TOM WALLIS, ARTIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 2509, 16 April 1902, Page 74

TOM WALLIS, ART IST.

Tom Wallis laid down his palette and brushes with a sigh of satisfaction ; stepped back from the easel and gazed critically, with half-shut eyes and head tilted, at the canvas that had" occupied his off-hours for some months past. A smile softened the somewhat rugged outlines of his face as he gazed. "That will do, Annie,"' he said. '"Come and give me your opinion.' His wife, who was al«o his model, left the coiner of the room where she had been posing, and reached her husband's side, with relief and eager anti^ation in her brown eyes. This, then, was the finished picture — the picture which they both fervently hoped and prayed was destined to place Tom at a bound in the foremost rank of artists. The figure was seated in a squalid garret, faintly lit by the remnant of a tallow candle. On her knees was a bundle of clothing, which she was striving, by the aid of the needle, to sew into garments ; but she had raised her weary eyes from "her task for a momentary rest, and was staring at the spectator with a look of that dumb agony one sees in the eye of a wounded animal. The pathos of the picture was heightened by the figure of a baby sleeping on the floor at the mother's side, rolled in a tattered shawl. Annie Wallis shuddered as she looked. "Oh, Tom! Heaven preserve us from such a fate !" she faltered. "Well, dear, we aren't rolling in wealth ; but the £80 a year I get from the school at least keeps the wolf from the door. But the picture tells its own story. We shall try its effect upon the Selection Committee at the Academy. We can't afford a uew frame for it, though ; but it just fits that of my last j-ear's failure." A rap was heard at the door. Mrs Wallis went and opened it. An immacu-lately-dressed, stoutly -built young man. rather undersized, stood on the threshold, humming the refrain of a popular song. "Ah! good evening,' said he. "Can I see Mr Wallis for a moment?" 'Certainly, Mi* Simpkins. Come in, please," said Mrs Wallis, somewhat coldly. She disliked the man, and Tom did not get on well with him. He was principal of the Raphael School of Art, in which Tom Wallis was an assistant. Six months previously he was a student in the Academy School — a brilliant one, it is true, according to Academy traditions — and when the vacancy occurred he stepped from studentship to principalship at a botmd over the heads of the staff at the Raphael, much to their disgust. Simpkins disliked Tom, and would have been glad of an excuse for procuring his dismissal from the school. Greetings over, Mrs Wallis left the caller to her husband. "Ah," began Simpkins, somewhat hesitatingly, "I linve just come from a meeting of our managers. They sent for me after I left the school this afternoon. It seems that an inquiry has been received from Messrs Green and Black, the famous lithographic artists, for an expert colourifct. The managers are naturally proud that the Raphael should have been asked to supply the need of such an eminent firm, and they had practically agreed to recommend, you for tne situation, when it occurred to the chairman to first consult me as to whether I could spare you. "Seeing at tne first glance the brilliancy of the prospect the acceptance of the offer would open to you, I gave the project my firm support ; indeed — I hope I may not have been hasty — I told them that they might consider the matter as good afsettled. The salaiy to begin is £100 a year, providing both parties are satisfied at the end of a month ; so that you see tbc-re is a clear £20 rise for you light away. What do you say?' Mr Simpkins had unburdened his mind at a rapid rate, and paused, breathlessly. A deep silence followed, broken only by the querulous crying of Kitty, Tom's baby da lighter, newly awakened from sleep, and the subdued crooning of the mother's voice. Tom was staring blankly at his chief, unwinking! unseeing. His mind was a chaos of tumultuous thoughts, in the midst of which the stern fact kept ever recurring — that he had been pre&ented with a virtual ultimatum, and that the situation that was offered was merely a useful lever with which to turn him out of the school. Oh ! it was hard — galling. "When do you wish me to decide?" he asked, at length. "As poon as possible. To-morrow, certainly. You set, Messis Gieen and Black are urgent, and " "But tell me — what if I reject the offer?' "Surely that would be a seiious mistake on your part. Indeed, such a step would be — pardon the word — extremely foolish." Tom Wallis' s lip curled scornfully. The eagerness of the man to be rid of him was so transparent that he felt powerfully impelled to break the rules of hospitality. With an effort he restrained his anger. "I will think it over and let you know my decision to-moirow.'" he said. At this juncture Simpkins's t-yc. for the ni<-t time since he entered, swept the room and lighted on the cany.i". "Ah, what have w. hero?" lie queried briskly. He stepped up to the ea^el and examined the work *.\ith the swift, critical a--uiance of tlie nu^-J^. .Then he t'.-uUUiui lui-k.

"You are sending it to the Academy, I presume?" he said. "I've been thinking about it," Tom said slowly. "What figure are you putting on it? — if that's a fair question." "Figure — price?" echoed Tom. "Well, I haven't decided yet. Probably £40 or co." Mr Simpkins turned his face away, ostensibly to cough, but really to hide a grin of amused pity at the absurdity of asking £40 for a daub like that. "Well, do you know," he said, hastily recovering his composure, "I think it stands more than an outside chance of acceptance. Let me suggest a few alterations that will help its chances immensely. Firstly, the expression on the subject's • face is somewhat strained — melodramatic, in fact. I should alter that. Then the colour scheme is too muddy — altogether too I°^ i n tone. Brighten it " up. man ; put some sparkle into" it. Your ideas of colour and mine are diametrically opposed, I know, but ■" "Look here, Mr Simpkins,'' broke in Tom harshly — his temper at last breaking bound* — "you have given yourself away. If I'm no'colourist what do you mean by coming here with the offer of a colourist's situation, knowing, or thinking you know, that the first month's trial would find me on the street with my hands in my pockets? Go, sir, go, instantly, or I snail hurt you !" Simpkins had fallen back in quick alarm at the threatening tones of Tom's voice. He had a horror of physical violence, and stood quaking until he heard the command to go, when he made a rather undignified dash for the door, which he slammed viciously behind him as he disappeared. The moment he was alone Tom Walli? flung himself into a chair with a despondent groan. He looked at the picture. "Is it the paltry daub that Simpkins believes, and have I been living in a fool's paradise all this while in thinking that 1 might hope to enter the realm of Art?" he asked himself. A dogged look came into his face ; his jaw stiffened. "No — a thousand times no ! It is my best ; and it is good ! I'll stand or fall by it. Simpkins will have his heart's desire, come what may." Strong in his sudden resolution, Tom seized a pen and quickly put his purpose into writing. Addressing the secretary of the school, he acknowledged curtly the offer he had received, declining it without comment, and at the same time tendering his resignation of the mastership he held at the Raphael. A week- passed. It was sending-in day at the Royal Academy, and the receiving room was in a ferment. Tom Wallis had carried in his picture in its somewhat shabby gilt frame, handed it over unobtrusively, and was emerging in the consciousness that his destiny was now jn other hands than his, when he spied His erstwhile superior, in company of an artist friend, going in. His nerves tingled at the haughty stare with which Simpkins saluted him as they passed, and he felt glad again, despite" his gnawing anxiety for the future, that he had acted as he did. "Who is the gentleman who passed us just now? He seemed to recognise you," queried Simpkins's companion. "Oh, that's Wallis, the man I was speaking of. Poor beggar ! he looks rather down in the mouth ; but, you see, Carr, he's a regular duffer, and stubborn as a mule, so of course I had to get rid of him. . . . Ha, ha!" He had suddenly remembered the picture. "Do you know, I could bet he has just been in with a certain painting. Come and let's find out. You will laugh, my boy," and, grinning with amusement, Simpkins hurried his friend inside to share the joke. Tom's canvas, being a late arrival, was easily found. "Here it is, Carr. Did you ever see such a daub? Soot and whitewash! And the fool has actually put £40 on it. Comical, isn't it?" Carr had been preparing, ashamedly, to share in deriding the picture, but at sight of it the incipient smile frozs on his lips. "I say, Siirpkins,"' he said seriously, "that isn't half bad." "Pooh! Nonsense! Where's your judgment gone to? The thing is an amateurish atrocity and hasn't the ghost of a chance." A pleasing idea suddenly struck him. He turned the back of the canvas, where Tom had marked, in bold figures, the price — £40. "Say, old man, let ue help him to carry the joke a bit farther. It will do him no harm, and will amuse the committee. Capital!" Whipping out his fountain pen he added a cipher to the price. "There, now, friend Wallis, we're quits," he muttered maliciously, ps he replaced the canvas. "I'd give £10, though, to be present when it comes before the committee? 7 ' Tom Wallis returned to his easel. There was no halting, no respite ; but work, work work, from morning till night. The grim necessities of their position demanded a patient courage and fortitude, which he endeavoured, somewhat feverishly, to cultivate. But the drawn, anxious face of his wife as she felt their grasp upon solvency growing daily feebler maddened him, and he heartily "execrated himself for rejecting, in h, fatal moment of wounded pride, the alternative Simpkins had offered. Time wore on wearily, with disaster daily looming larger on the horizon. No tidings from the Academy. One morning Tom had taken up his palette to begin work upon a half-finis-hed canvas, and was squeezing out some fresh colour, when hi 6 A\ife, big-eyed and tremulous with excitement, entered the room bearing an official looking envelope in her hand. "Oh, Tom! Here it is at last. Open it quick!" she gasped, hysterically, handing him the letter. Tom felt his heart stop beating for one awful moment ; then he threw down palette and colour-tube, and, tearing open the letter, he glanced at the bald, type-written (statement the iticlo«iiro contained.

hoarsely. For the rest he couldn't see it. The print danced fantastically before his eyes as if it would share with him the ecstasy of the moment. Mrs Wallis sank into a chair with a sob of joy, half swooning. "Amid a wilderness of commonplace canvases, which impress one forcibly with the painful fact that our national art is steadily deteriorating, we came suddenly upon the exhibit No. 219, a comparatively small work, by Tom Wallis, an artist whose name is unfamiliar to us. It is hung on> the line, and is a masterpiece of tragedy. The intense realism of it, its masterly handling, its gloomy, but grand, sobriety, of colour, all combine in striking the beholder with a curious admixture of chill horror and subtle pleasure. For a newman the price asked is a big one — £400, but we shall be surprised if it remains unsold through the opening week. . . . A consummate artist, who, we predict, is destined to leave a marked impression on the art of his time." Thus The Times on the morning succeeding the press view. Tom and his wife pored over the paper, delighted beyond measure by the enthusiastic appreciation; of the critic; but at the price, £400, he started, surprised. "Ha! What does this mean? I didn't do that ? Annie." "No ; I remember. But who could have done it, then? Perhaps the writer mistook the figure," she replied. tt He shook 'his head doubtfully. "No, he said slowly ; "he distinctly calls attention to the price, so that he must have satisfied himself as to its accuracy. I rather think Simpkins must have had something^ to do with it. I met him in the vestibule on sending-in day as I came out. He may have done it out of malice. However, the point is, shall we correct it?" Mrs Wallis wrinkled her brow in deep thought. A moment, and she said: "Let it stand, Tom, dear. You see, you are encouraged to hope for a sale at the price. And besides, if the figures are plainly marked in the catalogue, no one need buy it unless they choose. -Think, Tom, what £400 would mean to us. We should be rich indeed!" A few days later the Wallises were preparing to visit the scene of Tom's triumph when they had a caller, or, rather, twe— a tall, elderly gentleman of pronounced American appearance, with a pert, fash-ionably-gowned girl on his arm. "Mornin', mister," he remarked, casually, with the unmistakable drawl of the Yankee. "Here's my kyard. Josiah P. Blunt, Twenty-fifth avenue, New York City. I guess you've heard of me. Wonderingly, Tom held out his hand, which was vigorously pump-handled for half a minute. "My gal, M'ria, here, is going to take a young fellow in hand one of these days, ain't you, M'ria?' he went on airily ; *an we've tuk a run over to do a leetle furnishing. Yes, sir. this effete old countrydoes prodooce some items we can t beat on the other side, and that picter of yourn in the 'Cademy is one of 'em. I fixed up that one this mornin'. an' we just came along to diskiver whether you hey another by you to match it " The old man was rattling along at a steady pace when the girl suddenly interrupted him with a little scream of delight. "Look, dad! Look, here is the very thing." She bounced over to the mantelshelf, on which was standing, frameless and forlorn, the painting which the Academy had rejected the previous year. You must buy this one, dad, or I'll never speak to you again." Josiah P. Blunt, in obedknee to orders, balanced his pince-nez on his no?e and critically examined the picture. Then he turned to Tom again. "Say mister. Drop £50 on this one, send it to the framer's, an' you kin hey my cheque for £750 here and naow. Is it * Tom fairly gasped. The sudden change in his fortunes was overwhelming. "You are much too kind, Mr Blunt. I really " _ , ■, "That's all right, then. If you re pleased I've nothing to snivel about. Your tide s on the rise, mister. You'll soon be askm twice as much." Josiah P. Blunt handed over the cheque and received Tom's receipt in exchange. "We'll be movin' along naow, Mna. He extended a cordial hand to Mrs Wallis, in whose brown eyes there glistened a suspicious moisture, and then turned to Tom. , -, "Proud to hey met you and your wife, sir We've done good business together, and may do more yet. When you cross the pond I'll feel 'tarnally insulted if you don't look me up. 'Member. Jowah P. Blunt, Twenty-fifth avenue, New Ttort City Mornin', mister— mornin . And Tom and Annie Wallis stood on tlisir doorstep, their hearts too full for speech, and watched their good angel and Ins daughter until they were swallowed up in the human tide of London.

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