"No, sir," replied Lapham gravely. "I guess you want to keep
that as free from paint as you can, if you want much use of it.
I never cared to try any of it on mine." Lapham suddenly
lifted his bulk up out of his swivel-chair, and led the
way out into the wareroom beyond the office partitions,
where rows and ranks of casks, barrels, and kegs stretched
dimly back to the rear of the building, and diffused
an honest, clean, wholesome smell of oil and paint.
They were labelled and branded as containing each so many
pounds of Lapham's Mineral Paint, and each bore the mystic
devices, N.L.f. 1835--S.L.t. 1855. "There!" said Lapham,
kicking one of the largest casks with the toe of his boot,
"that's about our biggest package; and here," he added,
laying his hand affectionately on the head of a very small keg,
as if it were the head of a child, which it resembled
in size, "this is the smallest. We used to put the paint
on the market dry, but now we grind every ounce of it
in oil--very best quality of linseed oil--and warrant it.
We find it gives more satisfaction. Now, come back
to the office, and I'll show you our fancy brands."
It was very cool and pleasant in that dim wareroom,
with the rafters showing overhead in a cloudy perspective,
and darkening away into the perpetual twilight at the rear
of the building; and Bartley had found an agreeable seat
on the head of a half-barrel of the paint, which he was
reluctant to leave.
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