She hung on his answer, her mild, timid old face drawn like a mask of tragedy.  “Who?  Who?” she prompted him.

For a time he could not remember, staring at the new portrait and scratching his head.  Then it came to him suddenly:  “Why, sure, I ought to ha’ known without thinkin’, seeing the other picture as often as every time I’ve swep’ out the president’s office.  And Professor Grid always looked like him some, anyhow.”

The old woman leaned against the wall, her crutch trembling in her hand.  Her eyes questioned him mutely.

“Why, ma’am, who but his own father, to be sure ... the old Governor.”

II

While they had been duly sensible of the luster reflected upon them by the celebration in honor of their distinguished uncle, Professor Gridley’s two nephews could scarcely have said truthfully that they enjoyed the occasion.  As one of them did say to the other, the whole show was rather out of their line.  Their line was wholesale hardware and, being eager to return to it, it was with a distinct feeling of relief that they waited for the train at the station.  They were therefore as much displeased as surprised by the sudden appearance to them of their great-aunt, very haggard, her usual extreme timidity swept away by overmastering emotion.  She clutched at the two merchants with a great sob of relief:  “Stephen!  Eli!  Come back to the house,” she cried, and before they could stop her was hobbling away.  They hurried after her, divided between the fear of losing their train and the hope that some inheritance from their uncle had been found.  They were not mercenary men, but they felt a not unnatural disappointment that Professor Gridley had left not a penny, not even to his aunt, his one intimate.

They overtook her, scuttling along like some frightened and wounded little animal.  “What’s the matter, Aunt Amelia?” they asked shortly.  “We’ve got to catch this train.”

She faced them.  “You can’t go now.  You’ve got to make them take that picture away.”

“Away!” Their blankness was stupefaction.

She raged at them, the timid, harmless little thing, like a creature distraught.  “Didn’t you see it?  Didn’t you see it?”

Stephen answered:  “Well, no, not to have a good square look at it.  The man in front of me kept getting in the way.”

Eli admitted:  “If you mean you don’t see anything in it to make all this hurrah about, I’m with you.  It don’t look half finished.  I don’t like that slap-dash style.”

She was in a frenzy at their denseness.  “Who did it look like?” she challenged them.

“Why, like Uncle Grid, of course.  Who else?”

“Yes, yes,” she cried; “who else?  Who else?”

They looked at each other, afraid that she was crazed, and spoke more gently:  “Why, I don’t know, I’m sure, who else.  Like Grandfather Gridley, of course; but then Uncle Grid always did look like his father.”