Читать книгу: «Jerry», страница 6
‘Tony! I shall be angry with you.’
‘I shall be ver’ sorry for zat, signorina. I do not wish to make you angry, but I sink—perhaps you get over it.’
‘You are behaving abominably to-day, Tony. I shall never stay alone with you again.’
‘Signorina, look at zat moon up dere. Is it not ver’ bright? When I look at zat moon I have always beautiful toughts about how much I love Costantina.’
An interval followed during which neither spoke. The driver’s song was growing louder and the horses were galloping. The diligence suddenly rounded a curved cliff on two wheels. Constance lurched against him; he caught her and held her. Her lips were very near his; he kissed her softly.
She moved to the far end of the seat and faced him with flushed cheeks. ‘I thought you were a gentleman!’
‘I used to be, signorina; now I am only poor donkey-man.’
‘I shall never speak to you again. You can climb as many mountains as you wish with my father, but you can’t have anything more to do with me.’
‘Scusi, signorina. I—I did not mean to. It was just an accident, signorina.’
Constance turned her back and stared at the road.
‘It was not my fault. Truly it was not my fault. I did not wish to kiss you—no nevair. But I could not help it. You put your head too close.’
She raised her eyes and studied the mountain-top.
‘Signorina, why you treat me so cruel?’
Her back was inflexible.
‘I am desolate. If you forgive me zis once I will nevair again do a sing so wicked. Nevair, nevair, nevair.’
Constance continued her inspection of the mountain-top. Tony leaned forward until he could see her face.
‘Signorina,’ he whispered, ‘jus’ give me one li’l’ smile to show me you are not angry for ever.’
The stage had stopped and Mr. Wilder was climbing down, but Constance’s gaze was still fixed on the sky, and Tony’s eyes were on her.
‘What’s the matter, Constance, have you gone to sleep? Aren’t you going to get out?’
She came back with a start.
‘Are we here already?’
There was a suspicion of regret in her tone which did not escape Tony.
At the Villa Rosa gates he wished them a humbly deferential good night, but with a smile hovering about the corners of his mouth. Constance made no response. As he strode off, however, she turned her head and looked after him. He turned too and caught her. He waved his hand with a laugh, and took up his way, whistling Santa Lucia in double time.
CHAPTER XIII
Three days passed in which Mr. Wilder and Tony industriously climbed, and in which nothing of consequence passed between Constance and Tony. If she happened to be about when the expeditions either started or came to an end (and for one reason or another she usually was) she ignored him entirely; and he ignored her, except for an occasional mockingly deferential bow. He appeared to extract as much pleasure from the excursions as Mr. Wilder, and he asked for no extra compensation by the way.
It was Tuesday again, just a week and a day since the young American had dropped over the wall of Villa Rosa asking for the garden of the prince. Tony and Mr. Wilder were off on a trip; Miss Hazel and Constance on the point of sitting down to afternoon tea—there were no guests to-day—when the gardener from the Hotel du Lac appeared with a message from Nannie Hilliard. She and her aunt had arrived half an hour before, which was a good two days earlier than they were due. Constance read the note with a clouded brow and silently passed it to Miss Hazel. The news was not so entirely welcome as under other circumstances it would have been. Nannie Hilliard was both perspicacious and fascinating, and Constance foresaw that her presence would tangle further the already tangled plot of the little comedy which was unfolding itself at Villa Rosa. But Miss Hazel, divining nothing of comedies or plots, was thrown into a pleasant flutter by the news. Guests were a luxury which occurred but seldom in the quiet monotony of Valedolmo.
‘We must call on them at once and bring them back to the house.’
‘I suppose we must.’ Constance agreed with an uncordial sigh.
Fifteen minutes later they were on their way to the Hotel du Lac, while Elizabetta, on her knees in the villa guest-room, was vigorously scrubbing the mosaic floor.
Gustavo hurried out to meet them. He was plainly in a flutter; something had occurred to upset the usual suavity of his manners.
‘Si, signorina, in ze garden—ze two American ladies—having tea. And you are acquaint wif ze family; all ze time you are acquaint wif zem, and you never tell me!’ There was mystification and reproach in his tone. Constance eyed him with a degree of mystification on her side.
‘I am acquainted with a number of families that I have never told you about,’ she observed.
‘Scusi, signorina,’ he stammered; and immediately, ‘Tony, zat donk’-man, what you do wif him?’
‘Oh, he and my father are climbing Monte Brione to-day.’
‘What time zay come home?’
‘About seven o’clock, I fancy.
‘Ze signora and ze signorina—zay come two days before zay are expect.’ And he was clearly aggrieved by the fact.
Constance’s mystification increased; she saw not the slightest connexion.
‘I suppose, Gustavo, you can find them something to eat even if they did come two days before they were expected?’
The two turned toward the arbour, but Constance paused for a moment and glanced back with a shade of mischief in her eye.
‘By the way, Gustavo, that young man who taught the parrot English has gone?’
Gustavo rolled his eyes to the sky and back to her face. She understood nothing; was there ever a muddle like this?
‘Si, signorina,’ he murmured confusedly, ‘ze yong man is gone.’
Nannie caught sight of the visitors first, and with a start which nearly upset the tea table, came running forward to meet them; while her aunt, Mrs. Eustace, followed more placidly. Nannie was a big wholesome outdoor girl of a purely American type. She waited for no greetings; she had news to impart.
‘Constance, Miss Hazel! I’m so glad to see you—what do you think? I’m engaged!’
Miss Hazel murmured incoherent congratulations, and tried not to look as shocked as she felt. In her day, no lady would have made so delicate an announcement in any such off-hand manner as this. Constance received it in the spirit in which it was given.
‘Who’s the man?’ she inquired, as she shook hands with Mrs. Eustace.
‘You don’t know him—Harry Eastman, a friend of Jerry’s. Jerry doesn’t know it yet, and I had to confide in some one. Oh, it’s no secret; Harry cabled home—he wanted to get it announced so I couldn’t change my mind. You see he only had a three weeks’ vacation; he took a fast boat, landed at Cherbourg, followed us the whole length of France, and caught us in Lucerne just after Jerry had gone. I couldn’t refuse him after he’d taken such a lot of trouble. That’s what detained us: we had expected to come a week ago. And now–’ by a rapid change of expression she became tragic.—‘We’ve lost Jerry Junior!’
‘Lost Jerry Junior!’ Constance’s tone was interested. ‘What has become of him?’
‘We haven’t an idea. He’s been spirited off—vanished from the earth and left no trace. Really, we’re beginning to be afraid he’s been captured by brigands. That head waiter, that Gustavo, knows where he is, but we can’t get a word out of him. He tells a different story every ten minutes. I looked in the register to see if by chance he’d left an address there, and what do you think I found?’
‘Oh!’ said Constance; there was a world of illumination in her tone. ‘What did you find?’ she asked, hastily suppressing every emotion but polite curiosity.
‘“Abraham Lincoln” in Jerry’s hand-writing!’
‘Really!’ Constance dimpled irrepressibly. ‘You are sure Jerry wrote it?’
‘It was his writing; and I showed it to Gustavo, and what do you think he said?’
Constance shook her head.
‘He said that Jerry had forgotten to register, that that was written by a Hungarian nobleman who was here last week—imagine a Hungarian nobleman named Abraham Lincoln!’
Constance dropped into one of the little iron chairs and bowed her head on the back and laughed.
‘Perhaps you can explain?’ There was a touch of sharpness in Nannie’s tone.
‘Don’t ever ask me to explain anything Gustavo says; the man is not to be believed under oath.’
‘But what’s become of Jerry?’
‘Oh, he’ll turn up.’ Constance’s tone was comforting. ‘Aunt Hazel,’ she called. Miss Hazel and Mrs. Eustace, their heads together over the tea table, were busily making up three months’ dropped news. ‘Do you remember the young man I told you about who popped into our garden last week? That was Jerry Junior!’
‘Then you’ve seen him?’ said Nannie.
Constance related the episode of the broken wall—the sequel she omitted. ‘I hadn’t seen him for six years,’ she added apologetically, ‘and I didn’t recognize him. Of course if I’d dreamed–’
Nannie groaned.
‘And I thought I’d planned it so beautifully!’
‘Planned what?’
‘I suppose I might as well tell you since it’s come to nothing. We hoped—that is, you see—I’ve been so worried for fear Jerry–’ She took a breath and began again. ‘You know, Constance, when it comes to getting married, a man has no more sense than a two-year child. So I determined to pick out a wife for Jerry, myself, one I would like to have for a sister. I’ve done it three times and he simply wouldn’t look at them; you can’t imagine how stubborn he is. But when I found we were coming to Valedolmo, I said to myself, now this is my opportunity; I will have him marry Connie Wilder.’
‘You might have asked my permission.’
‘Oh, well, Jerry’s a dear; next to Harry you couldn’t find any one nicer. But I knew the only way was not to let him suspect. I thought, you see, that you were still staying at the hotel; I didn’t know you’d taken a villa, so I planned for him to come to meet us three days before we really expected to get here. I thought in the meantime, being stranded together in a little hotel, you’d surely get acquainted—Jerry’s very resourceful that way—and with all this beautiful Italian scenery about, and nothing to do–’
‘I see!’ Constance’s tone was somewhat dry.
‘But nothing happened as I had planned. You weren’t here, he was bored to death, and I was detained longer than I meant. We got the most pathetic letter from him the second day, saying there was no one but the head waiter to talk to, nothing but an india-rubber tree to look at, and if we didn’t come immediately, he’d do the Dolomites without us. Then finally, just as we were on the point of leaving, he sent a telegram saying: “Don’t come. Am climbing mountains. Stay there till you hear from me.” But being already packed, we came, and this is what we find–’ She waved her hand over the empty grove.
‘It serves you right; you shouldn’t deceive people.’
‘It was for Jerry’s good—and yours too. But what shall we do? He doesn’t know we’re here and he has left no address.’
‘Come out to the villa and visit us till he comes to search for you.’
Constance could hear her aunt delivering the same invitation to Mrs. Eustace, and she perforce repeated it, though with the inward hope that it would be declined. She had no wish that Tony and her father should return from their trip to find a family party assembled on the terrace. The adventure was not to end with any such tame climax as that. To her relief they did decline, at least for the night; they could make no definite plans until they had heard from Jerry. Constance rose upon this assurance and precipitated their leave-takings; she did not wish her aunt to press them to change their minds.
‘Good-bye, Mrs. Eustace, good-bye, Nannie; we’ll be around to-night to take you sailing—provided there’s any breeze.’
She nodded and dragged her aunt off; but as they were entering the arbour a plan for further complicating matters popped into her head, and she turned back to call—
‘You are coming to the villa to-morrow, remember, whether Jerry Junior turns up or not. I’ll write a note and invite him too—Gustavo can give it to him when he comes, and you needn’t bother any more about him.’
They found Gustavo hovering omnivorously in the courtyard, hungering for news; Constance summoned him to her side.
‘Gustavo, I am going to send you a note to-night for Mr. Jerymn Hilliard. You will see that it gets to him as soon as he arrives?’
‘Meestair Jayreem Ailyar?’ Gustavo stared.
‘Yes, the brother of the signorina who came to-day. He is expected to-morrow or perhaps the day after.’
‘Scusi, signorina. You—you acquaint wif him?’
‘Yes, certainly. I have known him for six years. Don’t forget to deliver the note; it’s important.’
They raised their parasols and departed, while Gustavo stood in the gateway bowing. The motion was purely mechanical; his thoughts were labouring elsewhere.
CHAPTER XIV
Constance occupied herself upon their return to Villa Rosa in writing the letter to Jerry Junior. It had occurred to her that this was an excellent chance to punish him, and it was the working philosophy of her life that a man should always be punished when opportunity presented. Tony had been entirely too unconcerned during the past few days; he needed a lesson. She spent three-quarters of an hour in composing her letter, and tore up two false starts before she was satisfied. It did not contain the slightest hint that she knew the truth, and—considered in this light—it was likely to have a chastening effect. The letter ran—
‘Villa Rosa, Valedolmo,‘Lago di Garda.
‘Dear Jerry Junior: I hope you don’t mind being called “Jerry Junior,” but “Mr. Hilliard” sounds so absurdly formal, when I have known your sister so long and so well. We are spending the summer here in Valedolmo, and Mrs. Eustace and Nannie have promised to stop with us for a few days, provided you can be persuaded to pause in your mad rush through Europe. Now please take pity on us—guests are such unusual luxuries, and as for men! Besides a passing tourist or so, we have had nothing but Italian officers. You can climb mountains with my father—Nan says you are a climber—and we can supply mountains enough to keep you occupied for a month.
‘My father would write himself, only that he is climbing this moment.
‘Yours most cordially,‘Constance Wilder
‘P.S.—I forgot to mention that we are acquainted already, you and I. We met six years ago, and you insulted me—under your own roof. You called me a kid. I shall accept nothing but a personal apology.’
Having read it critically, she sealed and addressed it with malicious delight; it was calculated to arouse just about the emotions she would like to have Tony entertain. She gave the note to Giuseppe with instructions to place it in Gustavo’s hands, and then settled herself gaily to await results.
Giuseppe was barely out of sight when the two Alpine climbers appeared at the gate. Constance had been wondering how she could inform Tony that his aunt and sister had arrived, without unbending from the dignified silence of the past three days. The obvious method was to announce it to her father in Tony’s presence, but her father slipped into the house by the back way without affording her an opportunity. It was Tony himself who solved the difficulty. Of his own accord he crossed the terrace and approached her side. He laid a bunch of edelweiss on the balustrade.
‘It’s a peace offering,’ he observed.
She looked at him a moment without speaking. There was a new expression in her eyes that puzzled Tony, just as the expression in his eyes that morning on the water had puzzled her. She was studying him in the light of Jerry Junior. The likeness to the sophomore who six years before sang the funny songs without a smile, was so very striking, she wondered she could ever have overlooked it.
‘Thank you, Tony; it is very nice of you.’ She picked up the flowers and smiled—with the knowledge of the letter that was waiting for him she could afford to be forgiving.
‘You discharged me, signorina; will you take me back into your service?’
‘I am not going to climb any more mountains; it is too fatiguing. I think it is better for you and my father to go alone.’
‘I will serve you in other ways.’
Constance studied the mountains a moment. Should she tell him she knew, or should she keep up the pretence a little longer? Her insatiable love of intrigue won.
‘Are you sure you wish to be taken back?’
‘Si, signorina, I am very sure.’
‘Then perhaps you will do me a favour on your way home to-night?’
‘You have but to ask.’
‘I wish to send a message to a young American man who is staying at the Hotel du Lac—you may have seen him?’
Tony nodded.
‘I have climb Monte Maggiore wif him. You recommend me; I sank you ver’ moch. Nice man, zat yong American; ver’ good, ver’ simpatico.’ He leaned forward with a sudden air of anxiety. ‘Signorina, you—you like zat yong man?’
‘I have only met him twice, but—yes, I like him.’
‘You like him better zan me?’ His anxiety deepened; he hung upon her word.
She shook her head reassuringly.
‘I like you both exactly the same.’
‘Signorina, which you like better, zat yong American or ze Signor Lieutenant?’
‘Your questions are getting too personal, Tony.’
He folded his arms and sighed.
‘Will you deliver my message?’
‘Si, signorina, wif pleasure.’ There was not a trace of curiosity in his expression, nothing beyond a deferential desire to serve.
‘Tell him, Tony, that Miss Wilder will be at home to-morrow afternoon at tea-time; if he will come by the gate and present a card she will be most pleased to see him. She wishes him to meet an American friend, a Miss Hilliard, who has just arrived at the hotel this afternoon.’
She watched him sharply; his expression did not alter by a shade. He repeated the message and then added as if by the merest chance—
‘Ze yong American man, signorina—you know his name?’
‘Yes, I know his name.’ This time for the fraction of a second she surprised a look. ‘His name’—she hesitated tantalizingly—‘is Signor Abraham Lincoln.’
‘Signor Ab-ra-ham Lin-coln.’ He repeated it after her as if committing it to memory. They gazed at each other soberly a moment; then both laughed and looked away.
Luigi had appeared in the doorway. Seeing no one more important than Tony about, he found no reason for delaying the announcement of dinner.
‘Il pranzo è sulla tavola, signorina.’
‘Bene!’ said Constance over her shoulder. She turned back to Tony; her manner was kind. ‘If you go to the kitchen, Tony, Elizabetta will give you some dinner.’
‘Sank you, signorina.’ His manner was humble. ‘Elizabetta’s dinners consist of a plate of garlic and macaroni on the kitchen steps. I don’t like garlic and I’m tired of macaroni; if it’s just the same to you, I think I’ll dine at home.’ He held out his hand.
She read his purpose in his eye and put her own hands behind her.
‘You won’t shake hands, signorina? We are not friends?’
‘I learned a lesson the last time.’
‘You shake hands wif Lieutenant Count Carlo di Ferara.’
‘It is the custom in Italy.’
‘We are in Italy.’
‘Behave yourself, Tony, and run along home!’
She laughed and nodded and turned away. On the steps she paused to add—
‘Be sure not to forget the message for Signor Abraham Lincoln. I shall be disappointed if he doesn’t come.’
CHAPTER XV
Tony returned to the Hotel du Lac, modestly, by the back way. He assured himself that his aunt and sister were well by means of an open window in the rear of the dining-room. The window was shaded by a clump of camellias, and he studied at his ease the back of Mrs. Eustace’s head and Nannie’s vivacious profile as she talked in fluent and execrable German to the two Alpinists who were, at the moment, the only other guests. Brotherly affection—and a humorous desire to create a sensation—prompted him to walk in and surprise them. But saner second thoughts prevailed; he decided to postpone the reunion until he should have changed from the picturesque costume of Tony to the soberer garb of Jerry Junior. He skirted the dining-room by a wide detour, and entered the courtyard at the side. Gustavo, who for the last hour and a half had been alertly watchful of four entrances at once, pounced upon him and drew him to a corner.
‘Signore,’ in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘zay are come, ze aunt and ze sister.’
‘I know—the Signorina Costantina told me so.’
Gustavo blinked.
‘But, signore, she does not know it.’
‘Yes, she does—she saw ’em herself.’
‘I mean, signore, she does not know zat you are ze brover?’
‘Oh, no, she doesn’t know that.’
‘But she tell me zat she is acquaint wif ze brover for six years.’ He shook his head hopelessly.
‘That’s all right.’ Tony patted his shoulder reassuringly. ‘When she knew me I used to have yellow hair, but I thought it made me look too girlish, so I had it dyed black. She didn’t recognize me.’
Gustavo accepted the explanation with a side-glance at the hair.
‘Now, pay attention.’ Tony’s tone was slow and distinct.
‘I am going upstairs to change my clothes. Then I will slip out the back way with a suit-case, and go down the road and meet the omnibus as it comes back from the boat landing. You keep my aunt and sister in the courtyard talking to the parrot or something until the omnibus arrives. Then when I get out, you come forward with your politest bow and ask me if I want a room. I’ll attend to the rest—do you understand?’
Gustavo nodded with glistening eyes. He had always felt stirring within him powers for diplomacy, for finesse, and he rose to the occasion magnificently.
Tony turned away and went bounding upstairs two steps at a time, chuckling as he went. He, too, was developing an undreamed of appetite for intrigue, and his capacity in that direction was expanding to meet it. He had covered the first flight, when Gustavo suddenly remembered the letter and bounded after.
‘Signore! I beg of you to wait one moment. Here is a letter from ze signorina; it is come while you are away.’
Tony read the address with a start of surprise.
‘Then she knows!’ There was regret, disillusionment, in his tone.
It was Gustavo’s turn to furnish enlightenment.
‘But no, signore, she do not comprehend. She sink Meestair Jayreem Ailyar is ze brover who is not arrive. She leave it for him when he come.’
‘Ah!’ Tony ripped it open and read it through with a chuckle. He read it a second time and his face grew grave. He thrust it into his pocket and strode away without a word for Gustavo. Gustavo looked after him reproachfully. As a head waiter, he naturally did not expect to read the letters of guests; but as a fellow conspirator, he felt that he was entitled to at least a general knowledge of all matters bearing on the conspiracy. He turned back downstairs with a disappointed droop to his shoulders.
Tony closed his door and walked to the window, where he stood staring at the roof of Villa Rosa. He drew the letter from his pocket and read it for the third time slowly, thoughtfully, very, very soberly. The reason was clear; she was tired of Tony and was looking ahead for fresh worlds to conquer. Jerry Junior was to come next.
He understood why she had been so complaisant to-day. She wished the curtain to go down on the comedy note. To-morrow, the nameless young American, the ‘Abraham Lincoln’ of the register, would call—by the gate—would be received graciously, introduced in his proper person to the guests; the story of the donkey-man would be recounted and laughed over, and he would be politely asked when he was planning to resume his travels. This would be the end of the episode. To Constance, it had been merely an amusing farce about which she could boast when she returned to America. In her vivacious style it would make a story, just as her first meeting with Jerry Junior had made a story. But as for the play itself, for him, she cared nothing. Tony the man had made no impression. He must pass on and give place to Jerry Junior.
A flush crept over Tony’s face and his mouth took a straighter line as he continued to gaze down on the roof of Villa Rosa. His reflections were presently interrupted by a knock. He turned and threw the door open with a fling.
‘Well?’ he inquired.
Gustavo took a step backward.
‘Scusi, signore, but zay are eating ze dessart and in five—ten minutes ze omnibus will arrive.’
‘The omnibus?’ Tony stared. ‘Oh!’ he laughed shortly. ‘I was just joking, Gustavo.’
Gustavo bowed and turned down the corridor; there was a look on Tony’s face that did not encourage confidences. He had not gone half a dozen steps, however, when the door opened again and Tony called him back.
‘I am going away to-morrow morning—by the first boat this time—and you mustn’t let my aunt and sister know. I will write two letters and you are to take them down to the steward of the boat that leaves to-night. Ask him to put on Austrian stamps and mail them at Riva, so they’ll get back here to-morrow. Do you understand?’
Gustavo nodded and backed away. His disappointment this time was too keen for words. He saw stretching before him a future like the past, monotonously bereft of plots and masquerades.
Tony, having hit on a plan, sat down and put it into instant execution. Opening his Baedeker, he turned to Riva and picked out the first hotel that was mentioned. Then he wrote two letters, both short and to the point; he indulged in none of Constance’s vacillations, and yet in their way his letters also were masterpieces of illusion. The first was addressed to Miss Constance Wilder at Villa Rosa. It ran—
‘Hotel Sole d’Oro,‘Riva, Austria.
‘Dear Miss Wilder: Nothing would give me greater pleasure than spending a few days in Valedolmo, but unfortunately I am pressed for time, and am engaged to start Thursday morning with some friends on a trip through the Dolomites.
‘Trusting that I may have the pleasure of making your acquaintance at some future date,
‘Yours truly,‘Jerymn Hilliard, Jr.’
The second letter was addressed to his sister, but he trusted to luck that Constance would see it. It ran—
‘Hotel Sole d’Oro,‘Riva, Austria.
‘Dear Nan: Who in thunder is Constance Wilder? She wants us to stop and make a visit in Valedolmo. I wouldn’t step into that infernal town, not if the king himself invited me—it’s the deadest hole on the face of the earth. You can stay if you like and I’ll go on through the Dolomites alone. There’s an American family stopping here who are also planning the trip—a stunning girl; I know you’d like her.
‘Of course the travelling will be pretty rough. Perhaps you and Aunt Kate would rather visit your friends and meet me later in Munich. If you decide to take the trip, you will have to come on down to Riva as soon as you get this letter, as we’re planning to pull out Thursday morning.
‘Sorry to hurry you, but you know my vacation doesn’t last for ever.
‘Love to Aunt Kate and yourself,
‘Yours ever,‘Jerry.’
He turned the letters over to Gustavo with a five-franc note, leaving Gustavo to decide with his own conscience whether the money was intended for himself or the steward of the Regina Margarita. This accomplished, he slipped out unobtrusively and took the road toward Villa Rosa.
He strode along with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the path until he nearly bumped his nose against the villa gate-post. Then he stopped and thought. He had no mind to be ushered to the terrace, where he would have to dissemble some excuse for his visit before Miss Hazel and Mr. Wilder. His business to-night was with Constance, and Constance alone. He turned and skirted the villa wall, determined on reconnoitring first. There was a place in the wall—he knew well—where the stones were missing, and a view was obtainable of the terrace and parapet.
He reached the place to find Lieutenant Carlo di Ferara already there. Now the Lieutenant’s purpose was exactly as innocent as Tony’s own; he merely wished to assure himself that Captain Coroloni was not before him. It was considered a joke at the tenth cavalry mess to detail one or the other of the officers to call on the Americans at the same time that Lieutenant di Ferara called. He was not spying on the family, merely on his meddling brother officers.
Tony of course could know nothing of this, and as his eyes fell upon the lieutenant, there was apparent in their depths a large measure of contempt. A lieutenant in the Royal Italian Cavalry can afford to be generous in many things, but he cannot afford to swallow contempt from a donkey-driver. The signorina was not present this time; there was no reason why he should not punish the fellow. He dropped his hand on Tony’s shoulder—on his collar to be exact—and whirled him about. The action was accompanied by some vigorous colloquial Italian—the gist of it being that Tony was to mind his own business and mend his manners. The lieutenant had a muscular arm, and Tony turned. But Tony had not played quarterback four years for nothing; he tackled low, and the next moment the lieutenant was rolling down the bank of a dried stream that stretched at their feet. No one likes to roll down a dusty stony bank, much less an officer in immaculate uniform on the eve of paying a formal call upon ladies. He picked himself up and looked at Tony; he was quite beyond speech.
Tony looked back and smiled. He swept off his hat with a deferential bow. ‘Scusi,’ he murmured, and jumped over the wall into the grounds of Villa Rosa.
The lieutenant gasped. If anything could have been more insultingly inadequate to the situation than that one word Scusi, it did not at the moment occur to him. Jeering, blasphemy, vituperation, he might have excused, but this! The shock jostled him back to a thinking state.
Here was no ordinary donkey-driver. 151] The hand that had rested for a moment on his arm was the hand of a gentleman. The man’s face was vaguely, elusively familiar; if the lieutenant had not seen him before, he had at least seen his picture. The man had pretended he could not talk Italian, but—Scusi—it came out very pat when it was needed.
An idea suddenly assailed Lieutenant di Ferara. He scrambled up the bank and skirted the wall, almost on a run, until he reached the place where his horse was tied. Two minutes later he was off at a gallop, headed for the house of the prefect of police of Valedolmo.
