Humorous stories; Love stories; Pau (France) -- Fiction
There was a fresh breeze quickening the air upon the uplands beyond old
Morlaas, to whip the flags into a steady flutter and now and again
flick a dark tress of hair across Adèle's dear cheeks.
As we scrambled across country--
"Why, oh, why," she wailed, "did ever I let it grow? I'll have it cut
again to-morrow. I swear I will."
"And what about me?" said I. "You're a joint tenant with me. You
can't commit waste like that without my consent."
"I'm sure I can abate--is that right?--a nuisance."
"It's not a nuisance. It's a glory. When I wake up in the morning and
see it rippling all over the pillow, I plume myself upon my real and
personal interest in such a beautiful estate. Then I start working out
how many lockets it 'ld fill, and that sends me to sleep again."
"Does it really ripple?" said Adèle. "Or is that a poet's licence?"
"Rather," said I. "Sometimes, if I'm half asleep, I feel quite
seasick."
Adèle smiled thoughtfully.
"In that case," she announced, "I'll reconsider my decision. But I
wish to Heaven it 'ld ripple when I'm awake."
"They're off!" cried Jonah.
A sudden rush for the bank on which we were standing confirmed his
report. We had much ado to escape being thrust into the deep lane the
bank was walling.
The lane was about a mile long, and so was the bank. The latter made a
fair "grand stand." As such it was packed. Not only all the visitors
to Pau, but every single peasant for twenty miles about seemed to have
rallied at St. Jammes to see the sport. The regular business of the
race-course was conspicuously missing. Pleasure was strolling, cock of
an empty walk. For sheer bonhomie, the little meeting bade fair to
throw its elder brethren of the Hippodrome itself into the shadowy
distance.
Roland rode a fine race and won by a neck.
We left the bank and walked up the lane to offer our congratulations.
"Thank you. Thank you. But nex' year you will bring horses, eh? An'
we will ride against one another. Yes? You shall keep them with me.
I 'ave plenty of boxes, you know. An' on the day I will give your
horse his breakfast, and he shall give me the race. That's right. An'
when are you going to try my tank? I go away for a week, an' when I
come back yesterday, I ask my people, 'How has Captain Pleydell enjoyed
the car?' 'But he 'as not used it.' 'No? Then that is because the
Major has broken her up?' 'No. He has not been near.' I see now it
is not good enough. I tell you I am hurt. I shall not ask you again."
"Lunch with us to-morrow instead," laughed Daphne
"I am sure that I will," said Roland.
After a little we sauntered back to our bank....
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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