The Cat Who Could Read Backwards Read Online Free PDF Page A

real coordination to fox-trot to a cha-cha. But we must do something about your art education. Would you like me to tutor you?"
     
     
"I don't know if I could afford you - on my salary," he said, and Sandy's laughter could be heard above the orchestra. "How about the little lady from the other news, paper? Is she an art expert?"
     
     
"Her husband was a camouflage artist in World War I," said Sandy. "I guess that makes her an expert."
     
     
"And who are the rest of the people at your table?"
     
     
"Riggs is a sculptor. He does stringy, emaciated things that are shown at the Lambreth Gallery. They look like grasshoppers. So does Riggs, when you come to think of it. The other couple, the Buchwalters, are supposed to be Picasso's famous pair of lovers. You can't tell they're in costume. They always dress like peasants." Sandy turned up her nicely tilted nose. "I can't stand her. She thinks she's such an egghead. Her husband teaches art at Penniman School, and he's having a one-man show at the Westside Gallery. He's a vegetable, but he does lovely watercolors." Then she frowned. "I hope newspapermen aren't eggheads. When Cal told me to - Oh, well, never mind. I talk too much. Let's just dance."
     
     
Qwilleran lost his partner shortly after, when a surly young man cut in. He was wearing a torn T-shirt and had the manners of a hoodlum. The face was familiar.
     
     
Later, back at the table, Sandy said, "That was Tom, our houseboy. He's supposed to be Stanley what's-his-name from that Tennessee Williams play, and his date is around here somewhere, dressed in a pink negligee. Tom is a boor, but Cal thinks he has talent, and so he's putting the kid through art school. Cal does a lot of wonderful things. You're going to write an article about him, aren't you?"
     
     
"If I can collect enough material," said Qwilleran. "He's difficult to interview. Perhaps you could help me."
     
     
"I'd love it. Did you know Cal is chairman of the State Council on Art? I think he wants to be the first professional artist to make the White House. He'll probably get there, too. He lets nothing stop him." She paused and became thoughtful. "You ought to write an article about the old man at the next table."
     
     
"Who's he?"
     
     
"They call him Uncle Waldo. He's a retired butcher who paints animals. He never held a paintbrush until he was sixty-nine."
     
     
"Where have I heard that before?" Qwilleran said.
     
     
"Oh, sure, every senior citizen wants to be a Grandma Moses, but Uncle Waldo is really talented - even if Georgie doesn't think so."
     
     
"Who's Georgie?"
     
     
"You know Georgie - your precious art critic."
     
     
"I haven't met the man yet. What's he like?"
     
     
"He's a real stinker, that's what he's like. When he re, viewed Uncle Waldo's one-man show, he was absolutely cruel."
     
     
"What did he say?"
     
     
"He said Uncle Waldo should go back to operating a meat market and leave the cows and bunny rabbits to kids, who draw them with more imagination and honesty. He said Uncle Waldo butchered more livestock on canvas than he ever did in the meat business. Everyone was furious! Lots of people wrote letters to the editor, but the poor old man took it hard and stopped painting. It was a crime! He used to paint very charming primitives. I understand his grandson, who's a truck driver, went to the newspaper office and threatened to beat up George Bonifield Mountclemens, and I don't blame him. Your critic is completely irresponsible."
     
     
"Has he ever reviewed your husband's work?" Qwilleran asked with his best expression of innocence.
     
     
Sandy shuddered. "He's written some vicious things about Cal - just because Cal is a commercial artist and successful. Mountclemens classifies commercial artists with house painters
     
     
and paperhangers. Actually Cal can draw better than any of those arty blotch, and, dribble kids who call themselves Abstract Expressionists. Not one of them could draw a glass of