The Short Reign of Pippin IV by John Steinbeck

no doubt . . .” There was a time of soft muttering, and then Uncle Charlie’s voice. “Won’t you let me dust it? I tell you I have not even inspected it.”
    In a few moments he came back, rubbing his hands.
    â€œI’m ashamed of you,” said the king.
    Charles Martel went to a pile of dirty unframed canvases in a corner. “I must replace it,” he said. “I do my best to discourage them. Perhaps I would feel worse if I did not know they thought they were cheating me.” He carried the dusty painting to the front. “Ah, come in, Clotilde,” he said. “Your father is here.” He called, “It’s Clotilde and the Egg Prince.”
    The three of them came past the red velvet drapery which hung over the doorway, and their passage left a thin cloud of dust in the air.
    â€œGood evening, sir,” said Tod. “He’s teaching me the business. We’re going to open galleries in Dallas and Cincinnati and one in Beverly Hills.”
    â€œShame on him!” said the king.
    â€œI try to discourage them but they demand—” Uncle Charlie began.
    â€œVery clever,” said the king. “But who tricks them into demanding?”
    â€œI don’t think that’s quite fair, sir,” said Tod. “The first function of business is to create the demand and the second to fulfill it. Think of all the things that wouldn’t be made at all if people hadn’t been told they needed them—medicines and cosmetics and deodorants. Can you say, sir, that the automobile is wasteful and unnecessary—that it keeps people in debt for transportation they don’t need? You can’t say that to people who want automobiles even if they and you know it is true.”
    â€œThe line must be drawn somewhere,” Pippin said. “Has my fine uncle told you why the Mona Lisa was stolen?”
    â€œNow wait, dear nephew!”
    Pippin cried, “He usually starts it—‘I can’t mention any names but I have heard’—Heard indeed!”
    â€œIt never made any sense to me,” Tod said. “The Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre. Right? And then, after a year, it was returned. Do you mean they returned a fake?”
    â€œNot at all,” said the king. “The picture in the Louvre is genuine.”
    Clotilde pouted. “Must we talk business?”
    â€œWait, Bugsy, I want to hear.”
    â€œGo on, my uncle,” said the king. “It’s your story. It’s your—”
    â€œI can’t say I approved of it,” said Charles Martel, “and yet no honest person was injured.”
    Clotilde said, “Oh, tell him and get it over with.”
    â€œWell, I can’t mention any names but I have heard that during the time the Mona Lisa was—away, eight Mona Lisas were bought by very rich men.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œWell, wherever very rich men were—Brazil, Argentina, Texas, New York, Hollywood . . .”
    â€œBut why was the original returned?”
    â€œWell you see, once the picture was returned, there was no further search for the—ah—thief.”
    â€œAh!” said Tod. “But how about the people who bought the fakes?”
    Uncle Charlie said piously, “When you buy a stolen masterpiece, you are committing a crime. But even though they must hide the treasure, there do seem to be men capable of this. If, after they have bought, they discover the treasure to be a, shall we say, replica, these men are still not likely to discuss it. There are, I am told, rich men who are willing to be dishonest. I believe I am safe in saying there are none who are willing to admit they are fools.”
    Tod laughed. “So if they had been honest—”
    â€œExactly,” said Uncle Charlie.
    â€œThen why is the king against it?”
    â€œHe is sensitive.”
    Tod turned toward the king.
    Pippin said slowly, “I believe that all men