to criticism, save when applausive, rankled. One day he would be an authority on painting and get even with Clem for that crack about what did he know about it. By authority Semy did not mean a study of painting but immersing himself in the reservoir of informative books by critics of that art. One could read up on anything, he felt. It was like writing an obituary from clips in the Husker-Sun morgue. But obviously Morbeau had been a bum steer because Clem was rattling off a list of styles in painting for which the French critic had not prepared American critic Semanter Klug.
"I think," he said, "your point about American painting is one hundred per cent correct."
Clem stood the painting of hepaticas reframed against the wall. "Yes," approved Semy pontifically, "that's better, you've given it a perfect setting, reminds me of Shelley's 'Like a star of heaven in broad daylight—'"
"Yes," said Clem, pleased, "as a kid I loved to look at veins in flowers, leaves, and dragon fly wings, but I never said anything because you know how kids are about sissies. I hadn't thought about it for years until I drew these."
Lucy stopped halfway up the stairs to hear what men talk about when no girls are around. Clem's nostalgic account of boyhood made her feel like she did when a dance band played "Underneath The Stars." If Clem were alone I'd go straight over and hug him. The men had stopped talking and not to be thought an eavesdropper she continued upstairs in a mounting crescendo to simulate having come straight up.
"Well, look who's here," she said with feigned surprise and, with her encompassing glance which took in everything, spied the painting of hepaticas. "Isn't that a darling painting, Semy?"
The men laughed at the adjective.
Semy looked at the hepaticas once more, his manner one of respectful admiration. "I was just thinking I might be able to talk Pop into reproducing your hepaticas in the special flowers' section next Saturday. Good publicity for you."
"You know," Clem said to Lucy when they were alone, "Semy is a good guy. That's a nice thing for him to think of."
"Is it? I'll bet he just wants to show off to his boss that he knows a famous artist. Semy's always doing favors that don't cost him anything, like free tickets to the Orpheum. I'll bet there's a word that describes him—but I don't know what it is yet."
