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The Crimson Tide: A Novel
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After dining en famille, Shotwell Junior considered the various diversions offered to young business men after a day of labour.
There were theatres; there was the Club de Vingt and similar agreeable asylums; there was also a telephone to ring, and unpremeditated suggestions to make to friends, either masculine or feminine.
Or he could read and improve his mind. Or go to Carnegie Hall with his father and mother and listen to music of sorts… Or–he could call up Elorn Sharrow.
He couldn’t decide; and his parents presently derided him and departed music-ward without him. He read an evening paper, discarded it, poked the fire, stood before it, jingled a few coins and keys in his pocket, still undecided, still rather disinclined to any exertion, even as far as the club.
“I wonder,” he thought, “what that girl is doing now. I’ve a mind to call her up.”
He seemed to know whom he meant by “that girl.” Also, it was evident that he did not mean Elorn Sharrow; for it was not her number he called and presently got.
“Miss Dumont?”
“Yes? Who is it?”
“It’s a mere nobody. It’s only your broker–”
“What!!”
“Your real-estate broker–”
“Mr. Shotwell! How absurd of you!”
“Why absurd?”
“Because I don’t think of you merely as a real-estate broker.”
“Then you do sometimes think of me?”
“What power of deduction! What logic! You seem to be in a particularly frivolous frame of mind. Are you?”
“No; I’m in a bad one.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t a bally thing to do this evening.”
“That’s silly!–with the entire town outside… I’m glad you called me up, anyway. I’m tired and bored and exceedingly cross.”
“What are you doing, Miss Dumont?”
“Absolutely and idiotically nothing. I’m merely sitting here on the only chair in this scantily furnished house, and trying to plan what sort of carpets, draperies and furniture to buy. Can you imagine the scene?”
“I thought you had some things.”
“I haven’t anything! Not even a decent mirror. I stand on the slippery edge of a bath tub to get a complete view of myself. And then it’s only by sections.”
“That’s tragic. Have you a cook?”
“I have. But no dining room table. I eat from a tray on a packing case.”
“Have you a waitress?”
“Yes, and a maid. They’re comfortable. I bought their furniture immediately and also the batterie-de-cuisine. It’s only I who slink about like a perplexed cat, from one empty room to another, in search of familiar comforts… But I bought a sofa to-day.
“It’s a wonderful sofa. It’s here, now. It’s an antique. But I can’t make up my mind how to upholster it.”
“Would you care for a suggestion?”
“Please!”
“Well, I’d have to see it–”
“I thought you’d say that. Really, Mr. Shotwell, I’d like most awfully to see you, but this place is too uncomfortable. I told you I’d ask you to tea some day.”
“Won’t you let me come down for a few moments this evening–”
“No!”
“–And pay you a formal little call–”
“No… Would you really like to?”
“I would.”
“You wouldn’t after you got here. There’s nothing for you to sit on.”
“What about the floor?”
“It’s dusty.”
“What about that antique sofa?”
“It’s not upholstered.”
“What do I care! May I come?”
“Do you really wish to?”
“I do.”
“How soon?”
“As fast as I can get there.”
He heard her laughing. Then: “I’ll be perfectly delighted to see you,” she said. “I was actually thinking of taking to my bed out of sheer boredom. Are you coming in a taxi?”
“Why?”
There were theatres; there was the Club de Vingt and similar agreeable asylums; there was also a telephone to ring, and unpremeditated suggestions to make to friends, either masculine or feminine.
Or he could read and improve his mind. Or go to Carnegie Hall with his father and mother and listen to music of sorts… Or–he could call up Elorn Sharrow.
He couldn’t decide; and his parents presently derided him and departed music-ward without him. He read an evening paper, discarded it, poked the fire, stood before it, jingled a few coins and keys in his pocket, still undecided, still rather disinclined to any exertion, even as far as the club.
“I wonder,” he thought, “what that girl is doing now. I’ve a mind to call her up.”
He seemed to know whom he meant by “that girl.” Also, it was evident that he did not mean Elorn Sharrow; for it was not her number he called and presently got.
“Miss Dumont?”
“Yes? Who is it?”
“It’s a mere nobody. It’s only your broker–”
“What!!”
“Your real-estate broker–”
“Mr. Shotwell! How absurd of you!”
“Why absurd?”
“Because I don’t think of you merely as a real-estate broker.”
“Then you do sometimes think of me?”
“What power of deduction! What logic! You seem to be in a particularly frivolous frame of mind. Are you?”
“No; I’m in a bad one.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t a bally thing to do this evening.”
“That’s silly!–with the entire town outside… I’m glad you called me up, anyway. I’m tired and bored and exceedingly cross.”
“What are you doing, Miss Dumont?”
“Absolutely and idiotically nothing. I’m merely sitting here on the only chair in this scantily furnished house, and trying to plan what sort of carpets, draperies and furniture to buy. Can you imagine the scene?”
“I thought you had some things.”
“I haven’t anything! Not even a decent mirror. I stand on the slippery edge of a bath tub to get a complete view of myself. And then it’s only by sections.”
“That’s tragic. Have you a cook?”
“I have. But no dining room table. I eat from a tray on a packing case.”
“Have you a waitress?”
“Yes, and a maid. They’re comfortable. I bought their furniture immediately and also the batterie-de-cuisine. It’s only I who slink about like a perplexed cat, from one empty room to another, in search of familiar comforts… But I bought a sofa to-day.
“It’s a wonderful sofa. It’s here, now. It’s an antique. But I can’t make up my mind how to upholster it.”
“Would you care for a suggestion?”
“Please!”
“Well, I’d have to see it–”
“I thought you’d say that. Really, Mr. Shotwell, I’d like most awfully to see you, but this place is too uncomfortable. I told you I’d ask you to tea some day.”
“Won’t you let me come down for a few moments this evening–”
“No!”
“–And pay you a formal little call–”
“No… Would you really like to?”
“I would.”
“You wouldn’t after you got here. There’s nothing for you to sit on.”
“What about the floor?”
“It’s dusty.”
“What about that antique sofa?”
“It’s not upholstered.”
“What do I care! May I come?”
“Do you really wish to?”
“I do.”
“How soon?”
“As fast as I can get there.”
He heard her laughing. Then: “I’ll be perfectly delighted to see you,” she said. “I was actually thinking of taking to my bed out of sheer boredom. Are you coming in a taxi?”
“Why?”
Другие электронные книги автора Robert Chambers
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Книгу прочитать не могу, везде ЛитРес свой нос сунул, как и где скачать полную версию бесплатно!?!?