The Little Lady of the Big House / Маленькая хозяйка большого дома. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“’Tis women’s drink,” he shook his head in condemnation. “It likes me not. It bites me not. And devil a bit of a taste is there to it. – Ah Ha, my boy,” he called to the Chinese, “mix me a highball in a long, long glass – a stiff one.”

He held up four fingers horizontally to indicate the measure of liquor he would have in the glass, and, to Ah Ha’s query as to what kind of whiskey, answered, “Scotch or Irish, bourbon or rye – whichever comes nearest to hand[491].”

Graham shook his head to the Chinese, and laughed to the Irishman. “You’ll never drink me down, Terrence. I’ve not forgotten what you did to O’Hay.”

“’Twas an accident I would have you think,” was the reply. “They say when a man’s not feeling any too fit a bit of drink will hit him like a club[492].”

“And you?” Graham questioned.

“Have never been hit by a club. I am a man of singularly few experiences.”

“But, Terrence, you were saying… about Mrs. Forrest?” Leo begged. “It sounded as if it were going to be nice.”

“As if it could be otherwise,” Terrence censured. “But as I was saying, ’tis a bird-like sensuousness – oh, not the little, hoppy, wagtail kind, nor yet the sleek and solemn dove, but a merry sort of bird, like the wild canaries you see bathing in the fountains, always twittering and singing, flinging the water in the sun, and glowing the golden hearts of them on their happy breasts. ’Tis like that the Little Lady is. I have observed her much.

“Everything on the earth and under the earth and in the sky contributes to the passion of her days – the untoward purple of the ground myrtle when it has no right to aught more than pale lavender, a single red rose tossing in the bathing wind, one perfect Duchesse rose bursting from its bush into the sunshine, as she said to me, ‘Pink as the dawn, Terrence, and shaped like a kiss.’

“’Tis all one with her – the Princess’s silver neigh, the sheep bells of a frosty morn, the pretty Angora goats making silky pictures on the hillside all day long, the drifts of purple lupins along the fences, the long hot grass on slope and roadside, the summer-burnt hills tawny as crouching lions – and even have I seen the sheer sensuous pleasure of the Little Lady with bathing her arms and neck in the blessed sun.”

“She is the soul of beauty,” Leo murmured. “One understands how men can die for women such as she.”

“And how men can live for them, and love them, the lovely things,” Terrence added. “Listen, Mr. Graham, and I’ll tell you a secret. We philosophers of the madroño grove, we wrecks and wastages of life here in the quiet backwater and easement of Dick’s munificence, are a brotherhood of lovers. And the lady of our hearts is all the one[493] – the Little Lady. We, who merely talk and dream our days away, and who would lift never a hand for God, or country, or the devil, are pledged knights of the Little Lady.”

“We would die for her,” Leo affirmed, slowly nodding his head.

“Nay, lad, we would live for her and fight for her, dying is that easy[494].”

Graham missed nothing of it. The boy did not understand, but in the blue eyes of the Celt, peering from under the mop of iron-gray hair, there was no mistaking the knowledge of the situation.

Voices of men were heard coming down the stairs, and, as Martinez and Dar Hyal entered, Terrence was saying:

“’Tis fine weather they say they’re having down at Catalina now, and I hear the tunny fish are biting splendid.”

Ah Ha served cocktails around, and was kept busy, for Hancock and Froelig followed along. Terrence impartially drank stiff highballs of whatever liquor the immobile-faced Chinese elected to serve him, and discoursed fatherly to Leo on the iniquities and abominations of the flowing bowl.

Oh My entered, a folded note in his hand, and looked about in doubt as to whom to give it.

“Hither, wing-heeled Celestial[495],” Terrence waved him up.

“’Tis a petition, couched in very proper terms,” Terrence explained, after a glance at its contents. “And Ernestine and Lute have arrived, for ’tis they that petition. Listen.” And he read: “‘Oh, noble and glorious stags, two poor and lowly meek-eyed does, wandering lonely in the forest, do humbly entreat admission for the brief time before dinner to the stamping ground of the herd.’

“The metaphor is mixed,” said Terrence. “Yet have they acted well. ’Tis the rule – Dick’s rule – and a good rule it is: no petticoats in the stag-room save by the stags’ unanimous consent. – Is the herd ready for the question? All those in favor will say ‘Aye.’ – Contrary minded? – The ayes have it.[496] Oh My, fleet with thy heels and bring in the ladies.”

“‘With sandals beaten from the crowns of kings,’” Leo added, murmuring the words reverently, loving them with his lips as his lips formed them and uttered them.

“‘Shall he tread down the altars of their night,’” Terrence completed the passage. “The man who wrote that is a great man. He is Leo’s friend, and Dick’s friend, and proud am I that he is my friend.”