THE COLLECTOR.

Wairarapa Daily Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 7403, 6 March 1903, Page 4

THE COLLECTOR.

]iy Ihirry Pain

"ft may be no," said the stranger. "The critics Hpealc very highly of his academy picture this year. But he is not an artist. The point is beyond doubt." "Why?" "Because. I know for a fact that he understands—really understands—rates and taxes." "1C that is true," I conceded, "it .seeniH pretty grave. Hut how do you know?" "Well, , said the stranger, reflectively, "I don't know why I should tell you. We are the casual acquaintances of a long railway journey; you do not even know my name, and you will not he told it; when 1 step out of this railway carriage, the iieciiiainiance is at an end. It is true you will form a bad opinion of me, but I know of no overwhelming reason why I should value your good opinion. I will take it for granted that you do not care to undertake the dirty work of an informer, and 1 will speak candidly, llrnv do I know that the- painter in question understands rales and taxes? Because a very dear friend of mine, in the same business as myself, once called at his studio to collect ,iM Ills! (Hi, sanitary rate. That friend of mine has still two years of his sentence to run." "I don't quite follow. How did your friend get into trouble?" "lint that's just what I've told you. He, called to collect .£•! I,'is (id sanitary rate." "But if the money was due—" "Precisely. The money was not due. And if it had been, my friend was not authorised to collect it. It was merely that he felt like getting the singular sum that I menioiied. Ninety-nine painters out of a hundred would have paid it without question. At certain times they know that a man calls with a little brown bag and some printed forms, and that then they have to write a cluv They know vaguely that if is rates. But, if they really have the artistic temperament, they don't know why they have to pay it, or how much it ought to be, or how often they have paid it already. I have myself collected sanitary rale four times in three weeks from one artist, charging him a different sum each time, and he never raised the least objection or showed the faintest suspicion. Of course, though, even the really artistic temperament has its limits, and I'm told that when the. actual sanitary rate-collector called after I had left the neighbourhood he was very roughly handled. Hot temper—one so often limls that in artists. Unfortunately the painter my friend tried to collect from was of a very bourgeois typo. He fetched a policeman—prosaic kind of thing for a man to do who is actually painting the death of King Arthur at the time. My friend hurt the policeman rather. I was very sorry about it, very sorry."

"It was this friend, then, who misled you into dishonest courses?"

"Not at all. I misled him—if you can call it misleading. And 1 don't quite like that word dishonest. A man studies finance and profits by the results of his study; he invests; he speculates; he makes a fortune; and nobody dreams of accusing him of dishonesty. I, on the other hand, studied psychology with special reference to the artistic temperament; it is a liner study than finance; it has. indeed, been well said that the noblest study of mankind is man. AVel!, the labourer is worthy of his hire. Jlay I not also reap the reward of my work'r" "The law looks at if in—" "Yes, 1 know there is a technical objection to the course 1 take. I avoid as far as possible coming into collision with the officers of Ihe law." "The wonder is that you have not been caught a. hundred times over. You ought to have been." "Once would have been sufficient—for some time, at any rate. I change my neighbourhood frequently, and to some extent. 1 vary my methods. Sometimes it's sanitary rale, sometimes it's poor rate, sometimes it's a gas account, sometimes it's water. I came rather near being caught once over a gas account. I said that it was ,18 0s 4-.UI, and long overdue. And the artist had not got gas in his studio, and never had had . But he was a perfect gentleman, and quite willing to accept my explanation that I had called at the wrong address; in fact, he apologised for having inadvertently given me extra trouble. Once I came on an artist buying an old pewter disk in a curiosity shop, and I noticed that the dish had got a crest on it. I called on him next day and collected a liver for license for armorial bearings, and a line of two pounds for using them without a license. He gave me a whisky and soda and five shillings for myself for promising to keep it out. of the papers. Oh, there is no mistake about it—artists are the salt of the earth! Without them I could never be able to travel in luxury, dine sumptuously, and smoke these excellent cigars. Have one?" "Certainly not. And I hope next time you try anything of the kind you'll be caught." "It is not likely, for I am going on a fundamental law. It is a law that anyone with an artistic temperament will pay any sum not exceeding ton pounds to any respectably dressed man with a small bag, a plausible manner, and some imposing, printed forms. That is, supposing the artist has got the money; and if he has not got it all he will pay what ho has on account. It's a simple idea, but then all really great ideas are simple." lie got out, I am glad to say, at the next station. He explained that a wellknown academician had a bungalow with a studio attached in the neighbourhood. "That's an artist, indeed," he said, with enthusiasm. "I have stood before his pictures with tears in my eyes. Beautiful ! Really beautiful ! I have put him clown for .tlli 7s—it's more than I generally ask for dog licenses, but I shall get it all right. Here we are! Sure you won't try it yourself!'"—London Black and White.