London (England) -- Fiction; Satire; Suffragists -- Fiction
The gardener was now posing as a Seeker, and instinctively his eyes took
on the haggard look that belongs to the pose. As he mounted the steps of
the New Hotel verandah, the lady novelist thought, “What an interesting
young man!” When, however, she saw Mrs. Rust’s hair, her notebook
trembled in her pocket. The Treasure had left, and as to the other
Americans, she had practically drunk their cup of copy dry.
“Charles,” she said to the woolly black waiter when he brought her tea,
“will you put those new people at my table?”
“No, please, missis,” replied Charles, who, being a head waiter at
seventeen, was suffering from the glamour of power. “Shall sit dem wid
Mistah Van Biene.”
A fraction of the proceeds of the lady novelist’s last novel, however,
soon silenced the authority of Charles.
And after all it was Mrs. Rust who sought acquaintance first, at
breakfast in the cool verandah next morning.
“There was a lizard in my bath,” said Mrs. Rust. “Disgraceful! Why can’t
you exterminate your vermin?”
This was hard on the lady novelist, who screamed for Charles whenever
she saw anything moving anywhere, but she bore the injustice with a
beautiful patience.
“What do you think of the Island in general?” she asked. “I can tell by
your face that your opinion would be worth having.”
She might have added that she could tell this, not so much by Mrs.
Rust’s face as by her hair.
“I don’t think of the Island if I can help it,” retorted Mrs. Rust after
some thought, during which she sought in vain for some adequately
startling reply. “That earthquake—on my first day—a revolting
exhibition.”
“Oh, were you in Union for the earthquake? I am collecting the reports
of intelligent people who were there. I am sure your adventures must
have been worth recording.”
“On the contrary,” replied Mrs. Rust, “the whole thing was absurdly
overrated. My nerves remained perfectly steady throughout.”
The gardener, the only person who might have cast a doubt upon this
statement, was not present. Still posing as the strenuous seeker, he had
gone for a walk before breakfast.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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