“Ye see,” Erchie went on, “Art pentin’s a tred by itsel’. There used to be hardly ony picture-penters in Gleska; it was a’ shipbuildin’ and calanderin’, whitever that is, and chemical works that needed big lums. When a Gleska man did a guid stroke o’ business on the Stock Exchange, or had money left him in thae days, and his wife wanted a present, he had his photy-graph ta’en big size, ile-coloured by hand. It was gey like him, the photygraph, and so everybody kent it wasna the rale Art. Folk got rich that quick in Gleska, and had sae much money to spend, that the photygraphers couldna keep up wi’ the’demand, and then the hand-pentin’ chaps began to open works in different pairts o’ the city. Ye’ll hardly gang into a hoose noo whaur ye’ll no’ see the guidman’s picture in ile, and it micht be bilin’ ile sometimes, judgin’ from the agony in his face.” “My jove!” said Duffy, “is it sore to get done that wye?” “Sore!” replied Erchie; “no, nor sore. At least, no’ that awfu’ sore. They wadna need to dae’t unless they liked. When maistly a’ the weel-aff Gleska folk had got their photygraphs done and then de’ed, the penters had to start the landscape brench o’ the business. Them’s landscapes a’ roon’ aboot”--and Erchie gave his arm a comprehensive sweep to suggest all the walls. “They must be pretty smert chaps that does them,” said Duffy. “I wish I had gone in for the pentin’ mysel’; it’s cleaner nor the coals. Dae ye hae to serve your time?” “No, nor time; ye can see for yersel’ that it’s jist a kind o’ knack like poetry--or waitin’. And the plant doesna cost much; a’ ye need to start wi’s paper, brushes, pent, and a saft hat.” “A saft hat!” “Ay; a saft hat’s the sure sign o’ an artist. I ken hunners o’ them; Gleska’s fair hotchin’ wi’ artists. If the Cairters’ Trip wasna abolished, ye wad see the artists’ tred union walkin’ oot wi’ the rest o’ them.” The two friends went conscientiously round the rooms, Erchie expounding on the dimensions, frames, and literary merits of the pictures, Duffy a patient, humble student, sometime’s bewildered at the less obvious transcripts of nature and life pointed out to him. “Is there much mair o’ this to see?” he asked at last, after having gone through the fourth gallery. “I’m gettin’ dizzy. Could we no’ hae something at the tea bar if we gied them a tip? They micht send oot for’t. Or we micht get a pass-oot check.” “Mair to see!” exclaimed Erchie. “Ye’re awfu’ easy made dizzy! The like o’ you wad faur raither be oot skreichin’ yer heid aff at the fitba’ match at Parkheid, instead o’ improvin’ the mind here. Ye canna get onything at the tea place but jist tea, I’m tellin’ ye, and there’s nae pass-oot checks. They ken better nor to gie ye pass-oot checks; haulf o’ your kind wad never come back again if yince ye escaped.” “My jove!” said Duffy, suddenly, “here’s a corker!” and he indicated a rather peculiar drawing with a lady artist’s name attached to it.