He went over to pour some whiskey.  Tossing a volume of it back, he glanced at Darius and indicated the bottle to see if his guest would like some as well.  "I 'ave more than whisky and scotch."  He gave a wry glance at the bottles on the table at the entry to the parlor near to where Douglas had entered the room.

He was stalling trying to think what to say of the paintings that the other man had discovered.  "Only to be expected from a fellow artist."  He gave a motion of his shoulders.  "Nae much area to 'ide anything 'ere in this cottage.  Back 'ome there are lots of rooms nae longer used that I can stash the shyte that I dinna want anyone tae see."  Again that wry look was on his face, as it was quite that irony that Darius had just seen them indeed.

"Going tae the war when I worked to sketch oot for the officers tae send back tae the home office and for the newspapers, I saw things that stayed with me.  Sometimes they require to be put back oot of the heid but what tae do with them once they come oot, what tae dae with them?"  He asked not really wanting an answer.

He focused then on the man's questions about his current works.  "This one is for my friend the doctor here.  It is finally finished.  I just 'ave tae get it over tae 'is place."  He indicated one that had a gold-toned elegant frame that stood about four foot tall.  The black doctor was sitting at his desk in his office with a window behind him and bookshelves on either side of the widow behind the man's desk where he sat properly.

" 'is 'ands gave me a fix of a time.  I 'ad 'im 'old 'em sae many different ways until I was finally 'appy with 'ow it felt tae look right for me."  He chuckled.  "The mon likely thought I was crazy."