|Whaur are ye gaun the day?” said Erchie to Duffy on Saturday afternoon
when he came on the worthy coalman standing at his own close-mouth,
looking up and down the street with the hesitation of a man who
deliberates how he is to make the most of his Saturday half-holiday.
“I was jist switherin’,” said Duffy. “Since I got mairried and stopped
gaun to the Mull o’ Kintyre Vaults, there’s no’ much choice for a chap.
I micht as weel be leevin’ in the country for a’ the life I see.”
“Man, aye!” said Erchie, “that’s the warst o’ Gleska; there’s nae life
in’t--naethin’ daein’. Ye should try yer hand at takin’ oot the wife for
a walk, jist for the novelty o’ the thing.”
“Catch me!” said Duffy. “She wad see ower mony things in the shop
windows she was needin’. I was jist wonderin’ whether I wad buy a
‘Weekly Mail’ or gang to the fitba’ match at Parkheid.”
Erchie looked pityingly at him. “A fitba’ match!” said he. “Whit’s the
use o’ gaun to a fitba’ match when ye can see a’ aboot it in the late
edeetion? Forbye, a fitba’ match doesna improve the mind; it’s only
sport. I’ll tell ye whit I’ll dae wi’ ye if ye’re game. I’ll tak’ ye
to the Art Institute; the minister gied me twa tickets. Awa’ and put on
your collar and I’ll wait here on ye.”
“Do ye need a collar for the gallery?” asked Duffy, who thought the Art
Institute was a music-hall. On this point Erchie set him right, and ten
minutes later, with a collar whose rough edges rasped his neck and made
him unhappy, he was on his way to Sauchiehall Street.
The band was playing a waltz tune as they entered the Institute.
“Mind, I’m no’ on for ony dancin’,” Duffy explained. “I canna be
bothered dancin’.”
“There’s naebody gaun to ask ye to dance,” said Erchie. “Do you think
there couldna be a baun’ playin’ withoot dancin’? It’s jist here to cod
a lot o’ folk into the notion that they can be cheery enough in a place
o’ the kind in spite o’ the pictures. And ye can get aifternoon tea
here, too.”
“I could be daein’ wi’ a gless o’ beer,” said Duffy.
“No. They’re no’ that length yet,” Erchie explained. “There’s only the
tea. The mair determined lovers o’ the Fine Arts can dae the hale show
in an aifternoon noo wi’ the help o’ a cup o’ tea, so that they needna
come back again. It’s a great savin’. They used to hae to gang hame for
their tea afore, and whiles they never got back. The Institute wasna
popular in thae days; it was that quate and secluded that if a chap had
done onything wrang and the detectives were efter him he took a season
ticket, and spent a’ his days here. Noo, ye can see for yersel’ the
place is gaun like an inn. That’s the effect o’ the baun’ and the
aifternoon tea. If they added a baby incubator to the attractions the
same’s they hae in the East-End Exhibeetion, they would need the Fire
Brigade wi’ a hose to keep the croods oot. Ye hae nae idea o’ the
fascination Art has for the people o’ Gleska if they’re no’ driven
to’t.”
“My jove!” exclaimed Duffy, at the sight of the first gallery. “Whit a
lot o’ pictures! There’ll be a pile o’ money in a place o’ this kind.
Hiv they no water-shoot, or a shootin’ jungle, or onything lively like
that?”
[Illustration: 0179]
“Man, ye’re awfu’ common, whiles, Duffy,” said Erchie. “I’m fear’t I
wasted my ticket on ye. This is no’ an ordinary show for haein’ fun at;
it’s for enlargin’ the mind, openin’ the e’en to the beauties o’ nature,
and sellin’ pictures.”
“Are they a’ for sale?” asked Duffy, looking with great intentness at a
foggy impression by Sidaner, the French artist.
“No’ the hale o’ them; there’s some on lend.”
“I could hae lent them a topper,” said Duffy,--“faur aheid o’ onything
here. It’s a drawin’ o’ a horse I yince had in my first lorry; it was
pented for me by a penter that lodged above us, and had a great name
for signboards. It cost me nearly a pound wan wye or anither, though I
provided the pent mysel’.”
“Ay, Art’s a costly thing,” said Erchie. “Ye’ll seldom get a good
picture under a pound. It’s no’ athegither the pent, it’s the layin’ o’t
on by hand.”
“This yin’s done by hand onywye,” said Duffy, pointing to the foggy
impression by Sidaner. “It’s awfu’ like as if somebody had done it
themsel’s in their spare time.”
“You and me’s no’ judges o’ that sort o’ thing,” said Erchie. “Maybe
it’s no’ near so bad as it looks.”
“Ye see,” Erchie went on, “Art pentin’s a tred by itsel’. There used
to be hardly ony picture-penters in Gleska; it was a’ shipbuildin’ and
calanderin’, whitever that is, and chemical works that needed big lums.
When a Gleska man did a guid stroke o’ business on the Stock Exchange,
or had money left him in thae days, and his wife wanted a present, he
had his photy-graph ta’en big size, ile-coloured by hand. It was gey
like him, the photygraph, and so everybody kent it wasna the rale Art.
Folk got rich that quick in Gleska, and had sae much money to spend,
that the photygraphers couldna keep up wi’ the’demand, and then the
hand-pentin’ chaps began to open works in different pairts o’ the city.
Ye’ll hardly gang into a hoose noo whaur ye’ll no’ see the guidman’s
picture in ile, and it micht be bilin’ ile sometimes, judgin’ from the
agony in his face.”
“My jove!” said Duffy, “is it sore to get done that wye?”
“Sore!” replied Erchie; “no, nor sore. At least, no’ that awfu’ sore.
They wadna need to dae’t unless they liked. When maistly a’ the weel-aff
Gleska folk had got their photygraphs done and then de’ed, the penters
had to start the landscape brench o’ the business. Them’s landscapes a’
roon’ aboot”--and Erchie gave his arm a comprehensive sweep to suggest
all the walls.
“They must be pretty smert chaps that does them,” said Duffy. “I wish I
had gone in for the pentin’ mysel’; it’s cleaner nor the coals. Dae ye
hae to serve your time?”
“No, nor time; ye can see for yersel’ that it’s jist a kind o’ knack
like poetry--or waitin’. And the plant doesna cost much; a’ ye need to
start wi’s paper, brushes, pent, and a saft hat.”
“A saft hat!”
“Ay; a saft hat’s the sure sign o’ an artist. I ken hunners o’ them;
Gleska’s fair hotchin’ wi’ artists. If the Cairters’ Trip wasna
abolished, ye wad see the artists’ tred union walkin’ oot wi’ the rest
o’ them.”
The two friends went conscientiously round the rooms, Erchie expounding
on the dimensions, frames, and literary merits of the pictures, Duffy
a patient, humble student, sometime’s bewildered at the less obvious
transcripts of nature and life pointed out to him.
“Is there much mair o’ this to see?” he asked at last, after having
gone through the fourth gallery. “I’m gettin’ dizzy. Could we no’ hae
something at the tea bar if we gied them a tip? They micht send oot
for’t. Or we micht get a pass-oot check.”
“Mair to see!” exclaimed Erchie. “Ye’re awfu’ easy made dizzy! The like
o’ you wad faur raither be oot skreichin’ yer heid aff at the fitba’
match at Parkheid, instead o’ improvin’ the mind here. Ye canna get
onything at the tea place but jist tea, I’m tellin’ ye, and there’s nae
pass-oot checks. They ken better nor to gie ye pass-oot checks; haulf o’
your kind wad never come back again if yince ye escaped.”
“My jove!” said Duffy, suddenly, “here’s a corker!” and he indicated a
rather peculiar drawing with a lady artist’s name attached to it.
Erchie himself was staggered. “It’s ca’d ‘The Sleeper’ in the
catalogue,” said he. “It’s a wumman, and her dozin’. The leddy that
pented it wasna ower lavish wi’ her pent. That’s whit they ca’ New Art,
Duffy; it jist shows ye whit weemen can dae if ye let them.”
“And dae ye tell me there’s weemen penters!” asked Duffy in
astonishment.
“Of course there’s weemen penters.”
“And hoo dae they get up and doon lethers?” asked Duffy.
“I’m tellin’ ye Art pentin’s a brench by itsel’,” said Erchie. “The lady
Art penters divna pent windows and rhones and hooses; they bash brass,
and hack wud, and draw pictures.”
“And can they mak’ a livin’ at that?”
“Whiles. And whiles their paw helps.”
“My jove!” said Duffy, bewildered.
“We’ll gang on to the next room noo,” said Erchie.
“I wad raither come back some ither day,” said Duffy. “I’m enjoyin’
this fine, but I promised the wife I wad be hame early for my tea.” And
together they hastily made an exit into Sauchie-hall Street.
“I wonder wha won the semi-final at Parkheid,” said Duffy. “We’ll awa’
doon the toon and see; whit’s the use o’ hurryin’ hame?”