There was one occasion in all my years of collecting, when I was rather lukewarm about a painting. It was a work by Manet that had been originally quoted at $4,000, and then, toward the end of the season, at $35,000. One day, the dealer buttonholed me on 57th Street and insisted that I come up to his gallery. He wanted to sell me the painting, and he did—for about half the original price. I've been thankful to him ever since. However, a sad aftermath to this transaction occurred a short time later. This same dealer had a small gem of a painting, a Cézanne still-life, that he offered me for about $25,000. I should have bought it, but I was planning to leave for Europe a few days later, and not having enough time, nor being in the mood to go through a tug of war with this dealer over the right price, I passed up an opportunity that I regret to this day. Of course, few dealers are like that, otherwise collecting would not be the fun it is.