Thereupon, with a last
stifled curse, Schomberg vanished somewhere within, to try and compose
his spirits in solitude. Davidson stepped out on the veranda. The party
of customers there had become aware of the explosive interlude in the
doorway. Davidson knew one of these men, and nodded to him in passing;
but his acquaintance called out:
"Isn't he in a filthy temper? He's been like that ever since."
The speaker laughed aloud, while all the others sat smiling. Davidson
stopped.
"Yes, rather." His feelings were, he told us, those of bewildered
resignation; but of course that was no more visible to the others than
the emotions of a turtle when it withdraws into its shell.
"It seems unreasonable," he murmured thoughtfully.
"Oh, but they had a scrap!" the other said.
"What do you mean? Was there a fight!--a fight with Heyst?" asked
Davidson, much perturbed, if somewhat incredulous.
"Heyst? No, these two--the bandmaster, the fellow who's taking these
women about and our Schomberg. Signor Zangiacomo ran amuck in the
morning, and went for our worthy friend. I tell you, they were rolling
on the floor together on this very veranda, after chasing each other all
over the house, doors slamming, women screaming, seventeen of them, in
the dining-room; Chinamen up the trees. Hey, John? You climb tree to see
the fight, eh?"
The boy, almond-eyed and impassive, emitted a scornful grunt, finished
wiping the table, and withdrew.
Pages:
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78