Королі та 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,Carry—scenefromConeyIsland,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."
