The Stalled Ox

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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Theophil Eshley was an artist by profession, acattle painter by force of environment. It is not to besupposed that he lived on a ranche or a dairy farm, in anatmosphere pervaded with horn and hoof, milking-stool,and branding-iron. His home was in a park-like, villa-dotted district that only just escaped the reproach ofbeing suburban. On one side of his garden there abutteda small, picturesque meadow, in which an enterprisingneighbour pastured some small picturesque cows of theChannel Island persuasion. At noonday in summertime thecows stood knee-deep in tall meadow-grass under the shadeof a group of walnut trees, with the sunlight falling indappled patches on their mouse-sleek coats. Eshley hadconceived and executed a dainty picture of two reposefulmilch-cows in a setting of walnut tree and meadow-grassand filtered sunbeam, and the Royal Academy had dulyexposed the same on the walls of its Summer Exhibition.The Royal Academy encourages orderly, methodical habitsin its children. Eshley had painted a successful andacceptable picture of cattle drowsing picturesquely underwalnut trees, and as he had begun, so, of necessity, hewent on. His "Noontide Peace," a study of two dun cowsunder a walnut tree, was followed by "A Mid-daySanctuary," a study of a walnut tree, with two dun cowsunder it. In due succession there came "Where the Gad-Flies Cease from Troubling," "The Haven of the Herd," and"A-dream in Dairyland," studies of walnut trees and duncows. His two attempts to break away from his owntradition were signal failures: "Turtle Doves alarmed bySparrow-hawk" and "Wolves on the Roman Campagna" cameback to his studio in the guise of abominable heresies,and Eshley climbed back into grace and the public gazewith "A Shaded Nook where Drowsy Milkers Dream."On a fine afternoon in late autumn he was puttingsome finishing touches to a study of meadow weeds whenhis neighbour, Adela Pingsford, assailed the outer doorof his studio with loud peremptory knockings."There is an ox in my garden," she announced, inexplanation of the tempestuous intrusion."An ox," said Eshley blankly, and rather fatuously;"what kind of ox?""Oh, I don't know what kind," snapped the lady. "Acommon or garden ox, to use the slang expression. It isthe garden part of it that I object to. My garden hasjust been put straight for the winter, and an ox roamingabout in it won't improve matters. Besides, there arethe chrysanthemums just coming into flower.""How did it get into the garden?" asked Eshley."I imagine it came in by the gate," said the ladyimpatiently; "it couldn't have climbed the walls, and Idon't suppose anyone dropped it from an aeroplane as aBovril advertisement. The immediately important questionis not how it got in, but how to get it out.""Won't it go?" said Eshley."If it was anxious to go," said Adela Pingsfordrather angrily, "I should not have come here to chat withyou about it. I'm practically all alone; the housemaidis having her afternoon out and the cook is lying downwith an attack of neuralgia. Anything that I may havelearned at school or in after life about how to remove alarge ox from a small garden seems to have escaped frommy memory now. All I could think of was that you were anear neighbour and a cattle painter, presumably more orless familiar with the subjects that you painted, andthat you might be of some slight assistance. Possibly Iwas mistaken.""I paint dairy cows, certainly," admitted Eshley,"but I cannot claim to have had any experience inrounding-up stray oxen. I've seen it done on a cinemafilm, of course, but there were always horses and lots ofother accessories; besides, one never knows how much ofthose pictures are faked."Adela Pingsford said nothing, but led the way to hergarden. It was normally a fair-sized garden, but itlooked small in comparison with the ox, a huge mottledbrute, dull red about the head and shoulders, passing todirty white on the flanks and hind-quarters, with shaggyears and large blood-shot eyes. It bore about as muchresemblance to the dainty paddock heifers that Eshley wasaccustomed to paint as the chief of a Kurdish nomad clanwould to a Japanese tea-shop girl. Eshley stood verynear the gate while he studied the animal's appearanceand demeanour. Adela Pingsford continued to say nothing."It's eating a chrysanthemum," said Eshley at last,when the silence had become unbearable."How observant you are," said Adela bitterly. "Youseem to notice everything. As a matter of fact, it hasgot six chrysanthemums in its mouth at the presentmoment."The necessity for doing something was becomingimperative. Eshley took a step or two in the directionof the animal, clapped his hands, and made noises of the"Hish" and "Shoo" variety. If the ox heard them it gaveno outward indication of the fact."If any hens should ever stray into my garden," saidAdela, "I should certainly send for you to frighten themout. You 'shoo' beautifully. Meanwhile, do you mindtrying to drive that ox away? That is a MademoiselleLouise Bichot that he's begun on now," she added in icycalm, as a glowing orange head was crushed into the hugemunching mouth."Since you have been so frank about the variety ofthe chrysanthemum," said Eshley, "I don't mind tellingyou that this is an Ayrshire ox."The icy calm broke down; Adela Pingsford usedlanguage that sent the artist instinctively a few feetnearer to the ox. He picked up a pea-stick and flung itwith some determination against the animal's mottledflanks. The operation of mashing Mademoiselle LouiseBichot into a petal salad was suspended for a longmoment, while the ox gazed with concentrated inquiry atthe stick-thrower. Adela gazed with equal concentrationand more obvious hostility at the same focus. As thebeast neither lowered its head nor stamped its feetEshley ventured on another javelin exercise with anotherpea-stick. The ox seemed to realise at once that it wasto go; it gave a hurried final pluck at the bed where thechrysanthemums had been, and strode swiftly up thegarden. Eshley ran to head it towards the gate, but onlysucceeded in quickening its pace from a walk to alumbering trot. With an air of inquiry, but with no realhesitation, it crossed the tiny strip of turf that thecharitable called the croquet lawn, and pushed its waythrough the open French window into the morning-room.Some chrysanthemums and other autumn herbage stood aboutthe room in vases, and the animal resumed its browsingoperations; all the same, Eshley fancied that thebeginnings of a hunted look had come into its eyes, alook that counselled respect. He discontinued hisattempt to interfere with its choice of surroundings."Mr. Eshley," said Adela in a shaking voice, "Iasked you to drive that beast out of my garden, but I didnot ask you to drive it into my house. If I must have itanywhere on the premises I prefer the garden to themorning-room.""Cattle drives are not in my line," said Eshley; "ifI remember I told you so at the outset." "I quiteagree," retorted the lady, "painting pretty pictures ofpretty little cows is what you're suited for. Perhapsyou'd like to do a nice sketch of that ox making itselfat home in my morning-room?"This time it seemed as if the worm had turned;Eshley began striding away."Where are you going?" screamed Adela."To fetch implements," was the answer."Implements? I won't have you use a lasso. Theroom will be wrecked if there's a struggle."But the artist marched out of the garden. In acouple of minutes he returned, laden with easel,sketching-stool, and painting materials."Do you mean to say that you're going to sit quietlydown and paint that brute while it's destroying mymorning-room?" gasped Adela."It was your suggestion," said Eshley, setting hiscanvas in position."I forbid it; I absolutely forbid it!" stormedAdela."I don't see what standing you have in the matter,"said the artist; "you can hardly pretend that it's yourox, even by adoption.""You seem to forget that it's in my morning-room,eating my flowers," came the raging retort."You seem to forget that the cook has neuralgia,"said Eshley; "she may be just dozing off into a mercifulsleep and your outcry will waken her. Consideration forothers should be the guiding principle of people in ourstation of life.""The man is mad!" exclaimed Adela tragically. Amoment later it was Adela herself who appeared to go mad.The ox had finished the vase-flowers and the cover of"Israel Kalisch," and appeared to be thinking of leavingits rather restricted quarters. Eshley noticed itsrestlessness and promptly flung it some bunches ofVirginia creeper leaves as an inducement to continue thesitting."I forget how the proverb runs," he observed; ofsomething about 'better a dinner of herbs than a stalledox where hate is.' We seem to have all the ingredientsfor the proverb ready to hand.""I shall go to the Public Library and get them totelephone for the police," announced Adela, and, ragingaudibly, she departed.Some minutes later the ox, awakening probably to thesuspicion that oil cake and chopped mangold was waitingfor it in some appointed byre, stepped with muchprecaution out of the morning-room, stared with graveinquiry at the no longer obtrusive and pea-stick-throwinghuman, and then lumbered heavily but swiftly out of thegarden. Eshley packed up his tools and followed theanimal's example and "Larkdene" was left to neuralgia andthe cook.The episode was the turning-point in Eshley'sartistic career. His remarkable picture, "Ox in amorning-room, late autumn," was one of the sensations andsuccesses of the next Paris Salon, and when it wassubsequently exhibited at Munich it was bought by theBavarian Government, in the teeth of the spirited biddingof three meat-extract firms. From that moment hissuccess was continuous and assured, and the Royal Academywas thankful, two years later, to give a conspicuousposition on its walls to his large canvas "Barbary ApesWrecking a Boudoir."Eshley presented Adela Pingsford with a new copy of"Israel Kalisch," and a couple of finely flowering plantsof Madame Andre Blusset, but nothing in the nature of areal reconciliation has taken place between them.

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