CHAPTER XI. He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. The Oriental has no equivalent. When it's done, I'll push you through.
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