"Where can I see this apparatus?" I asked my patient interviewer.
"Well--ahem! it isn't what you'd call an apparatus, exactly. I have
here----"
"Yes; never mind that just now; I'm satisfied you've got a good thing and
--I'll tell you! Can you come in to-morrow at this hour? Good! I wish you
would! Well, good-day."
The secretary was waiting to speak to me. The fire, he said, had entirely
burned up one square and was half through a second. "By the way, isn't
that the street where old P.T.B.----"
"Yes," I replied, taking my hat; "if anyone wants to see me, you'd better
tell him to call to-morrow."
I found the shop in St. Peter's Street shut, and went on to the new
residence. As I came near it, its beauty seemed to me to have consciously
increased under the threatenings of destruction.
In the front gate stood the brother-in-law's widow, full of gestures and
distressful smiles as she leaned out with nervously folded arms and looked
up and down the street. "Manouvrier? he is ad the fire since a whole hour.
He will break his heart if dat fire ketch to dat 'ouse here. He cannot
know 'ow 'tis in danger! Ah! sen' him word? I sen' him fo' five time'--he
sen' back I stay righd there an' not touch nut'n'! Ah! my God! I fine dat
varrie te-de-ous, me, yass!"
"Is his wife with him?"
"Assuredly! You see, dey git 'fraid 'bout dat 'ouse of de Sister', you
know?"
"No, where is it?"
"No? You dunno dat lill' 'ouse where de Sister' keep dose orphelin'
ba-bee'?-juz big-inning sinse 'bout two week' ago?-round de corner--one
square mo' down town--'alf square mo' nearer de swamp? Well, I thing 'f
you pass yondeh you fine Pastropbon."
VIII
Through smoke, under falling cinders, and by distracted and fleeing
households I went. The moment I turned the second corner I espied the
house. It was already half a square from the oncoming fire, but on the
northern side of the street, just out of its probable track and not in
great danger except from sparks. But it was old and roofed with shingles;
a decrepit Creole cottage sitting under dense cedars in a tangle of rose
and honeysuckle vines, and strangely beautified by a flood of smoke-dimmed
yellow sunlight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account