“Have you seen the number with the colored plates of the North American fauna?”
“Yes. I have it in Paris.”
“And the number containing the panorama of the volcanoes of Alaska?”
“That was a wonder.”
“I enjoyed very much, too, the wild animal photographs of George Shiras three.”
“They were damned fine.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“They were excellent. That fellow Shiras—”
“You call him that fellow?”
“We’re old friends,” said Harris.
“I see. You know George Shiras three. He must be very interesting.”
“He is. He’s about the most interesting man I know.”
“And do you know George Shiras two? Is he interesting too?”
“Oh, he’s not so interesting.”
“I should imagine he would be very interesting.”
“You know, a funny thing. He’s not so interesting. I’ve often wondered why.”
“H’m,” said the gentleman. “I should have thought any one in that family would be interesting.”
“Do you remember the panorama of the Sahara Desert?” Harris asked.
“The Sahara Desert? That was nearly fifteen years ago.”
“That’s right. That was one of my father’s favorites.”
“He doesn’t prefer the newer numbers?”
“He probably does. But he was very fond of the Sahara panorama.”
“It was excellent. But to me its artistic value far exceeded its scientific interest.”
“I don’t know,” said Harris. “The wind blowing all that sand and that Arab with his camel kneeling toward Mecca.”
“As I recall, the Arab was standing holding the camel.”
