Oliver liked The Swiss Time Shop, run by a Swiss watchmaker. He bought
a ship's clock set in a handsome maple case, a present for the house.
"He says 'Ja!' and everything," Oliver told George in Deweys. "Great
guy. He actually knows how to _do_ something."
"Nice face," George said, looking at the clock.
"So, what's new with you, George?"
"Jesus, Olive Oil, the gallery owners . . ." George groaned and held
his head with both hands. "They're all the same. They treat you like
dirt. I just came from one--he kept me waiting for twenty minutes and
then he had another appointment. This guy wouldn't know a painting from
a Christmas card. I was big in California, Olive Oil, big. Why did I
ever come back to this place?"
"How about the art school? Maybe teach a course or two?"
George looked at him in disbelief. "Theory, that's all they want. All
the _Top Bullshitters_ are there now, Olive Oil, _talking_ about art.
That's what they want." He shook his head. "Paint? It's no use. It's no
use."
"The Top Bullshitters!" Oliver bent over laughing. "You're right. It's
no use. What are you going to do?"
George threw up his arms. "I don't know.
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