Connors, with a discomfited air, resumed his seat, his voice tinged with embarrassment and vexation as he declared, "I merely made a casual utterance; I did not imply that these fairy tales do not qualify as literary art."
The gaffer, paying him no heed, directed his gaze towards Hopdo. "I presume you have further remarks, Mr. Hopdo."
"Indeed," Hopdo affirmed with a nod. "As a matter of fact, I instigated this very meeting with the intent of ensuring the admission of a highly gifted newcomer into our fold. He is the creator of these fairy tales, the author of Glen's Fairy Tale Collection, Mr. Glen."
Upon hearing this, the assembly within the conference commenced a hushed murmur. Given the earlier incident involving Connors, none among them voiced any objections.
Hopdo paused briefly before continuing, "I paid a personal visit to him several days prior. He is a rather youthful gentleman, yet the artistic aura he exudes is in no way inferior to that of any present here. Through our discourse, I became even more convinced of this. Thus, I firmly believe that he ought to join us, thereby enriching the world with more exceptional artistic creations."
"Most of us here have perused these fairy tales. At first glance, they seem replete with the innocence of childhood, yet upon further reflection, one discerns diverse insights. However, we are perplexed, Hopdo. As a painter, why do you hold this writer in such high esteem? Would it not be more fitting if Celati were to evince such an attitude?"
Several individuals across the table engaged in a brief consultation, after which a middle - aged man sporting a bushy moustache posed the query.
Hopdo, as if having anticipated this query, responded without hesitation, "As you are all aware, I have not produced a satisfactory work in numerous years. Nevertheless, those imaginative fairy tales have bestowed upon me abundant inspiration. The painting The Farm at the Foot of the Mountain, which garnered high acclaim at the exhibition, was conceived subsequent to my perusal of those tales."
At this revelation, a collective understanding dawned upon all present.
"Indeed, a captivating story has the capacity to kindle an artist's inspiration. It is rumored that several of the music master Danggomei's recent compositions owe their inception to the reading of these fairy tales."
The middle - aged man with the bushy moustache concurred.
Danggomei, a founding member of this club, was an artistic luminary of the same era as the gaffer seated at the head of the table. He had long been absent from the club's activities.
"I trust that no one present any longer doubts Mr. Glen's eligibility for membership?" Hopdo inquired with a voice full of assurance.
All present nodded, Connors included, though the sincerity of his gesture remained uncertain.
The meeting then delved into discussions regarding some recently - created artistic works. As the pre - arranged conclusion time arrived, the attendees leisurely dispersed, some in groups, others alone.
As Hopdo was about to exit the door, Celati hailed him, displaying great enthusiasm as he inquired about Glen.
In truth, had he not been engrossed in repeatedly perusing those fairy tales, Celati would have been the first to seek out Glen.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
He had been the one most profoundly inspired, which explained why Connors' demeanor had incensed this rather dogmatic and hot - tempered writer during the meeting.
The two conversed merrily, and their rapport seemingly strengthened in an instant.
After all had departed save for the gaffer seated at the head, a small door in the inner chamber of the conference room abruptly swung open, and a woman attired in a resplendent gown, her figure exuding grace and elegance, emerged.
The gaffer, rising to his feet, executed a respectful bow towards the woman, stating, "Your Highness, the Third Princess."
The Third Princess raised her hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Pray, dispense with such formality. I do apologize for imposing upon you by eavesdropping here."
"It is of no consequence, Your Highness. Given your exalted status, none would dare voice dissent, even if you were to be seated here."
"Nonetheless, it is contrary to protocol. My mother entrusted this club to me, and I have no desire to disrupt the meeting's ambiance."
The Third Princess expressed thus.
This club had been founded by the queen of the Zern Kingdom, who was widely recognized as the kingdom's most gifted dancer and musician of her time.
"You share her gentle disposition. I am certain the queen would be justly proud of you."
The gaffer remarked, a warm smile of a seasoned elder gracing his features.
The Third Princess merely approached the conference table, her fingers gently trailing along the edge of the long table, now marked by the passage of time. "I vividly recall the occasion when my mother brought me here as a child. You were all showcasing your respective works. It was truly a remarkable artistic immersion, leaving an indelible impression upon me."
"However, their conduct just now must have disappointed you, Your Highness." The gaffer remarked, a hint of resignation in his tone.
The princess emitted a couple of light chuckles. "Such disputes are trifling. I have witnessed ministers engaged in far more vehement arguments during private deliberations."
"You seem to have divulged something perhaps better left unsaid, Your Highness." The gaffer, seemingly accustomed to the princess's lack of caution around him, said without a hint of reproach.
The Third Princess turned, playfully sticking out her tongue.
"Your Highness, I surmise you came here specifically out of a keen interest in these fairy tales. Do you wish to meet the author?"
After a moment of silence, the gaffer suddenly inquired.
"Yes," the princess readily admitted. "It is, in a way, regrettable. Had I been able to read these stories in my childhood, what a blissful experience it would have been! The mere thought of such a childhood evokes a sense of idyllic charm."
"One can discern your genuine affection, Your Highness. May the author prove worthy of your expectations."
...
The deer - drawn carriage entered a thoroughfare flanked by iron railings. Glen could make out the road sign in the distance.
He recollected Hopdo stating that his residence was at No. 17, Anthes Street, in the Western District of Lyonesse City. Glen was now meticulously searching house numbers one by one.
Finally, he espied a dwelling bearing the number 17 on the doorplate. Glen halted the deer - drawn carriage by the roadside outside the courtyard, entered the enclosure, and rang the doorbell.
Following a series of footsteps from within, the door creaked open slightly.
A young boy of approximately eight or nine years, his hand reaching high to grasp the doorknob while the other steadied the door, looked up timidly and queried, "Whom do you seek, sir?"
"I am here to see Mr. Hopdo. He extended an invitation to me. Does he reside here?"
Glen inquired, inclining his head slightly.
"Dad has gone out," the young lad replied.
As Glen pondered his next question, a woman's voice emanated from the inner room:
"Amy, who is it?"
"I'm not sure. He says Dad invited him, but I don't know him."
More footsteps ensued, and a woman with short hair then drew the boy aside, widening the door.
With a polite smile, she promptly asked, "Might you be Mr. Glen?"
Glen reciprocated with a polite smile and a nod. "Indeed, I am, madam. Where has Mr. Hopdo gone? When might he return?"
"He mentioned attending a meeting and should be back today. Before departing, he specifically bade me watch out for a guest named Glen. The name struck a chord, so I asked if you were the author of the fairy tales, and he confirmed it. It's incredible to see you in person! You have no idea how much my son and I adore your stories! Oh! My apologies. Do come in. Hopdo should be back shortly."
The woman warmly welcomed Glen into the abode.