The Shadow Portrait by Gilbert Morris Read Free Book Online

brown eyes and a mouth full of enormous teeth. He chomped into the apple, chewing on it thoughtfully, and then nodded. “One buck. Welcome to the big city.”
    Grinning, Winslow tossed his suitcase into the carriage and said, “You’re on!”
    A garrulous individual, the driver informed Winslow that his name was Harry Grebb. After Winslow had introduced himself, Harry asked, “Where you comin’ from, Phil?”
    “Montana. But I’ve been across the water for a while studying art.”
    “That so? Now you’ve come to the big city.”
    “I guess so.”
    “Gonna be a painter, are you?”
    Phil shrugged, saying noncommittally, “I’m going to study anyway.”
    “I knowed a painter once. Nuttiest fellow I ever met! Didn’t stay sober a day in his life that I know of. He was doing some painting down the street from me. Just paintin’ the streets. That street I live on ain’t nothin’ to write home about. He got so drunk I had to hold him up while he painted.”
    “Were his paintings any good?”
    Grebb made a grimace, then bit into the apple again. Chewing thoughtfully like a cow munching on her cud, he said, “Well, like I said, Phil, the street I live on ain’t never gonna be on no postcard. I told him I’d take him over to Fifth Avenue where he could paint some of those fancy houses, but he never would do it. Said he wanted to paint life like it really was.”
    “I bet I know what you told him. You probably said that Fifth Avenue is life like it is for the Vanderbilts and the Astors.”
    Grebb laughed aloud. “You’re pretty sharp, Phil! That’s exactly what I told him! Come on now, hoss! We’ll show Phil here some real fancy places.”
    As they proceeded down the busy streets, Harry Grebb gave Phil a brief history lesson. Harry knew a surprising amount of history about New York, since he had lived there all of his life, as had his parents. He improved Phil’s knowledge of the place with many interesting details. “Fifth Avenue,” he said, waving with his whip, “was just a dirt avenue once. That was back when my great-grandfather had a farm not far from here. He was Dutch. Fifth Avenue got started when a Dutch family decided to build a mansion on the place. They called it the “Brevoort.” They built it right over there, facing onto Fifth. You see it? And then they built a hotel, and pretty soon churches started buildin’ all over the place. The mayor moved in there, then all the rich folks took a likin’ to it. I guess they all wanted the name Fifth Avenue on their address.”
    Phil stretched his neck as they passed by one of the Vanderbilt mansions and was informed by Grebb that the Vanderbilt family had spent fifteen million on four mansions along Fifth Avenue. “Those Vanderbilts have built a lot of fancy buildings here in New York, including the Grand Central Terminal you arrived at.” They passed the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, which was one of the most impressive buildings Phil had ever seen. A little farther down, Grebb said, “See that place?” He waved at a square building that was heavily ornamented. “That’s Madame Restell’s place.” Grebb gave Phil a sly look and said, “She helps girls that have gotten into trouble.”
    “An abortionist?”
    “I reckon. That ain’t what it’s called around here, so much, but that’s what she does.”
    Finally they passed Delmonico’s Restaurant, and Grebb said, “It’d take your war pension to eat in that place, but they sure got some fine grub. We turn up there—off on Broadway.” They made an oblique turn where Broadway angled off ofMadison Square, and two blocks away Grebb said, “There it is. That’s the art institute.”
    Phil looked eagerly toward the building, which was not as impressive, of course, as the massive homes and churches on Fifth Avenue. It was, however, to his knowledge, the best art school in New York. He said quickly, “I guess I’ll get out here and try to find a room close by.”
    “Anything round here is