Black Friday (e-book) (used book) | Frederic S Isham | bookbook.eu

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CHAPTEE I

THB PEINOE AND THE OHAKIOT

The white fingers moved uncertainly over the whiter keys^ a hesitating accompaniment to a voice^ once a . tenor, now a breath.

''Ah, Roberto—"

A fit of coughing interrupted the singer; one hand yet continued to play irresolutely, as if waiting for the vocal melody, but bravura and redtativo were gone be-yond recaU; the fingers ceaaed their hopeless strumming, and rested, at a loss, on an unresolved chord.

Some one laughed.

''Oh, papa, you are too droll !'^

A small band held back the frayed, somber drapery of the doorway; a girlish figure stood framed by the dark

walnut. A morning toilet of mauve-colored fabric caught the sheen of sunlight; voluminous as one of the gowns of Lely, it swathed, yet clung not to, the slender form. Beneath a head-dress of chenille and bead network, brown curls gently swept the white brow.

The performer arose, a half-petulant look on his thin, refined face.

"And you, my child, are too forward!" he said.

"I couldn't help it, papaP

Another laugh, and the frame lost its picture; the voluminous skirt rustled as the speaker entered the room.

"Besides, it was too absurd!" she added.

"Absurd!—''

"Not you, but the butcher!"

He stared at her. In the full light, the dominant characteristics of his face were pitilessly revealed; weak-nes8 and pride; artistic effeminacy, mixed with a certain hauteur; a man of dilettantism, perhaps, but the dilettantism of the old school that included pre-Eaphaelite pictures, arias, cadenzas, and the Sapphic stanzas addressed to our foremothers' gloves, or ringlets.

"The butcher ?" he repeated incredulously.

She nodded. "Yes; our neighbor; our bosom friend, the butcher! He called—at the front door !'* And she held up a card. "Mr. Thomas Jenkins, Esquire! He asked for mama^ and when the maid said mama was out.

THE PEINCE AND THE CHARIOT 3 Ae went out and slammed the front door. It's about the

*

bill, I suppose, papa. Shall I put the card on the tray ^ith mama's other callers? Fancy their consternation, sandwiched with Mr. Thomas Jenkins, dealer in tenderloins P—flourishing the bit of pasteboard.

"Put the card in the fire, Elinor,'^ he said absently. "We shall trade with Jenkins no more.'^

"He cut us off a fortnight ago," she laughed.....