The Square Peg or The Gun Fella полностью

Before he could prepare this work, the Faringdon exhibition began at the Sculptors’ Gallery. It happened that the Stubbington rejection, coming so soon after the Snipton refusal, had brought a great deal of attention upon Faringdon’s work. Faringdon was now news, he was arriviste, he was the idol of Little London; those who did not think him “simpy too marvous” were nowhere. The exhibition was a great success. It was well attended and well-noticed by the Press; people came to it in numbers; all the drawings and studies which were for sale were sold. The edition de luxe of the catalogue has sold since then for ten times its original price.

Among the exhibits were some drawings and wax sketches of the King Stubba. During the exhibition, an Australian from Stubbington, in Victoria, asked if he might have a replica of the bronze, when finished, to put up in the central square there. The new Stubbington had been founded by a settler from the Tatshire Stubbington, a century before; the bronze would be a link the more with the parent town.

This fact was made known to the Press by Frampton; press-cuttings were later sent to the Stubbington Town Council. Just before the exhibition closed, a big London Gallery begged to be allowed to show the Griefs until the autumn. Frampton gladly lent them.

He was happy at the results of his thought. He had made Faringdon’s name now, won him a good commission, and made the Stubbington Town Council to feel exceeding small. One paper had said that it was monstrous that creatures with less art-feeling than potatoes should have the power to refuse masterpieces when offered by one of great public spirit and generosity, such as Mr. Mansell of Mullples. This particular cutting Frampton posted to each member of the offending Council marked in red ink with his own hand.

Immediately the show was over, he arranged another exhibition in the theatre at Mullples; twenty of his best paintings and seventy of his drawings were hung there, with a couple of screens of Timothy Copshrew’s studies of birds. Naunton and Tenor Cobb came down to speak about their work, and invitations were sent to those whom Frampton felt likely to wish to come. Most of these were shopkeepers and shop-assistants in the Stubbington and Tatchester shops, and builders and carpenters working at St. Margaret’s. About forty people came for the opening day. After the talks, Frampton gave them all tea, and sent them away happy. He made a little speech, to say that the exhibition would be open on Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays, from two till six, during the summertime. He said that he hoped that the members of a local Town Council, referred to lately in the London Press as having less art-feeling than potatoes, would leap at the chance of getting even with the spud at any rate. His words were reported, as such words will be, “with advantages.”

Soon after this, there came the anniversary of Margaret’s death, which was a sad time for him.

During the rest of the summer he made occasional changes in the exhibition, and added to it cases of examples of prints and book-illustration. On Sundays, he contrived to have talks by artists there. It was not well attended at first; in August, as the holidays drew to an end, people began to come to it; and in September fifty or sixty would come in one afternoon.

Early in September he went up to St. Margarets with his old father, whom he had net seen for some time. The old man shrewdly judged that his son’s settlement at Mullples had roused him some enemies; he knew how his son enjoyed putting people’s backs up, and how this unwisdom tempered his excellences of energy and insight. He regretted Margaret’s death more than he could say.

“You see,” Frampton said, “this place will be the centre of the community; a hall, where they can gather for lectures, or plays or gym. I’m putting Faringdon’s two Griefs there, and in the middle Faringdon will have a figure of Margaret; he has done some good sketches. But it is all tommyrot trying to make a decent village in this land. It’s like trying to make an ear of corn grow roots instead of the other way about. Only yesterday a man at my show said: ‘I’m told you have a theatre here on the premises, Mr. Mansell. May I see it, please?’ I told him he was in it; that that was the theatre. ‘Oh; what? This? I thought this was a billiard-room or so forth, made over for the occasion.’ They’re used to having a room in a house for a game; they’ve no thought of having a room for an art, or one of the crafts. I’m going to try a real exhibition in Stubbington in the autumn, something that’ll make the London critics take notice. And if that ham woman gives another concert, I’ll give a real one, to show them what’s the truth, her shabby old pretence, or something with some guts in it.”