Resolutely entering, he quickly called for the proprietor.
In his momentary excitement, Clayton failed to notice the sly twinkle of Mr.Adolph Lilienthal's crow-footed eyes.

"You had a beautiful artist proof of a Hungarian scene in your window this morning," began Clayton.
"Sold, sir; you are but a few moments too late," blandly replied Lilienthal, in his best manner.

"We are just packing it up for a lady.

An exquisite thing; sorry I cannot replace it, sir," remarked the vendor, "Show you anything else ?" "You could not order me another, could you ?" blankly demanded Clayton, with a baffled sense of losing both the lady and the art gem.
"It was a unique proof," volubly continued Lilienthal.

"I might, however,"-- he briskly turned to an assistant, and after a few words, led the annoyed Clayton back to a counter.
There a packing case was lying, plainly marked "Fraeulein Irma Gluyas, No.