P G Wodehouse – Man Upstairs

She began to admire him for it.

To make his position as critic still more impregnable, Sellers was now able to speak as one having authority. After years of floundering, his luck seemed at last to have turned. His pictures, which for months had lain at an agent’s, careened like crippled battleships, had at length begun to find a market. Within the past two weeks three landscapes and an allegorical painting had sold for good prices; and under the influence of success he expanded like an opening floweret. When Epstein, the agent, wrote to say that the allegory had been purchased by a Glasgow plutocrat of the name of Bates for one hundred and sixty guineas, Sellars’ views on Philistines and their crass materialism and lack of taste underwent a marked modification. He spoke with some friendliness of the man Bates.

“To me,” said Beverley, when informed of the event by Annette, “the matter has a deeper significance. It proves that Glasgow has at last produced a sober man. No drinker would have dared face that allegory. The whole business is very gratifying.”

Beverley himself was progressing slowly in the field of Art. He had finished the “Child and Cat,” and had taken it to Epstein together with a letter of introduction from Sellers. Sellers’ habitual attitude now was that of the kindly celebrity who has arrived and wishes to give the youngsters a chance.

Since his departure Beverley had not done much in the way of actual execution. Whenever Annette came to his studio he was either sitting in a chair with his feet on the window-sill, smoking, or in the same attitude listening to Sellers’ views on art. Sellers being on the up-grade, a man with many pounds to his credit in the bank, had more leisure now. He had given up his advertisement work, and was planning a great canvas-another allegorical work. This left him free to devote a good deal of time to Beverley, and he did so. Beverley sat and smoked through his harangues. He may have been listening, or he may not. Annette listened once or twice, and the experience had the effect of sending her to Beverley, quivering with indignation.

“Why do you let him patronise you like that?” she demanded. “If anybody came and talked to me like that about my music, I’d-I’d-I don’t know what I’d do. Yes, even if he were really a great musician.”

“Don’t you consider Sellers a great artist, then, even now?”

“He seems to be able to sell his pictures, so I suppose they must be good; but nothing could give him the right to patronise you as he does.”

” ‘My learned friend’s manner would be intolerable in an emperor to a black-beetle,’ ” quoted Beverley. “Well, what are we going to do about it?”

“If only you would sell a picture, too!”

“Ah! Well, I’ve done my part of the contract. I’ve delivered the goods. There the thing is at Epstein’s. The public can’t blame me if it doesn’t sell. All they’ve got to do is to waltz in in their thousands and fight for it. And, by the way, talking of waltzes-”

“Oh, it’s finished,” said Annette, dispiritedly. “Published too, for that matter.”

“Published! What’s the matter, then? Why this drooping sadness? Why aren’t you running around the square, singing like a bird?”

“Because,” said Annette, “unfortunately, I had to pay the expenses of publication. It was only five pounds, but the sales haven’t caught up with that yet. If they ever do, perhaps there’ll be a new edition.”

“And will you have to pay for that?”

“No. The publishers would.”

“Who are they?”

“Grusczinsky and Buchterkirch.”

“Heavens, then what are you worrying about? The thing’s a cert. A man with a name like Grusczinsky could sell a dozen editions by himself. Helped and inspired by Buchterkirch, he will make the waltz the talk of the country. Infants will croon it in their cots.”

“He didn’t seem to think so when I saw him last.”

“Of course not. He doesn’t know his own power. Grusczinsky’s shrinking diffidence is a by-word in musical circles. He is the genuine Human Violet. You must give him time.”