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has been the invaluable contact with the best men in the New York art world, from Theodore Rousseau debonair curator of paintings at the Metropolitan to the crusading defender of modern art. He is universally liked by them, partly be-cause his bland assurance is refreshing in their world of equivocation, partly because they enjoy his explosive humor and partly because they admire the way in which he has tried so earnestly to "keep up with modern art" and so interrpret the laws as helpfully as possible in its interests though he says, "M self, I don't go for it. Give me a nice Renoir any time."

"You grow into knowing these things," he says calmly, leading you through the islands of crates in the vast storeroom at 201 Varick Street, "every cobbler to his last." He points to a painting of lady in a bulging bussel smelling a rose. "That's no Corot," he tells you positively, "Oh, the thousands and thousands of Corots I've seen. More than the man ever painted have come to America.  Mofe than in the books. I compare them and look 'em up. But this dealer won't care. He'll pay the duty and leave the gold label on it which says 'Corot' here and sell it as a Corot. Now this landscape over here-- that dealer was smarter in a way. It has a Gainsborough si gnature on it--but Gainsborough never put it there. So the dealer has declared it just as an oil painting made prior to 1830, which makes it an antique and automatically duty-free. So, All I have to do is say whether it is prior to k830--