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Show 1 THAT WAS . ART By M. AND R. M. TERRELL tr :- ((c). lyi'ii. WentJrn Nt-wpaper Union. 1 A LICK FROWN watched her husband's expression as he eagerly scanned the morning paper which would contain the criticism of the erudite Messrs. IIo-wig'.it IIo-wig'.it and Cranshaw, who had been Induced to stop off on a coast-to-coast . trip in order to view the promising art exhibit of Buffalo Chip. W.vo., the newest new-est Rocky mountain metropolis. Alice's heart sank as she saw Dill's disappointment. He (lid nothing to disguise his expression. She read the comments for herself. "Mr. Fill Frown's vigorous depictions depic-tions show some merit of a rather violent vio-lent kind, undoubtedly," admitted the - Interviewed Mr. Howight, whose word In his native New York was an artistic artis-tic law unto itself. "Quite recognizable t3'pes, and some undoubtedly good brush work," he further said. "We feel that Mr. Brown should he encouraged. encour-aged. He should by all means migrate mi-grate to New York." Alice looked up sympathetically. "Thanks for them kind words," smiled Bill rather wryly; "don't miss reading the other bird's chirp !" "Not so bad if one likes pictures of contorted horses and yelling cowboys," said the other critic, Mr. Cranshaw. "It is not Mr. Bill 'Brown's Powder River origin which we decry, but his interpretation of it. We think of Giotto, also an uptutored shepherd lad, drawing his sheep upon flat stones and unconsciously laying the foundation founda-tion for all Italian art. But Wyoming, alas, is not early Italy!" "That's just it !' snapped Alice. "It's labeled Western and wild and woolly, and no matter what you did paint, those old New York saps couldn't wouldn't see it!" "Well, old girl, I know I'm no Item-Ington," Item-Ington," laughed her husband, "but I do think I deserve a little better than that." . "And if you went to New York," Alice went on bitterly, 'Til bet a Mexican Mex-ican sombrero you'd have to be made first in England. And if you were in London, bah ; they'd insist first upon the stamp of Paris or Vienna or Pome : man, the sounds and sights and smells of Flrenze, Kimminl, Verona. . . . the same that must have widened the eyes of the shepherd, Giotto, when be first came to town to exchange ills smooth stones and native chalk for canvas and paint pot. Several years later there arrived In New York upon the Santa Lucia out of Genoa, and discreetly heralded by modest newspaper publicity, Guglielmo di Caslagno. which Is Italian for Fill ; Frown, and his blond young wife, Hlsa Frun, the Swedish cubist poet- j ess, which is, ditto, Alice Frown in j Svensk. The Ii Castagnos put up Im- I mediately at the St. Croesus and with a dozen interviewing reporters and a j bored columnist or so. Siga di Cas- I tagno spoke English of a fashion, and j interpreted for her young husband the : latest edition of "first impressions" of i America. Sig. di Caslagno, it developed, devel-oped, was an artist of no mean standing stand-ing in his native Italy. He was a lover of wild horses had he not been burn in Corsica as well as of striking strik-ing landscapes. Had the famous sig-nore sig-nore some of his "dope" with him? The signore had ! A number of spirited spir-ited sketches of his native Corsican horses, others of the Don Cossacks and of herds of wild, shaggy ponies galloping over the steppes. Yes, the signore had been all over the world. America, si, he had. saved for the last for what you call It ah, ze great kick I Was Sig. dl Castagno going to do something or other for the films? For Bill Mix. or Harry the signore was not! No, no; he wanted to see the land of Buffalo Beel, of Remington . . . si, veree mooch! I-Iither he was bound for a season's sketching. New York? Ah, eet was too beeg, too noisy, too je ne sais quo! !" Sig. di Castagno was given ample publicity. He left for the AVest. In Medicine Cup, Mont., the Di Castagnos Cas-tagnos were in great demand among the elite of that thriving plains city, mostly because they ignored every other invitation that they received. Sig. di Castagno was very busy painting paint-ing the picturesque natives and the picturesque landscapes. At the end of the summer he gave a widely heralded exhibition to which came, among other critics, Messrs. Howight Ho-wight and Cranshaw from New York. , "Remarkable work technically," quoted Mr. Howight, as he stood before be-fore the paiuting entitled: "After the Round-up." "Such clarity of tone, simplicity of treatment and yet such finish. Quite remarkable in so young don't tell me; It's the eternal international interna-tional pass-the-buck ! Hay dangled in front of donkeys geniuses, just mt of reach !" "Atta girl," yipped Bill encouragingly. encourag-ingly. "Anyway," grumbled his wife, "everything must be European before anybody over here will consider it seriously. seri-ously. Look at the stores, Bill : Italian Ital-ian furniture, Tchekov pottery, Parisian Parisi-an gloves and perfumes, English ac- tors and Kalian 'actresses! Why, they've even importing our 'movies!' And bur society scandals! Bill Brown, honest, if you had a foreign a made-ln-Europe label but what's the use!" "Y'ou said it!" agreed Bill; "and I've just about enouch money put by to take one of us half-way to Ellis Island !" Alice turned to the paper again. "Oh, well, let's read what the Buffalo Chippers say about you. They haven't heard yet about that prophet-witbout-lionor-in-his-own-country gag;, they, at least, are friendly." They were more than that, for every man, woman and child in Buffalo Chip knew intimately the things young Bill Brown painted. His hairy shanked cowboys strode daily through their streets and bucked across their horizons. hori-zons. They opened their eyes daily upon his flaming sunsets, boiling over Tyrean purple hills, and the plains, shimmering in heat, or dreaming and whispering under the green and silver of spring moonlight; the challenge of the herd and the thunder of stampeding stamped-ing hoofs were things woven into the warp and woof of their lives and Into the pulses of their blood. Dumb themselves, them-selves, Bill was their voice, the scribe of the beauty which they recognized when they saw It upon his canvas. Tint Hill wnniil onrl nooilod tilco tlin duces its genius out of centuries of culminative art. You may quote me as saying that, sir. Er, put that on the press wires." Mr. Cranshaw, next approached, was genuinely moved. He didn't care whether anyone heard him or not. "Marvelous! Such downright realism ! It takes a foreigner to 'see America first,' " lie muttered. There was a crowd of natives about the critics. A long, drawnout, bow-legged, bow-legged, wind tanned Montanan who, in spite of a "boiled shirt" and store clothes and obviously patent leather shoes, and who carried a bovine atmosphere, at-mosphere, suddenly interrupted: "H 1, gents," he swore; "ain't no clanged foreigner can paint us rustlers," he declared. Wliat's a tenderfoot like this Eetalian here know 'bout Montana, Mon-tana, huh? Say, gents, we once had a young galoot out here, Bill Brown was his brand, born and pastured on Powder river; say, Mister New Yorkers, York-ers, you ought'r seen his picshirs. Them, gents,, was the real thing! You could smell the hide sizzlin' under the- brandin' Iron and hear the cow critters bawl ! And Bill's picshirs of scenes now, hear me, they jest spoke right out for themselves! That's art, my friends ; this here," he jerked a contemptuous brown paw toward Sig. di Castagno's master-piece, "h-. 1, this ain't nothin' but paintin' !" And Sig. Guglielmo di Castagno, smiling behind his Italian mustache and beard at the praise from Messrs. Howight and Cranshaw, which meant that "After the Round-up" would have a place of honor in New York's most exclusive galleries and exhibits, looked after the old cattleman who was walking walk-ing away with wide steps, and sighed. "I wonder !" he mused. "I wonder ! Oul, Elsa Mia, I coome right way." recognition of the 'world outside. Life itself Is often fortuitous; a few months later came n letter with news of a small inheritance left to Alice by an otherwise distant .uncle. No, It wasn't millions, not a fortune, but it was enough to take the two of them far beyond Ellis Island! There was wild joy and much yipping among the Powder Riverltes that day. Two of them only, for the windfall was kept ft sacred secret. Alice had an immediate inspiration. "Bill Brown," she announced, "pack' your trunk your toothbrush ; you and Friend'' Wife are going pronto; you' hear me, boy?" "Uh-buh," replied her husband ; your remarks sound good, old lady, but I wonder bow they'll pan out; maybe I'll be a Turk, who knows?" "I do." bantered his wife. "There's no harem in my dream. Bill! I dunno; now would you make a better frog than a wop?" "I'll be European, maybe, but I'm dinged if I'll eat snails!" said Fill. "It's a shame to use your money. Alice, but let's take the first train for Sunny 'If and get plastered quick j with the magic labels '." Three years cantered by. The F.rown's sunrises now boiled up over smoking Vesuvius, or glittered silver and gold upon the Arno. or traced witheries of light and shadows shad-ows across mysterious Venice. Instead of the familiar "Fit 'or buck!" they woke to the calls of the tig and the melon venders juid the goats' meat |
