Masters of Arts
A two-inch stub of a blue pencil was the wand with which Keoghperformed the preliminary acts of his magic. So, with this he coveredpaper with diagrams and figures while he waited for the United Statesof America to send down to Coralio a successor to Atwood, resigned.
The new scheme that his mind had conceived, his stout heart indorsed,and his blue pencil corroborated, was laid around the characteristicsand human frailties of the new president ofAnchuria. Thesecharacteristics, and the situation out of which Keogh hoped to wresta golden tribute, deserve chronicling contributive to the clear orderof events.
President Losada--many called him Dictator--was a man whose geniuswould have made him conspicuous even among Anglo-Saxons, had notthat genius been intermixed with other traits that were petty andsubversive. He had some of the lofty patriotism of Washington (theman he most admired), the force of Napoleon, and much of the wisdomof the sages. These characteristics might have justified him theassumption of the title of "The Illustrious Liberator," had they notbeen accompanied by a stupendous and amazing vanity that kept himin the less worthy ranks of the dictators.
Yet he did his country great service. With a mighty grasp he shookit nearly free from the shackles of ignorance and sloth and the verminthat fed upon it, and all but made it a power in the council ofnations. He established schools and hospitals, built roads, bridges,railroads and palaces, and bestowed generous subsidies upon the artsand sciences. He was the absolute despot and the idol of his people.The wealth of the country poured into his hands. Other presidents hadbeen rapacious without reason. Losada amassed enormous wealth, buthis people had their share of the benefits.
The joint in his armor was his insatiate passion for monuments andtokens commemorating his glory. In every town he caused to be erectedstatues of himself bearing legends in praise of his greatness. Inthe walls of every public edifice, tablets were fixed reciting hissplendor and the gratitude of his subjects. His statuettes andportraits were scattered throughout the land in every house and hut.One of the sycophants in his court painted him as St. John, with ahalo and a train of attendants in full uniform. Losada saw nothingincongruous in this picture, and had it hung in a church in thecapital. He ordered from a French sculptor a marble group includinghimself with Napoleon, Alexander the Great, and one or two others whomhe deemed worthy of the honor.
He ransacked Europe for decorations, employing policy, money andintrigue to cajole the orders he coveted from kings and rulers.On state occasions his breast was covered from shoulder to shoulderwith crosses, stars, golden roses, medals and ribbons. It was saidthat the man who could contrive for him a new decoration, or inventsome new method of extolling his greatness, might plunge a hand deepinto the treasury.
This was the man upon whom Billy Keogh had his eye. The gentlebuccaneer had observed the rain of favors that fell upon those whoministered to the president's vanities, and he did not deem it hisduty to hoist his umbrella against the scattering drops of liquidfortune.
In a few weeks the new consul arrived, releasing Keogh from histemporary duties. He was a young man fresh from college, who livedfor botany alone. The consulate at Coralio gave him the opportunityto study tropical flora. He wore smoked glasses, and carried a greenumbrella. He filled the cool, back porch of the consulate withplants and specimens so that space for a bottle and chair was notto be found. Keogh gazed on him sadly, but without rancor, and beganto pack his gripsack. For his new plot against stagnation along theSpanish Main required of him a voyage overseas.
Soon came the ~Karlsefin~ again--she of the trampish habits--gleaninga cargo of coconuts for a speculative descent upon the New Yorkmarket. Keogh was booked for a passage on the return trip.
"Yes, I'm going to New York," he explained to the group of hiscountrymen that had gathered on the beach to see him off. "ButI'll be back before you miss me. I've undertaken the art educationof this piebald country, and I'm not the man to desert it while it'sin the early throes of tintypes."
With this mysterious declaration of his intentions Keogh boardedthe ~Karlsefin~.
Ten days later, shivering, with the collar of his thin coat turnedhigh, he burst into the studio of Carolus White at the top of a tallbuilding in Tenth Street, New York City.
Carolus White was smoking a cigarette and frying sausages over an oilstove. He was only twenty-three, and had noble theories about art.
"Billy Knight!" exclaimed White, extending the hand that was notbusy with the frying pan. "From what part of the uncivilized world,I wonder!"
"Hello, Carry," said Keogh, dragging forward a stool, and holdinghis fingers close to the stove. "I'm glad I found you so soon. I'vebeen looking for you all day in the directories and art galleries.The free-lunch man on the corner told me where you were, quick.I was sure you'd be painting pictures yet."
Keogh glanced about the studio with the shrewd eye of a connoisseurin business.
"Yes, you can do it," he declared, with many gentle nods of his head."That big one in the corner with the angels and greeh clouds andband-wagon is just the sort of thing we want. What would you callthat, Carry--scene from Coney Island, ain't it?"
'That," said White, "I had intended to call The Translation ofElijah,' but you may be nearer right than I am."
"Name doesn't matter," said Keogh, largely; "it's the frame andthe varieties of paint that does the trick. Now, I can tell you ina minute what I want. I've come on a little voyage of two thousandmiles to take you in with me on a scheme. I thought of you as soonas the scheme showed itself to me. How would you like to go backwith me and paint a picture? Ninety days for the trip, and fivethousand dollars for the job."
"Cereal food or hair-tonic posters?" asked White.
"It isn't an ad."
"What kind of a picture is it to be?"
"It's a long story," said Keogh.
"Go ahead with it. If you don't mind, while you talk I'll just keepmy eye on these sausages. Let 'em get one shade deeper than a Vandykebrown and you spoil 'em."
Keogh explained his project. They were to return to Coralio, whereWhite was to pose as a distinguished American portrait painter whowas touring in the tropics as a relaxation from his arduous andremunerative professional labors. It was not an unreasonable hope,even to those who trod in the beaten paths of business, that an artistwith so much prestige might secure a commission to perpetuate uponcanvas the lineaments of the president, and secure a share of the~pesos~ that were raining upon the caterers to his weaknesses.
Keogh had set his price at ten thousand dollars. Artists had beenpaid more for portraits. He and White were to share the expenses ofthe trip, and divide the possible profits. Thus he laid the schemebefore White, whom he had known in the West before one declared forArt and the other became a Bedouin.
Before long the two machinators abandoned the rigor of the bare studiofor a snug corner of a cafe. There they sat far into the night, withold envelopes and Keogh's stub of blue pencil between them.
At twelve o'clock White doubled up in his chair, with his chin onhis fist, and shut his eyes at the unbeautiful wall-paper.
"I'll go you, Billy," he said, in the quiet tones of decision. "I'vegot two or three hundred saved up for sausages and rent; and I'll takethe chance with you. Five thousand! It will give me two years inParis and one in Italy. I'll begin to pack tomorrow."
"You'll begin in ten minutes," said Keogh. "It's to-morrow now. The~Karlsefin~ starts back at four P.M. Come on to your painting shop,and I'll help you."
For five months in the year Coralio is the Newport of Anchuria.Then only does the town possess life. From November to March it ispractically the seat of government. The president with his officialfamily sojourns there; and society follows him. The pleasure-lovingpeople make the season one long holiday of amusement and rejoicing.~Fiestas~, balls, games, sea bathing, processions and small theatrescontribute to their enjoyment. The famous Swiss band from the capitalplays in the little plaza every evening, while the fourteen carriagesand vehicles in the town circle in funereal but complacent procession.Indians from the interior mountains, looking like pre-historic stoneidols, come down to peddle their handiwork in the streets. The peoplethrong the narrow ways, a chattering, happy, careless stream ofbuoyant humanity. Preposterous children rigged out with theshortest of ballet skirts and gilt wings, howl, underfoot, among theeffervescent crowds. Especially is the arrival of the presidentialparty, at the opening of the season, attended with pomp, show andpatriotic demonstrations of enthusiasm and delight.
When Keogh and White reached their destination, on the return tripof the ~Karlsefin~, the gay winter season was well begun. As theystepped upon the beach they could hear the band playing in the plaza.The village maidens, with fireflies already fixed in their dark locks,were gliding, barefoot and coy-eyed, along the paths. Dandies inwhite linen, swinging their canes, were beginning their seductivestrolls. The air was full of human essence, of artificial enticement,of coquetry, indolence, pleasure--the man-made sense of existence.
The first two or three days after their arrival were spent inpreliminaries. Keogh escorted the artist about town, introducinghim to the little circle of English-speaking residents and pullingwhatever wires he could to effect the spreading of White's fame asa painter. And then Keogh planned a more spectacular demonstrationof the idea he wished to keep before the public.
He and White engaged rooms in the Hotel de los Extranjeros. The twowere clad in new suits of immaculate duck, with American straw hats,and carried canes of remarkable uniqueness and inutility. Fewcaballeros in Coralio--even the gorgeously uniformed officers of theAnchurian army--were as conspicuous for ease and elegance of demeanoras Keogh and his friend, the great American painter, Senor White.
White set up his easel on the beach and made striking sketches of themountain and sea views. The native population formed at his rear ina vast, chattering semicircle to watch his work. Keogh, with his carefor details, had arranged for himself a pose which he carried out withfidelity. His ro1e was that of friend to the great artist, a man ofaffairs and leisure. The visible emblem of his position was a pocketcamera.
"For branding the man who owns it," said he, "a genteel dilettantewith a bank account and an easy conscience, a steam-yacht ain't in itwith a camera. You see a man doing nothing but loafing around makingsnap-shots, and you know right away he reads up well in 'Bradstreet.'You notice these old millionaire boys--soon as they get through takingeverything else in sight they go to taking photographs. People aremore impressed by a kodak than they are by a title or a four-karatscarf-pin." So Keogh strolled blandly about Coralio, snapping thescenery and the shrinking senoritas, while White posed conspicuouslyin the higher regions of art.
Two weeks after their arrival, the scheme began to bear fruit.An aide-de-camp of the president drove to the hotel in a dashingvictoria. The president desired that Senor White come to the CasaMorena for an informal interview.
Keogh gripped his pipe tightly between his teeth. "Not a centless than ten thousand," he said to the artist--"remember the price.And in gold or its equivalent--don't let him stick you with thisbargain-counter stuff they call money here."
"Perhaps it isn't that he wants," said White.
"Get out!" said Keogh, with splendid confidence. "I know what hewants. He wants his picture painted by the celebrated young Americanpainter and filibuster now sojourning in his down-trodden country.Off you go."
The victoria sped away with the artist. Keogh walked up and down,puffing great clouds of smoke from his pipe, and waited. In an hourthe victoria swept again to the door of the hotel, deposited White,and vanished. The artist dashed up the stairs, three at a step.Keogh stopped smoking, and became a silent interrogation point.
"Landed," exclaimed White, with his boyish face flushed with elation."Billy, you are a wonder. He wants a picture. I'll tell you allabout it. By Heavens! that dictator chap is a corker! He's adictator clear down to his finger-ends. He's a kind of combinationof Julius Caesar, Lucifer and Chauncey Depew done in sepia. Politeand grim--that's his way. The room I saw him in was about ten acresbig, and looked like a Mississippi steamboat with its gilding andmirrors and white paint. He talks English better than I can everhope to. The matter of the price came up. I mentioned ten thousand.I expected him to call the guard and have me taken out and shot.He didn't move an eyelash. He just waved one of his chestnut handsin a careless way, and said, 'Whatever you say.' I am to go backtomorrow and discuss with him the details of the picture."
Keogh hung his head. Self-abasement was easy to read in his downcastcountenance.
"I'm failing, Carry," he said, sorrowfully. "I'm not fit to handlethese man's-size schemes any longer. Peddling oranges in a push-cartis about the suitable graft for me. When I said ten thousand, I swearI thought I had sized up that brown man's limit to within two cents.He'd have melted down for fifteen thousand just as easy. Say--Carry--you'll see old man Keogh safe in some nice, quiet idiot asylum, won'tyou, if he makes a break like that again?"
The Casa Morena, although only one story in height, was a buildingof brown stone, luxurious as a palace in its interior. It stood ona low hill in a walled garden of splendid tropical flora at the upperedge of Coralio. The next day the president's carriage came againfor the artist. Keogh went out for a walk along the beach, where heand his "picture box" were now familiar sights. When he returned tothe hotel White was sitting in a steamer-chair on the balcony.
"Well," said Keogh, "did you and His Nibs decide on the kind ofa chromo he wants?"
White got up and walked back and forth on the balcony a few times.Then he stopped, and laughed strangely. His face was flushed, andhis eyes were bright with a kind of angry amusement.
"Look here, Billy," he said, somewhat roughly, "when you first cameto me in my studio and mentioned a picture, I thought you wanted aSmashed Oats or a Hair Tonic poster painted on a range of mountainsor the side of a continent. Well, either of those jobs would havebeen Art in its highest form compared to the one you've steered meagainst. I can't paint that picture, Billy. You've got to let meout. Let me try to tell you what that barbarian wants. He had itall planned out and even a sketch made of his idea. The old boydoesn't draw badly at all. But, ye goddesses of Art! listen to themonstrosity he expects me to paint. He wants himself in the centerof the canvas, of course. He is to be painted as Jupiter sittingon Olympus, with the clouds at his feet. At one side of him standsGeorge Washington, in full regimentals, with his hand on thepresident's shoulder. An angel with outstretched wings hoversoverhead, and is placing a laurel wreath on the president's head,crowning him--Queen of the May, I suppose. In the background isto be cannon, more angels and soldiers. The man who would paintthat picture would have to have the soul of a dog, and would deserveto go down into oblivion without even a tin can tied to his tailto sound his memory."
Little beads of moisture crept out all over Billy Keogh's brow.The stub of his blue pencil had not figured out a contingency likethis. The machinery of his plan had run with flattering smoothnessuntil now. He dragged another chair upon the balcony, and got Whiteback to his seat. He lit his pipe with apparent calm.
"Now, sonny," he said, with gentle grimness, "you and me will havean Art to Art talk. You've got your art and I've got mine. Yoursis the real Pierian stuff that turns up its nose at bock-beer signsand oleographs of the Old Mill. Mine's the art of Business.This was my scheme, and it worked out like two-and-two. Paintthat president man as Old King Cole, or Venus, or a landscape, ora fresco, or a bunch of lilies, or anything he thinks he looks like.But get the paint on the canvas and collect the spoils. You wouldn'tthrow me down, Carry, at this stage of the game. Think of that tenthousand."
"I can't help thinking of it," said White, "and that's what hurts.I'm tempted to throw every ideal I ever had down in the mire, andsteep my soul in infamy by painting that picture. That five thousandmeant three years of foreign study to me, and I'd almost sell my soulfor that. "
"Now it ain't as bad as that," said Keogh, soothingly. "It's abusiness proposition. It's so much paint and time against money. Idon't fall in with your idea that that picture would so everlastinglyjolt the art side of the question. George Washington was all right,you know, and nobody could say a word against the angel. I don'tthink so bad of that group. If you was to give Jupiter a pair ofepaulets and a sword, and kind of work the clouds around to look likea blackberry patch, it wouldn't make such a bad battle scene. Why,if we hadn't already settled on the price, he ought to pay an extrathousand for Washington, and the angel ought to raise it fivehundred."
"You don't understand, Billy," said White, with an uneasy laugh."Some of us fellows who try to paint have big notions about Art.I wanted to paint a picture some day that people would stand beforeand forget that it was made of paint. I wanted it to creep into themlike a bar of music and mushroom there like a soft bullet. And Iwanted 'em to go away and ask, 'What else has he done?' And I didn'twant 'em to find a thing; not a portrait nor a magazine cover nor anillustration nor a drawing of a girl--nothing but the picture. That'swhy I've lived on fried sausages, and tried to keep true to myself.I persuaded myself to do this portrait for the chance it might give meto study abroad. But this howling, screaming caricature! Good Lord!can't you see how it is?"
"Sure," said Keogh, as tenderly as he would have spoken to a child,and he laid a long forefinger on White's knee. "I see. It's bad tohave your art all slugged up like that. I know. You wanted to painta big thing like the panorama of the battle of Gettysburg. But let mekalsomine you a little mental sketch to consider. Up to date we'reout $385.50 on this scheme. Our capital took every cent both of uscould raise. We've got about enough left to get back to New York on.I need my share of that ten thousand. I want to work a copper dealin Idaho, and make a hundred thousand. That's the business end ofthe thing. Come down off your art perch, Carry, and let's land thathatful of dollars."
"Billy," said White, with an effort, "I'll try. I won't say I'lldo it, but I'll try. I'll go at it, and put it through if I can."
"That's business," said Keogh, heartily. "Good boy! Now, here'sanother thing--rush that picture--crowd it through as quick as youcan. Get a couple of boys to help you mix the paint if necessary.I've picked up some pointers around town. The people here arebeginning to get sick of Mr. President. They say he's been too freewith concessions; and they accuse him of trying to make a dicker withEngland to sell out the country. We want that picture done and paidfor before there's any row."
In the great patio of Casa Morena, the president caused to bestretched a huge canvas. Under this White set up his temporarystudio. For two hours each day the great man sat to him.
White worked faithfully. But, as the work progressed, he had seasonsof bitter scorn, of infinite self-contempt, of sullen gloom andsardonic gaiety. Keogh, with the patience of a great general,soothed, coaxed, argued--kept him at the picture.
At the end of a month White announced that the picture was completed--Jupiter, Washington, angels, clouds, cannon and all. His face waspale and his mouth drawn straight when he told Keogh. He said thepresident was much pleased with it. It was to be hung in the NationalGallery of Statesmen and Heroes. The artist had been requested toreturn to Casa Morena on the following day to receive payment. Atthe appointed time he left the hotel, silent under his friend'sjoyful talk of their success.
An hour later he walked into the room where Keogh was waiting, threwhis hat on the floor, and sat upon the table.
"Billy," he said, in strained and laboring tones, "I've a little moneyout West in a small business that my brother is running. It's whatI've been living on while I've been studying art. I'll draw out myshare and pay you back what you've lost on this scheme."
"Lost!" exclaimed Keogh, jumping up. "Didn't you get paid forthe picture?"
"Yes, I got paid," said White. "But just now there isn't any picture,and there isn't any pay. If you care to hear about it, here are theedifying details. The president and I were looking at the painting.His secretary brought a bank draft on New York for ten thousanddollars and handed it to me. The moment I touched it I went wild.I tore it into little pieces and threw them on the floor. A workmanwas repainting the pillars inside the ~patio~. A bucket of his painthappened to be convenient. I picked up his brush and slapped a quartof blue paint all over that ten-thousand-dollar nightmare. I bowed,and walked out. The president didn't move or speak. That was onetime he was taken by surprise. It's tough on you, Billy, but Icouldn't help it."
There seemed to be excitement in Coralio. Outside there wasa confused, rising murmur pierced by high-pitched cries. "~Bajoel traidor--Muerte el traidor!~" were the words they seemedto form.
"Listen to that!" exclaimed White, bitterly; "I know that muchSpanish. They're shouting, 'Down with the traitor!' I heard thembefore. I felt that they meant me. I was a traitor to Art.The picture had to go."
"'Down with the blank fool' would have suited your case better,"said Keogh, with fiery emphasis. "You tear up ten thousand dollarslike an old rag because the way you've spread on five dollars' worthof paint hurts your conscience. Next time I pick a side-partner ina scheme the man has got to go before a notary and swear he nevereven heard the word 'ideal' mentioned."
Keogh strode from the room, white-hot. White paid little attentionto his resentment. The scorn of Billy Keogh seemed a trifling thingbeside the greater self-scorn he had escaped.
In Coralio the excitement waxed. An outburst was imminent. The causeof this demonstration of displeasure was,the presence in the town ofa big, pink-cheeked Englishman, who, it was said, was an agent of hisgovernment come to clinch the bargain by which the president placedhis people in the hands of a foreign power. It was charged that notonly had he given away priceless concessions, but that the public debtwas to be transferred into the hands of the English, and the custom-houses turned over to them as a guarantee. The long-enduring peoplehad determined to make their protest felt.
On that night, in Coralio and in other towns, their ire found vent.Veiling mobs, mercurial but dangerous, roamed the streets. Theyoverthrew the great bronze statue of the president that stood inthe center of the plaza, and hacked it to shapeless pieces. Theytore from public buildings the tablets set there proclaiming the gloryof the "Illustrious Liberator." His pictures in the governmentoffices were demolished. The mobs even attacked the Casa Morena,but were driven away by the military, which remained faithful tothe executive. All the night terror reigned.
The greatness of Losada was shown by the fact that by noon the nextday order was restored and he was still absolute. He issuedproclamations denying positively that any negotiation of any kind hadbeen entered into with England. Sir Stafford Vaughn, the pink-cheekedEnglishman, also declared in placards and in public print that hispresence there had no international significance. He was a travellerwithout guile. In fact (so he stated), he had not even spoken withthe president or been in his presence since his arrival.
During this disturbance, White was preparing for his homeward voyagein the steamship that was to sail within two or three days. Aboutnoon, Keogh, the restless, took his camera out with the hope ofspeeding the lagging hours. The town was now as quiet as if peacehad never departed from her perch on the red-tiled roofs.
About the middle of the afternoon, Keogh hurried back to the hotelwith something decidedly special in his air. He retired to the littleroom where he developed his pictures.
Later on he came out to White on the balcony, with a luminous, grimpredatory smile on his face.
"Do you know what that is?" he asked, holding up a 4 x 5 photographmounted on cardboard.
"Snap-shot of a senorita sitting in the sand--alliterationunintentional," guessed White, lazily.
VVVV"Wrong," saidKeogh with shining eyes. "It's a slung-shot. It's a canof dynamite. It's a gold mine. It's a sight-draft on your presidentman for twenty thousand dollars--yes, sir--twenty thousand this time,and no spoiling the picture. No ethics of art in the way. Art! Youwith your smelly little tubes! I've got you skinned to death witha kodak. Take a look at that."
White took the picture in his hand, and gave a long whistle.
"Jove!" he exclaimed, "but wouldn't that stir up a row in town ifyou let it be seen. How in the world did you get it, Billy?"
"You know that high wall around the president man's back garden?I was up there trying to get a bird's eye of the town. I happened tonotice a chink in the wall where a stone and a lot of plaster had slidout. Thinks I, I'll take a peep through to see how Mr. President'scabbages are growing. The first thing I saw was him and this SirEnglishman sitting at a little table about twenty feet away. Theyhad the table all spread over with documents, and they were hobnobbingover them as thick as two pirates. 'Twas a nice corner of the garden,all private and shady with palms and orange trees, and they had a pailof champagne set by handy in the grass. I knew then was the timefor me to make my big hit in Art. So I raised the machine up to thecrack, and pressed the button. Just as I did so them old boys shookhands on the deal--you see they took that way in the picture."
Keogh put on his coat and hat.
"What are you going to do with it?" asked White.
"Me," said Keogh in a hurt tone, "why, I'm going to tie a pink ribbonto it and hang it on the what-not, of course. I'm surprised at you.But while I'm out you just try to figure out what ginger-cakepotentate would be most likely to want to buy this work of art forhis private collection--just to keep it out of circulation."
The sunset was reddening the tops of the coconut palms when BillyKeogh came back from Casa Morena. He nodded to the artist'squestioning gaze; and lay down on a cot with his hands under the backof his head.
"I saw him. He paid the money like a little man. They didn't wantto let me in at first. I told 'em it was important. Yes, thatpresident man is on the plenty-able list. He's got a beautifulbusiness system about the way he uses his brains. All I had to dowas to hold up the photograph so he could see it, and name the price.He just smiled, and walked over to a safe and got the cash. Twentyone-thousand-dollar brand-new United States Treasury notes he laid onthe table, like I'd pay out a dollar and a quarter. Fine notes, too--they crackled with a sound like burning the brush off a ten-acrelot."
"Let's try the feel of one," said White, curiously. "I never sawa thousand-dollar bill." Keogh did not immediately respond.
"Carry," he said, in an absent-minded way, "you think a heap ofyour art, don't you?
"More," said White, frankly, "than has been for the financial goodof my self and my friends."
"I thought you were a fool the other day," went on Keogh, quietly,"and I'm not sure now that you wasn't. But if you was, so am I. I'vebeen in some funny deals, Carry, but I've always managed to scramblefair, and match my brains and capital against the other fellow's.But when it comes to--well, when you've got the other fellow cinched,and the screws on him, and he's got to put up--why, it don't strike meas being a man's game. They've got a name for it, you know; it's--confound you, don't you understand. A fellow feels--it's some thinglike that blamed art of yours--he--well, I tore that photograph up andlaid the pieces on that stack of money and shoved the whole businessback across the table. 'Excuse me, Mr. Losada,' I said, 'but I guessI've made a mistake in the price. You get the photo for nothing.Now, Carry, you get out the pencil, and we'll do some more figuring.I'd like to save enough out of our capital for you to have some friedsausages in your joint when you get back to New York.
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