In time he became sufficiently inured to the situation to take in the
details of the room, which were truly markable. To begin with, the
parlor walls entirely lacked the sort of decoration to which he was
used; the furniture, costly and rare in itself, was arranged stiffly in
a square about the room, the precise geometrical centre being occupied
by a great urn of impressive ugliness. A richly carved mahogany
"what-not" against one wall was laden with sea-shells and other curios.
At various points about the room were many statuettes, vases, and
figures, of every conceivable size and shape--some of bisque, others of
common pottery, a few of exquisite marble--all standing upon the floor.
A tremendous French chandelier of sparkling crystal cascaded downward
from an American ceiling of pressed metal; at regular intervals around
the wall were panels painted to resemble marble. Crouched upon a rug in
one corner was a life-size figure of what seemed to be a tiger,
perfectly colored and made of porcelain. It had tremendous glass eyes,
larger even than the cousin's from Guatemala, and they shone with a
hypnotic intensity that was disturbing. Kirk wanted to kick it and cry
"Scat!" Hidden in other desolate quarters of the room were similar
studies in animal life. These anomalous surroundings by turns depressed
him and provoked an insane desire to laugh.
What he ever talked about during that evening he never quite
remembered. At one time the Cholo girl who had admitted him entered
noiselessly, bearing silver plates of fruit, and shortly afterward he
found himself trying to balance upon his knee a plate of pineapple
soaked in spice and wine, a fork, a napkin starched as stiffly as a
sheet of linoleum, and a piece of cake which crumbled at a look. It was
a difficult bit of juggling, but he managed to keep one or two of the
articles in the air almost continuously.
When it came time to leave he expected at least to be allowed a
farewell word or two with Gertrudis, but instead he was bowed out as
ceremoniously as he had been bowed in, and, finding himself at last in
the open, sighed with relief. He felt like a paroled prisoner, but he
thought of the girl's glance of sympathy and was instantly consoled. He
crossed slowly to the Plaza, pausing a moment for a good-night look at
the house, then, as he turned, he caught a glimpse of a figure slinking
into the shadows of the side-street, and smiled indulgently. Evidently
Allan had been unable to resist the temptation to follow, after all,
and had hung about hoping to overhear his hero at his best. But when he
had reached his quarters he was surprised to find the boy there ahead
of him.
"How did you beat me home?" he inquired.
"I have been waiting h'impatiently ever since you went out. To be sure,
I have had one little dream--"
"Didn't you follow me to the Garavels'?"
"Oh, boss! Never would I do such."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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