, returned to his
own studio.
The next day the cicerone called alone to see about some repairs, when
Brown hailed him: "_Buono giorno. Che e questo_?" ("Good-day. Who is
that?")
"_Non sapete_?" ("Don't you know?"), was the Italian's response. "Why,
that is the celebrated Brullof."
Brown started as though shot. First there flashed through his brain
the remembrance of how cavalierly he had treated the distinguished
artist, and then a quick panorama of his recent history, which had
been the gossip of studios and art-circles for some time back. "I must
go to him," he said, "and apologize for not treating him with more
deference."
"_Non, signore_," was the cicerone's response. "Never mind: let it
rest. He is a man of the world, and pays little heed to such things.
Besides, he is so overwhelmed with his private griefs that he has
probably noticed no slight.
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