‘My beard!’ cried Pitman.  ’I cannot shave my beard.  I cannot tamper with my appearance—­my principals would object.  They hold very strong views as to the appearance of the professors—­young ladies are considered so romantic.  My beard was regarded as quite a feature when I went about the place.  It was regarded,’ said the artist, with rising colour, ’it was regarded as unbecoming.’

‘You can let it grow again,’ returned Michael, ’and then you’ll be so precious ugly that they’ll raise your salary.’

‘But I don’t want to be ugly,’ cried the artist.

‘Don’t be an ass,’ said Michael, who hated beards and was delighted to destroy one.  ‘Off with it like a man!’

‘Of course, if you insist,’ said Pitman; and then he sighed, fetched some hot water from the kitchen, and setting a glass upon his easel, first clipped his beard with scissors and then shaved his chin.  He could not conceal from himself, as he regarded the result, that his last claims to manhood had been sacrificed, but Michael seemed delighted.

‘A new man, I declare!’ he cried.  ’When I give you the windowglass spectacles I have in my pocket, you’ll be the beau-ideal of a French commercial traveller.’

Pitman did not reply, but continued to gaze disconsolately on his image in the glass.

‘Do you know,’ asked Michael, ’what the Governor of South Carolina said to the Governor of North Carolina?  “It’s a long time between drinks,” observed that powerful thinker; and if you will put your hand into the top left-hand pocket of my ulster, I have an impression you will find a flask of brandy.  Thank you, Pitman,’ he added, as he filled out a glass for each.  ‘Now you will give me news of this.’

The artist reached out his hand for the water-jug, but Michael arrested the movement.

‘Not if you went upon your knees!’ he cried.  ’This is the finest liqueur brandy in Great Britain.’

Pitman put his lips to it, set it down again, and sighed.

‘Well, I must say you’re the poorest companion for a holiday!’ cried Michael.  ’If that’s all you know of brandy, you shall have no more of it; and while I finish the flask, you may as well begin business.  Come to think of it,’ he broke off, ’I have made an abominable error:  you should have ordered the cart before you were disguised.  Why, Pitman, what the devil’s the use of you? why couldn’t you have reminded me of that?’

‘I never even knew there was a cart to be ordered,’ said the artist.  ‘But I can take off the disguise again,’ he suggested eagerly.

‘You would find it rather a bother to put on your beard,’ observed the lawyer.  ‘No, it’s a false step; the sort of thing that hangs people,’ he continued, with eminent cheerfulness, as he sipped his brandy; ’and it can’t be retraced now.  Off to the mews with you, make all the arrangements; they’re to take the piano from here, cart it to Victoria, and dispatch it thence by rail to Cannon Street, to lie till called for in the name of Fortune du Boisgobey.’