Sweat trickled down John’s back. He inched his fingers around his collar hoping for a whisper of cool breeze. Fetid air greeted him as he rounded the stalls. A chicken pecked at his penny loafers. John smiled at the unbearable stench.

“Nice uh pigs you have there.” John adjusted his polo shirt again.

The farmer’s son snickered.

“Shorn sheep,” the farmer said.

“Come again,” John asked brightly.

“They’re sheep. Romneys and a couple of Cotswolds. It’s shearing time, you know, shearing,” The farmer said moving his arms in a shaving motion. “You know for wool. This really isn’t a good time. I know Shelly called you and all but it’s our busy time.”

“I’ve come all the West Chester. If I can just have a peek,” John pleaded.

With a sigh the farmer led them deeper into the barn.

“Boy show the old man,” the farmer said.

At a glacial pace the gawky teen stowed his phone in his overalls. With an unexpected flourish the teen ripped a bird crap covered tarp off a high chair in the corner.

Through the dust motes the small canvas glowed in translucent peach, Titanium white, and glorious cadium. John sucked in his breath sharp. Even with his third rate art school lineage, John recognized a Dutch master. His breath shuddered.

The farmer’s wife had submitted a blurry photo to his Cash in the Attic knockoff website Dollars in the Barn that looked like a Rembrandt. With a little googling John had hoped against hope. John the failed artist John the jailed counterfeiter may get have lucked into the clover because of a few hapless rubes.

Standing in front of the nude study of a frail old man draped in a divine light, John dropped to his khakis.

“It is a van Dyck, my God,” John muttered over the beating of his own heart.

“Van Dyck like Dick Van Dyck. I love Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,” the farmer said.

Quickly John got up, brushed off his dusty pants, and revved up his spiel.

“It’s okay. But not valuable per se I can take it off your hands,” John said. The farmer was looking at his kid’s phone. In the dusty barn their faces glowed with understanding. The chicken followed John as he looked back at the masterpiece and headed for his car.