It's a pull up, isn't it, from the Mall?
Have a whisky and soda.' I stood on the threshold spellbound.

It was just the smell that bound me, the good old smell of oil paints and turpentine and mediums and varnish and new canvas that you never by any chance put your nose into in any part of Asia.

It carried me back twenty years to old haunts, old friends, old joys, ideals, theories.

Ah, to be young and have a temperament! For I had one then--that instant in Armour's veranda proved it to me forever.
'No thanks,' I said.

'If you don't mind I'll just have the smell.' The young fellow knew at once that I liked the smell.