detected by Clem. He had been waiting for almost an hour to spring the poetic words.
Shortly after acquiring the studio Clem, friendless in Congress, found in the Bohemian Cellar, a restaurant operated in European café style by a German, a refuge against loneliness. It wasn't Paris by a long shot but at least you could find someone interested in art—like Larsen and Henkel, two commercial artists who worked for some of the important Congress businessmen who cooked up their deals there over near beer. Larsen and Henkel, inspired by Clem's talk about art, envisioned a day when they too would be released from illustrating work to indulge their wish to paint as just artists and gladly accepted Clem's invitation to use 410 Brick as a studio nights and Sundays.
Through Larson and Henkel, Semanter Klug, a reporter on the Husker-Sun who also patronized the Bohemian Cellar, had heard of this art studio and, wangling an invitation, had flattered Clem into inviting him to become the fourth member of the studio group which, with Semy representing literature, considered itself the avant-garde of Congress.
Semanter Klug's interest in painting had been non-existent until the moment of meeting Clem. Twenty-one, and after three years as obituary editor, he had in the past two months achieved space on the newspaper to write a weekly column under the heading of "Theatre and Things." Theatre in Congress consisted of movies, a short vaudeville bill at the largest motion picture house, and rare one-night stands by minor traveling stock companies. "Things" was a catchall designed to mention books and maybe, now that he had met Clem, even art. Semy had copied the idea from reading the newspapers of other cities.
Councilman Lauter, owner of the Husker-Sun, first skeptical, was impressed by the salestalk of the young wiseguy, heretofore thought of as merely the obituary man. What clinched his permission was when Semy, with clairvoyance, addressed him with flatteringly shy admiration as "Senator"—pointing out the importance of growing Congress in state affairs. Councilman Lauter, with an eye on Washington, was impressed with the smart young feller's tone of deference, so lacking in old McCafferty, the managing editor. The Councilman was equally impressed with the fact that Semy didn't want any extra pay for the column—unless, in time, the "Senator" decided it was worth it.
McCafferty, "Pop" to his staff, an eastern night city desk man
