" All that time the
picture would be hanging, lifeless and unchanging, beneath its dust and
varnish, a chattel that ceased to mean anything if you chose to turn it
with its back to the wall. These thoughts chased themselves angrily
through Tom Yorkfield's mind, but he could not put them into words. When
he gave tongue to his feelings he put matters bluntly and harshly.
"Some soft-witted fools may like to throw away three hundred pounds on a
bit of paintwork; can't say as I envy them their taste. I'd rather have
the real thing than a picture of it."
He nodded towards the young bull, that was alternately staring at them
with nose held high and lowering its horns with a half-playful,
half-impatient shake of the head.
Laurence laughed a laugh of irritating, indulgent amusement.
"I don't think the purchaser of my bit of paintwork, as you call it, need
worry about having thrown his money away. As I get to be better known
and recognised my pictures will go up in value. That particular one will
probably fetch four hundred in a sale-room five or six years hence;
pictures aren't a bad investment if you know enough to pick out the work
of the right men.
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