Fancies and Goodnights - Collier John (читать книги онлайн бесплатно полностью без txt) 📗
«Then who the devil are you?» cried the Colonel at last
«William Wakefield Wall,» replied the fiend.
«You might have asked that at the beginning,» said Angela quietly.
«And who, if you please, is William Wakefield Wan?» inquired her mother, with dignity. «At least dear, he is not one of those foreign fiends,» she added to the Colonel
«He is some charlatan,» said the old woman. «I have never heard of him.»
«Very few Philistines have,» rejoined the fiend, with great equanimity. «However, if there is, by any odd chance, anyone in this suburb who is familiar with the latest developments of modem poetry, I advise you to make your inquiries there.»
«Do you mean to say you're a poet?» cried the Colonel
«I am not a Poona jingler,» replied the other, «if that is what you mean by the term. Nor do I describe in saccharine doggerel such scenes as are often reproduced on coloured calendars. If, however, by the word 'poetry' you imply a certain precision, intensity, and clarity of —»
«He is a poet, Father,» said Angela, «and a very good one. He had a poem in a magazine printed in Paris. Didn't you, Will?»
«If the rascal is a poet,» cried the Colonel, «bring in a bottle of whiskey. That'll get him out, if I know the breed.»
«A typical army idea!» replied the poet. «Perhaps the only one. No, Colonel, you need not bring whiskey here, unless you need some yourself, and you may send away that old woman, at whom I do nothing but laugh. I shall come out on my own terms, or not at all»
«And your terms are —?» said the Colonel
«Permission to marry your daughter,» said the poet. «And the settlement upon her of a sum commensurate with the honour which my profession will bestow upon the family.»
«And if I refuse?» cried the outraged father.
«I am very comfortable where I am,» replied William Watt. «Angela can eat enough for two, and we are both as happy as anything. Aren't we, Angela?»
«Yes, dear,» said Angela. «Oh, don't!»
«We shall continue to have our bit of fun, of course,» added the poet.
«My dear,» said the Colonel to his wife, «I think we had better sleep on this.»
«I think it must be settled before eleven, my dear,» said Mrs. Bradshaw.
They could see no way out of it, so they had to come to an agreement. The poet at once emerged, and proved to be quite a presentable young man, though a little free in his mode of speech, and he was able to satisfy them that he came of an estimable family.
He explained that he had first seen Angela in the foyer of a theatre, during the entr'acte, and, gazing into her eyes (for he was much attracted), he had been amazed and delighted to find himself enter into possession of her. He was forced to reply in the affirmative to a certain question of Mrs. Bradshaw's, but after all young people have their own standards in these days. They were married at once, and, as he soon took to writing novels, the financial side worked out very satisfactorily, and they spent all their winters on the Riviera.
CANCEL ALL I SAID
Give the commuter Spring! Because, where the white walls are clustered close among the rocks and woods, the first daffodil is a portent most regarded; because among the companionable roofs there are more planes, more variously coloured lilac, plum and rose, for the last hoarfrost to moisten, glisten, and steam upon; because of the ice-break tinkle in the voices of children, and the appeal of their small rubbers; because of the untrustworthy lustre of the sky over Tarrytown and the east wind yet guerrilla on the plain, because of the glad heartbreaking babble at the breakfast table, and the bill beside the plate, give the commuter Spring!
Henry Sanford II, somewhat sloping about the shoulders, but dark, slim, and hollow of abdomen, clad in loosely fitting grey with a tweedy touch to it, and a well-worn tweedy touch at that, was granted his full share of this delectable season. It was the last morning in April. The wood's edge, round two sides of the garden, smoked and flashed in the stainless air, the buds were bursting, the twigs glistened, birds flickered in and out, their songs were liquid among the awakening trees. Edna's foot was on the stair. She, too, was early for breakfast
Last night she had been so tired, having come all the way from California — and little Joyce a handful all the way — that it might have been said she had not got home at all, but, having slept, was arriving now, and with this spring morning to welcome her. «After breakfast,» thought Henry, «there'll be time to walk round the garden together, before I catch the train.»
Little Joyce, earliest of the three, was out there already. Her curls floating, golden, a daffodil child, a fairy child, she ran squeaking from new planted apple to new planted pear and plum, and looked up into their frail little branches as if in hope to find blossoms there. Or, since new fruit trees have the naive uncertain lines of a child's drawing, as if she had come back, like a kindergarten Proserpine, to add the flowers herself. As a matter of fact, being more optimistic than her father supposed, and a good deal less poetic, the child was looking for fruit.
She now ran in as Edna came down, and they seated themselves for breakfast, smiling like a family in an advertisement. There was so much news to exchange, it was like opening a tremendous mail. Edna had been visiting her parents; her father was a professor at U.C.L.A.
«He is postponing his Sabbatical year,» said Edna. «He wants to wait till the wars are all over. Maybe he'll take it the year before his retiring date. Then he'll be able really to see China.»
«Lucky old devil!» said Henry. «I wish they gave us a Sabbatical year at the museum. My God, with a morning like this, and you back, I could do with a Sabbatical day. It's a pity you were so tired last night. Damn the museum!»
«That reminds me,» said Edna. «I've a dreadful confession to make, darling.»
«Dreadful?» said Henry. «No vast expenditure, I hope. We're pretty pinched.»
«Not that sort of thing,» said she. «Perhaps it's worse. To me, at the time, it seemed just sort of super-silliness. You know how different things seem out there.»
«Why, what was it?» said Henry. «What are you driving at?»
«Joyce,» said Edna. «Is your milk all gone? Go out in the garden, darling. Go and see if your little table and chair are still there.»
«Mummy, I want to hear what you did, that was silly.»
«You can't hear that, darling. It's not for a little girl to hear.»
«Oh, Mummy!»
«Joyce,» said Henry. «Your mother said 'go out.' Go at once, please. Right away. That's right. Now, Edna, what on earth is it?»
«Well, it was when I spent that week at the Dickinsons. There was a man there, at lunch one day …»
«Oh? Go on.»
«He was in pictures.»
«An actor?» cried Henry. «Not an actor!»
«No, not an actor. Though, after all, why not? However, he was just in one of the big companies. He seemed quite all right. Well — I know it was ridiculous of me —»
«Do go on,» said Henry.
«He saw Joyce. She was showing off a little — you know how she shows off. Anyway, he begged me to let him have a screen test made.»
«Of Joyce?» cried Henry. «Well! Well! Well! Is that all? Ha! Ha! Ha!»
«But I did. I let him. I took her down.»
«Well, after all, why not?» said Henry. «If it gave you pleasure. Of course, nothing will ever make you scrupulous, darling, about wasting people's time and money. It's just the same in shops. Did they give you a print?»
«No. They don't give you a print. I don't know why I let them do it. It was just silly. I didn't want to seem stuffy.»
«I wish you hadn't done it,» said Henry. «It's not the right thing for a child. She's self-conscious enough already. I really don't know, Edna, how you could do such a thing. One has no right to be silly, as you call it, where a child is concerned.»
