“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.