Короли и капуста

Masters of arts

           CarolusWhitewassmokingacigaretteandfryingsausagesoveranoilstove.Hewasonlytwenty-three,andhadnobletheoriesaboutart.

           "BillyKeogh!"exclaimedWhite,extendingthehandthatwasnotbusywiththefryingpan."Fromwhatpartoftheuncivilizedworld,Iwonder!"

           "Hello,Carry,"saidKeogh,draggingforwardastool,andholdinghisfingersclosetothestove."I’mgladIfoundyousosoon.I’vebeenlookingforyoualldayinthedirectoriesandartgalleries.Thefree-lunchmanonthecornertoldmewhereyouwere,quick.Iwassureyou’dbepaintingpicturesyet."

           Keoghglancedaboutthestudiowiththeshrewdeyeofaconnoisseurinbusiness.

           "Yes,youcandoit,"hedeclared,withmanygentlenodsofhishead."Thatbigoneinthecornerwiththeangelsandgreencloudsandband-wagonisjustthesortofthingwewant.Whatwouldyoucallthat,CarryscenefromConeyIsland,ain’tit?"

           "That,"saidWhite,"Ihadintendedtocall‘TheTranslationofElijah,’butyoumaybenearerrightthanIam."

           "Namedoesn’tmatter,"saidKeogh,largely;"it’stheframeandthevarietiesofpaintthatdoesthetrick.Now,IcantellyouinaminutewhatIwant.I’vecomeonalittlevoyageoftwothousandmilestotakeyouinwithmeonascheme.Ithoughtofyouassoonastheschemeshoweditselftome.Howwouldyouliketogobackwithmeandpaintapicture?Ninetydaysforthetrip,andfivethousanddollarsforthejob."

           "Cerealfoodorhair-tonicposters?"askedWhite.

           "Itisn’tanad."

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