Terence has finished three sets of brown blurs with posts.
He tears them out of the sketchbook and sets them in a row on the floor to admire them.
You can't leave them there, says the attendant.
I'm not going to, says Terence. I'm going to show them to Grandpa.
He gathers the sketches and takes them to Marx, who has finished his mushroom spinach and ricotta rotolo, and is about to start on the daily dessert special.
Look! says Terence.
Train tracks, says Marx. Very good. But where is the train?
We're on the train, says Terence.
In your drawing, says Marx. And there is only one track, a brown blur, which needs sharpening. And then you'll need to draw another one beside it.
Another one? says Terence.
Another track, says Marx. Next time we stop at a station, get out and look. The train tracks are parallel.
Wrong! says Terence. This is through the window.
Ah! says Marx, The view from inside the train. Why didn't I realise?
Would I get a reward for it? asks Terence.
You get awards for drawing, not rewards, says Marx. And no, I don't think you'd get one.
Why not? asks Terence.
What does it add to the treasure house of world art? asks Marx.
It's going to be joined together, says Terence. With staples.
Is it? says Marx. That might help. But if I were you I'd add something else to each frame. Something only you could have noticed.
That's the best idea ever! says Terence.
He runs back to the window.
Marx is pleased with his effort to improve Terence's understanding of artistic matters.
He returns to the contemplation of his dessert.
It is blue and white.
The blue is disconcerting.
And it wobbles.
Could it be marshmallow?
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