The Painter's Honeymoon

The Painter's Honeymoon
the polish rider
The Sacrifice of Abraham painting
The Three Ages of Woman
My grandfather was the man who mada-da-monitch. With the Crunchies and the Cracker Jacks and the Cosy Crisps. All the afternoon tea delicacies, and then, being far-sighted, he switched on very early to Cheesies and Canapes so that now we cash in on cocktail parties in big way. Well, the time came when father intimated that he had a soul above Crunchies. He travelled in Italy and the Balkans and Greece and dabbled in art. My grandfather was peeved. He decided my father was no man of business and a rather poor judge of art (quite right in both cases), so left all his money in trust for his grandchildren. Father had the income
oil painting
for life, but he couldn't touch the capital. Do you know what he did? He stopped spending money. He came here and began to save. I'd say that by now he's accumulated nearly as big a fortune as my grandfather left. And in the meantime all of us, Harold, myself, Alfred and Emma haven't got a penny of grandfather's money. I'm a stony-broke painter. Harold went into business and is now a prominent man in the City - he's the one with the money-making touch, though I've heard rumours that he's in Queer Street lately. Alfred - well, Alfred is usually known in the privacy of the family as Flash Alf –"