That's a friend o' mine from Londra
as has painted me many's the time.'
'Painted you?' I said; 'the man in black, with the goggle eyes,
squatting there under the white umbrella? What's his name?'
'That's the cel'erated Mr. Wilderspin, an' he's painted me many's the
time, an' a rare rum 'un he is too. Dordi! it makes me laugh to think
on him. Most Gorgios is mad, more or less, but he's the maddest 'un I
ever know'd.'
We had by this time got close to the painter's companion, who,
sitting upright on his camp-stool, was busy with his brush. Without
shifting his head to look at us, or removing his eyes from his work,
he said, in a voice of striking power and volume: 'Nothing but an
imperfect experience of life, Lady Sinfi, could have made you
pronounce our friend there to be the maddest Gorgio living.'
'Dordi!' exclaimed Sinfi, turning sharply round in great
astonishment. 'Fancy seein' both on 'em here!'
'Mad our friend is, no doubt, Lady Sinfi,' said the painter, without
looking round, 'but not so mad as certain illustrious Gorgios I could
name, some of them born legislators and some of them (apparently)
born.
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