This point, therefore, I
considered as sufficiently settled. I chuckled excessively when I
thought of my acumen. It was the first time I had ever known Wyatt
to keep from me any of his artistical secrets; but here he evidently
intended to steal a march upon me, and smuggle a fine picture to New
York, under my very nose; expecting me to know nothing of the
matter. I resolved to quiz him well, now and hereafter.
One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box did not go into
the extra state-room. It was deposited in Wyatt's own; and there, too,
it remained, occupying very nearly the whole of the floor- no doubt to
the exceeding discomfort of the artist and his wife;- this the more
especially as the tar or paint with which it was lettered in sprawling
capitals, emitted a strong, disagreeable, and, to my fancy, a
peculiarly disgusting odor. On the lid were painted the words- "Mrs.
Adelaide Curtis, Albany, New York. Charge of Cornelius Wyatt, Esq.
This side up. To be handled with care."
Now, I was aware that Mrs. Adelaide Curtis, of Albany, was the
artist's wife's mother,- but then I looked upon the whole address as a
mystification, intended especially for myself.
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