A puzzled expression came upon his face. The fingers paused in their
occupation; presently emerged and dived into another pocket and then
into another. The puzzled expression deepened: at last changed its
character, became an expression of intense annoyance. He knitted his
brows and bit his lip. Glancing up, he said, “This is really very
awkward. I—I find I haven’t a sou about me. It’s—bother it
all, I suppose you’ll take me for a beat. But—here, I can leave my
watch.”
“Oh, that’s entirely unnecessary,” I hastened to put in.
“Don’t let it distress you. Tomorrow, or any other day you happen to
be passing, will do as well.”
He looked at the same time surprised and relieved. “That’s not a
conservative way of doing business,” he said. “How do you know I may
not take advantage of you?”
“Oh, I’m quite at rest about that. You need not be disturbed.”
“Well, such faith in human nature is stimulating,” he answered. “I
should hate to imperil it. So you may be sure I’ll turn up to-morrow.
Meanwhile I’m awfully obliged.”
Thereat he went away.
I paid his reckoning from my own purse, and immediately fell again to
wondering about him.
By and by it occurred to me, “Why, that is the first human being who
has taken you out of yourself for the last two years!” And thereupon I
transferred my wonder to the interest he had managed to arouse in my
own preoccupied mind. Then gradually my thoughts flowed back into their
customary channels.
But early the next day I caught myself asking, “Will he return?”
and devoutly hoping that he would. Not on account of the money; I had no
anxiety about the money. But somehow, self-centered as I was, I had felt
drawn toward this blue-eyed young man, and anticipated seeing him again
with an approach to genuine pleasure.
Surely enough, in the course of the afternoon the door opened and he
entered.
“Ah,” he said, “you see, I am faithful to my trust. Here is the
lucre: count it and be satisfied that the sum is just. Really,” he
added, dropping the mock theatrical manner he had assumed, “really,
it was frightfully embarrassing yesterday. But I’m a victim of
absentmindedness, and in changing my clothes I had omitted to transfer
my pocket-book from the one suit to the other. I can’t tell you how
much indebted I am for your considerateness. I suppose you are overrun
with dead-beats who play that dodge regularly—eh?”
I gave him the answer his question called for, served him with the
drinkables he ordered, and stationed, myself at a respectful distance.
He lighted his inevitable cigarette and produced his book. He read and
smoked for a few moments in silence. Suddenly he flung the book
angrily upon the table, pushed back his glass, and uttered an audible
“Confound it!”
I hastened forward to learn the subject of his discomposure and to
supply what remedy I might.
“I beg your pardon,” I ventured, “is there any thing wrong with
the wine?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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