Brady arrived with a box, and departed, after saying" They're finishing one up, but they'll be along as soon as it's done."Barrow took a frameless oil portrait a foot square from the box, set it up in a good light, without comment, and reached for another, taking a furtive glance at Tracy, meantime.The stony solemnity in Tracy's face remained as it was, and gave out no sign of interest.Barrow placed the second portrait beside the first, and stole another glance while reaching for a third.The stone image softened, a shade.No.3 forced the ghost of a smile, No.4 swept indifference wholly away, and No.5 started a laugh which was still in good and hearty condition when No.14 took its place in the row.
"Oh, you're all right, yet," said Barrow."You see you're not past amusement."The pictures were fearful, as to color, and atrocious as to drawing and expression; but the feature which squelched animosity and made them funny was a feature which could not achieve its full force in a single picture, but required the wonder-working assistance of repetition.One loudly dressed mechanic in stately attitude, with his hand on a cannon, ashore, and a ship riding at anchor in the offing,--this is merely odd; but when one sees the same cannon and the same ship in fourteen pictures in a row, and a different mechanic standing watch in each, the thing gets to be funny.
"Explain--explain these aberrations," said Tracy.
"Well, they are not the achievement of a single intellect, a single talent--it takes two to do these miracles.They are collaborations;the one artist does the figure, the other the accessories.The figure-artist is a German shoemaker with an untaught passion for art, the other is a simple hearted old Yankee sailor-man whose possibilities are strictly limited to his ship, his cannon and his patch of petrified sea.
They work these things up from twenty-five-cent tintypes; they get six dollars apiece for them, and they can grind out a couple a day when they strike what they call a boost--that is, an inspiration.""People actually pay money for these calumnies?""They actually do--and quite willingly, too.And these abortionists could double their trade and work the women in, if Capt.Saltmarsh could whirl a horse in, or a piano, or a guitar, in place of his cannon.The fact is, he fatigues the market with that cannon.Even the male market, I mean.These fourteen in the procession are not all satisfied.One is an old "independent" fireman, and he wants an engine in place of the cannon; another is a mate of a tug, and wants a tug in place of the ship --and so on, and so on.But the captain can't make a tug that is deceptive, and a fire engine is many flights beyond his power.""This is a most extraordinary form of robbery, I never have heard of anything like it.It's interesting.""Yes, and so are the artists.They are perfectly honest men, and sincere.And the old sailor-man is full of sound religion, and is as devoted a student of the Bible and misquoter of it as you can find anywhere.I don't know a better man or kinder hearted old soul than Saltmarsh, although he does swear a little, sometimes.""He seems to be perfect.I want to know him, Barrow.""You'll have the chance.I guess I hear them coming, now.We'll draw them out on their art, if you like."The artists arrived and shook hands with great heartiness.The German was forty and a little fleshy, with a shiny bald head and a kindly face and deferential manner.Capt.Saltmarsh was sixty, tall, erect, powerfully built, with coal-black hair and whiskers, and he had a well tanned complexion, and a gait and countenance that were full of command, confidence and decision.His horny hands and wrists were covered with tattoo-marks, and when his lips parted, his teeth showed up white and blemishless.His voice was the effortless deep bass of a church organ, and would disturb the tranquility of a gas flame fifty yards away.
"They're wonderful pictures," said Barrow."We've been examining them.""It is very bleasant dot you like dem," said Handel, the German, greatly pleased."Und you, Herr Tracy, you haf peen bleased mit dem too, alretty?""I can honestly say I have never seen anything just like them before.""Schon!" cried the German, delighted."You hear, Gaptain? Here is a chentleman, yes, vot abbreviate unser aart."The captain was charmed, and said:
"Well, sir, we're thankful for a compliment yet, though they're not as scarce now as they used to be before we made a reputation.""Getting the reputation is the up-hill time in most things, captain.""It's so.It ain't enough to know how to reef a gasket, you got to make the mate know you know it.That's reputation.The good word, said at the right time, that's the word that makes us; and evil be to him that evil thinks, as Isaiah says.""It's very relevant, and hits the point exactly," said Tracy.
"Where did you study art, Captain?"
"I haven't studied; it's a natural gift.""He is born mit dose cannon in him.He tondt haf to do noding, his chenius do all de vork.Of he is asleep, and take a pencil in his hand, out come a cannon.Py crashus, of he could do a clavier, of he could do a guitar, of he could do a vashtub, it is a fortune, heiliger Yohanniss it is yoost a fortune!""Well, it is an immense pity that the business is hindered and limited in this unfortunate way."The captain grew a trifle excited, himself, now:
