Lloyd Alexander by The Town Cats & Other Tales

Author:The Town Cats & Other Tales [Cats, The Town & Tales, Other]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-06-04T15:04:36+00:00

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The Painter’s Cat

Three town councillors met one day to consider the finest gift they could bestow on their good people of Roosendaal-op-Zoom.

“I have studied the question carefully,” declared Councillor Trumble, “in the light of my profound knowledge and long experience, and there is no doubt in my mind what our gift should be. The cobblestones in Market Street are old, worn, and loose. Therefore, the only wise decision is for each of us to pay a share and have new cobbles laid. Not that I mean to take personal credit for this excellent thought, but in all modesty and humility I suggest the street be renamed: Great Trumble Street.”

So saying, he leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his ample waistcoat, and waited for his colleagues to agree with him. No sooner had Councillor Trumble finished, however, than Councillor De Groot immediately protested:

“My dear sir, it astonishes me to hear such a proposal from one who claims such deep wisdom. New cobblestones? Why, it’s only a matter of time until they’re as old, worn, and loose as the ones we have already. No, no,” he went on, twirling his black mustache, of which he was inordinately fond, “the finest gift, a truly elegant one, is: a pleasure garden, where our good people can stroll at their leisure, to greet one another, to see and be seen. And, if you were to insist, I should raise no objection to naming it: De Groot Gardens.”

“Gardens, indeed!” blustered Councillor Vorwick, thrusting out his chin ferociously. “Who strolls when it rains? Or snows? Or after dark? Or during the day, when all are at work? Would you have us waste our guilders on something of so little use? You, De Groot, no doubt would enjoy strutting there, showing off your fancy breeches, or plumed hat, or whatever frippery. And curling that mustache of yours. It’s not gardens we need. It’s guards! We must share the cost of setting up a company of night watchmen, all in fine uniforms. As you’ll need a fearless captain to lead them, I volunteer. Naturally, the company will be known as: Vorwick’s Guards.”

“Nonsense!” retorted Councillor Trumble, ruffled at having both his wisdom and his cobblestones denied. “I quite agree, a public garden would be an extravagance. Night watchmen even more so! They’d be on duty only half the time! And who’d see their fine uniforms in the dark?”

So the councillors wrangled back and forth, arguing for and against a horse trough in the market place, a bell in the belfry, or a clock in the tower of the town hall; until, after many long hours, at last they agreed. As men of substance, gravity, and public spirit, whose unselfish service the folk of Roosendaal-op-Zoom would surely wish to commemorate, they concluded that their finest, most thoughtful, and valuable gift would be nothing less than a portrait of themselves.

Beaming in satisfaction over their generous decision, they hurried to the town painter, Master Van Eck, named a sum, and charged him to begin this portrait without delay.

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