’One Saturday afternoon I went to an exhibition in Coventry Street.  The pictures were for sale, and admission was free.  I have always been fond of water-colours; at that time it was one of my ambitions to possess a really good bit of landscape in water-colour but, of course, I knew that the prices were beyond me.  Well, I walked through the gallery, and there was one thing that caught my fancy; I kept going back to it again and again.  It was a bit of sea-coast by Ewart Merry,—­do you know him?  He died years ago; his pictures fetch a fairly good price now.  As I was looking at it, the fellow who managed the show came up with a man and woman to talk about another picture near me; he tried his hardest to persuade them to buy, but they wouldn’t, and I dare say it disturbed his temper.  Seeing him stand there alone, I stepped up to him, and asked the price of the water-colour.  He just gave a look at me, and said, “Too much money for you.”

’Now, you must remember that I was in my best clothes, and I certainly didn’t look like a penniless clerk.  If the fellow had struck a blow at me, I couldn’t have been more astonished than I was by that answer.  Astonishment was the first feeling, and it lasted about a second; then my heart gave a great leap, and began to beat violently, and for a moment I couldn’t see anything, and I felt hot and cold by turns.  I can remember this as well as if it happened yesterday; I must have gone through it in memory many thousands of times.’

I observed his face, and saw that even now he suffered from the recollection.

’When he had spoken, the blackguard turned away.  I couldn’t move, and the wonder is that I didn’t swallow his insult, and sneak out of the place,—­I was so accustomed, you see, to repress myself.  But of a sudden something took hold of me, and pushed me forward,—­it really didn’t seem to be my own will.  I said, “Wait a minute”; and the man turned round.  Then I stood looking him in the eyes.  “Are you here,” I said, “to sell pictures, or to insult people who come to buy?” I must have spoken in a voice he didn’t expect; he couldn’t answer, and stared at me.  “I asked you the price of that water-colour, and you will be good enough to answer me civilly.”  Those were my very words.  They came without thinking, and afterwards I felt satisfied with myself when I remembered them.  It wouldn’t have been unnatural if I had sworn at him, but this was the turning-point of my life, and I behaved in a way that surprised myself.  At last he replied, “The price is forty guineas,” and he was going off again, but I stopped him.  “I will buy it.  Take my name and address.”  “When will it be paid for?” he asked.  “On Monday.”

’I followed him to the table, and he entered my name and address in a book.  Then I looked straight at him again.  “Now, you understand,” I said, “that that picture is mine, and I shall either come or send for it about one o’clock on Monday.  If I hadn’t wanted it specially, you would have lost a sale by your impertinence.”  And I marched out of the room.