A Voyage Of Consolation - Sara Jeannette Duncan (namjoon book recommendations .txt) 📗
- Author: Sara Jeannette Duncan
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Some Disappointed Investigator Might Find Out There Was Nothing Inside
And File A Complaint. Anything To Support That Unstuffed Chicken? Nope.
Finishing Up With A Compote Of Canned Fruit, Mostly California Pears
That Want More Cooking, And After That Cheese, If You Like Cheese, And
Coffee Charged Extra. Thanks To Bramley, I Can'T Say I Didn'T Know What
To Expect, But That Doesn'T Increase The Variety Any. Now In america--I
Understand You Have Been To America, Sir?"
"I Have Travelled In The States To Some Extent," Responded Mr.
Mafferton.
"Seen Brooklyn Bridge And The Hudson, I Presume. Had A Look At Niagara
Falls And A Run Out To Chicago, Maybe. That Was Before I Had The
Pleasure Of Meeting You. Get As Far As The Yosemite? No? Well, You Were
There Long Enough Anyhow To Realise That Our Hotels Are Run On The Free
Will System."
"I Remember," Said Mr. Mafferton. "All The Luxuries Of The Coming
Season, Printed On A Card Usually About A Foot Long. A Great Variety,
And Very Difficult To Understand. When I Had Finished Trying To
Translate The Morning Paper, I Used To Attack The Card. I Found That It
Threw Quite A Light Upon Early American Civilisation From The Aboriginal
Side. 'Hominy,' 'Grits,' 'Buckwheats,' 'Cantelopes,' Are Some Of The
Dishes I Remember. 'Succotash,' Too, And 'Creamed Squash,' But I Think
They Occurred At Dinner Generally. I Used To Summon The Waiter, And
When He Came To Take My Orders I Would Ask Him To Derive Those Dishes. I
Had Great Difficulty After A Time In Summoning A Waiter. But The Plan
Gave Me Many Interesting Half Hours. In The End I Usually Ordered A
Chop."
"I Don'T Want To Run Down Your Politics," Poppa Said, "But That'S What I
Call Being Too Conservative. Augusta, If You Have Had Enough Of The Bay
Of Naples And The Moon, I Might Remind You Of The Buried City Of
Pompeii, Which Is On For To-Morrow. It'S A Good Long Way Out, And You'Ll
Want All Your Powers Of Endurance. I'M Going Down To Have A Smoke, And A
Look At The Humorous Publications Of Italy. There'S No Sort Of
Sociability About These Hotels, But The Head _Portier_ Knows A Little
English."
"I Suppose I Had Better Retire," Momma Admitted, "Though I Sometimes
Wish Mr. Wick Wasn'T So Careful Of My Nervous System. Delicious Scene,
Good-Night." And She Too Left Us.
We Were Sitting In a Narrow Balcony That Seemed To Jut Out Of A Horn Of
The City'S Lovely Crescent. Dicky And Isabel Occupied Chairs At A
Distance Nicely Calculated To Necessitate A Troublesome Raising Of The
Voice To Communicate With Them. Mrs. Portheris Was Still Confined To Her
Room With What Was Understood To Be The Constitutional Shock Of Her
Experiences In The Catacombs. Dicky, In Joyful Privacy, Assured Me That
Nobody Could Recover From A Combination Of Roman Tallow And French Kid
In Less Than A Week, But I Told Him He Did Not Know The British
Constitution.
The Moon Sailed High Over Naples, And Lighted The Lapping Curve Of Her
Perfect Bay In The Deepest, Softest Blue, And Showed Us Some Of The
Nearer Houses Of The City, Sloping And Shouldering And Creeping Down,
That They Were Pink And Yellow And Parti-Coloured, While The Rest Curved
And Glimmered Round The Water In all Tender Tones Of White Holding Up A
Thousand Lamps. And Behind, Curving Too, The Hills Stood Clear, With The
Grey Phantom Of Vesuvius In Sharp Familiar Lines, Sending Up Its Stream
Of Steady Red, And Now And Then A Leaping Flame. It Was A Scene To Wake
The Latent Sentiment Of Even A British Bosom. I Thought I Would Stay A
Little Longer.
"So You Usually Ordered A Chop?" I Said By Way Of Resuming The
Conversation. "I Hope The Chops Were Tender."
(I Have A Vague Recollection That My Intonation Was.)
"There Are Worse Things In The States Than The Mutton," Replied Mr.
Mafferton, Moving His Chair To Enable Him, By Twisting His Neck Not Too
Ostentatiously, To Glance Occasionally At Dicky And Isabel, "But The
Steaks Were Distinctly Better Than The Chops--Distinctly."
"So All Connoisseurs Say," I Replied Respectfully. "Would You Like To
Change Seats With Me? I Don'T Mind Sitting With My Back To--Vesuvius."
Mr. Mafferton Blushed--Unless It Was The Glow From The Volcano.
"Not On My Account," He Said. "By Any Means."
"You Do Not Fear A Demonstration," I Suggested. "And Yet The Forces Of
Nature Are Very Uncertain. That Is Your English Nerve. It Deserves All
That Is Said Of It."
Mr. Mafferton Looked At Me Suspiciously.
"I Fancy You Must Be Joking," He Said.
He Sometimes Complained That The Great Bar To His Observation Of The
American Character Was The American Sense Of Humour. It Was One Of The
Things He Had Made A Note Of, As Interfering With The Intelligent
Stranger'S Enjoyment Of The Country.
"I Suppose," I Replied Reproachfully, "You Never Pause To Think How
Unkind A Suspicion Like That Is? When One _Wishes_ To Be Taken
Seriously."
"I Fear I Do Not," Mr. Mafferton Confessed. "Perhaps I Jump Rather
Hastily To Conclusions Sometimes. It'S A Family Trait. We Get It Through
The Warwick-Howards On My Mother'S Side."
"Then, Of Course, There Can'T Be Any Objection To It. But When One Knows
A Person'S Opinion Of Frivolity, Always To Be Thought Frivolous By The
Person Is Hard To Bear. Awfully."
And If My Expression, As I Gazed Past This Englishman At Vesuvius, Was
One Of Sad Resignation, There Was Nothing In The Situation To Exhilarate
Anybody.
The Impassive Countenance Of Mr. Mafferton Was Disturbed By A Ray Of
Concern. The Moonlight Enabled Me To See It Quite Clearly. "Pray, Miss
Wick," He Said, "Do Not Think That. Who Was It That Wrote----"
"A Little Humour Now And Then
Is Relished By The Wisest Men."
"I Don'T Know," I Said, "But There'S Something About It That Makes Me
Think It Is English In Its Origin. Do You _Really_ Endorse It?"
"Certainly I Do. And Your Liveliness, Miss Wick, If I May Say So, Is
Certainly One Of Your Accomplishments. It Is To Some Extent A Racial
Characteristic. You Share It With Mr. Dod."
I Glanced In The Direction Of The Other Two. "They Seem Desperately
Bored With Each Other," I Said. "They Are Not Saying Anything. Shall We
Join Them?"
"Dod Is Probably Sulking Because I Am Monopolising You. Mrs. Portheris,
You See, Has Let Me Into The Secret"--Mr. Mafferton Looked _Very_
Arch--"By All Means, If You Think He Ought To Be Humoured."
"No," I Said Firmly, "Humouring Is Very Bad For Dicky. But I Don'T Think
He Should Be Allowed To Wreak His Ill-Temper On Isabel."
"I Have Noticed A Certain Lack Of Power To Take The Initiative About
Miss Portheris," Said Mr. Mafferton Coldly, "Especially When Her Mother
Is Not With Her. She Seems Quite Unable To Extricate Herself From
Situations Like The Present."
"She Is So Young," I Said Apologetically, "And Besides, I Don'T Think
You Could Expect Her To Go Quite Away And Leave Us Here Together, You
Know. She Would Naturally Have Foolish Ideas. She Doesn'T Know Anything
About Our Irrevocable Past."
"Why Should She Care?" Asked Mr. Mafferton Hypocritically.
"Oh," I Said. "I Don'T Know, I'M Sure. Only Mrs. Portheris----"
"She Is Certainly A Charming Girl," Said Mr. Mafferton.
"And _So_ Well Brought Up," Said I.
"Ye-Es. Perhaps A Little Self-Contained."
"She Has No Need To Rely Upon Her Conversation." I Observed.
"I Don'T Know. The Fact Is----"
"What Is The Fact?" I Asked Softly. "After All That Has Passed I Think I
May Claim Your Confidence, Mr. Mafferton." I Had Some Difficulty
Afterwards In Justifying This, But It Seemed Entirely Appropriate At The
Time.
"The Fact Is, That Up To Three Weeks Ago I Believed Miss Portheris To Be
The Incarnation Of So Many Unassuming Virtues And Personal Charms That I
Was Almost Ready To Make A Fresh Bid For Domestic Happiness In Her
Society. I Have For Some Time Wished To Marry----"
"I Know," I Said Sympathetically.
"But During The Last Three Weeks I Have Become A Little Uncertain."
"There Shouldn'T Be The _Slightest_ Uncertainty," I Observed.
"Marriage In england Is Such A Permanent Institution."
"I Have Known It To Last For Years Even In The United States," I
Sighed.
"And It Is A Serious Responsibility To Undertake To Reciprocate In Full
The Devotion Of An Attached Wife."
"I Fancy Isabel Is A Person Of Strong Affections," I Said; "One Notices
It With Her Mother. And Any One Who Could Dote On Mrs. Portheris Would
Certainly----"
"I Fear So," Said Mr. Mafferton.
"I Understand," I Continued, "Why You Hesitate. And Really, Feeling As
You Do, I Wouldn'T Be Precipitate."
"I Won'T," He Said.
"Watch The State Of Your Own Heart," I Counselled, "For Some Little
Time. You May Be Sure That Hers Will Not Alter;" And, As We Said
Good-Night, I Further Suggested That It Would Be A Kindness If Mr.
Mafferton Would Join My Lonely Parent In The Smoking-Room.
I Don'T Know What Happened On The Balcony After That.
Chapter 16
"Mamma," Said Isabel, As We Gathered In The Hotel Vestibule For The
Start To Pompeii, "Is Really Not Fit To Undertake It."
"You'Ll Excuse Me, Aunt Caroline," Remarked The Senator, "But Your
Complexion Isn'T By Any Means Right Yet. It'S A Warm Day And A Long
Drive. Just As Likely As Not You'Ll Be Down Sick After It."
"Stuff!" Said Mrs. Portheris. "I Thank My Stars _I_ Have Got No
Enfeebled American Constitution. I Am Perfectly Equal To It, Thank You."
"It'S Most Unwise," Observed Mr. Mafferton.
"Darned--I Mean Extremely Risky," Sighed Dicky.
Mrs. Portheris Faced Upon Them. "And Pray What Do _You_ Know About It?"
She Demanded.
Then Momma Put In Her Oar, Taking Most Unguardedly A Privilege Of
Relationship. "Of Course, You Are The Best Judge Of How You Feel
Yourself, Aunt Caroline, But We Are Told There Are Some Steps To Ascend
When We Get There--And You Know How Fleshy You Are."
In The Instant Of Ominous Silence Which Occurred While Mrs. Portheris
Was Getting Her Chin Into The Angle Of Its Greatest Majesty, Mr.
Mafferton Considerately Walked To The Door. When It Was Accomplished
She Looked At Momma Sideways And Down Her Nose, Precisely In The Manner
Of The Late Mr. Du Maurier'S Ladies In _Punch_, In The Same State Of
Mind. She Might Have Sat Or Stood To Him. It Was Another Ideal Realised.
"That Is The Latest, The Very Latest Americanism Which I Have Observed
In Your Conversation, Augusta. In Your Native Land It May Be Admissible,
But Please Understand That I Cannot Permit It To Be Applied To Me
Personally. To English Ears It Is Offensive, Very Offensive. It Is Also
Quite Improper For You To Assume Any Familiarity With My Figure. As You
Say, _I_ May Be Aware Of Its Corpulence, But Nobody Else--Er--Can
Possibly Know Anything About It."
Momma Was Speechless, And, As Usual, The Senator Came To The Rescue. He
Never Will Allow Momma To Be Trampled On, And There Was Distinct
Retaliation In His Manner. "Look Here, Aunt," He Said, "There'S Nothing
Profane In Saying You'Re Fleshy When You _Are_, You Know, And You Don'T
Need To Remove So Much As Your Bonnet Strings For The General Public To
Be Aware Of It. And When You Come To America Don'T You Ever Insult
Anybody By Calling Her Corpulent, Which Is A Perfectly Indecent
Expression. Now If You Won'T Go Back To Bed And Tranquillise Your
Mind--On A Plain Soda----"
"I Won'T," Said Mrs. Portheris.
"De Carriages Is Already," Said The Head Porter, Glistening With An
Amiability Of Which We All Appreciated The Balm. And We Entered The
Carriages--Mrs. Portheris And The Downcast Isabel And Mr. Mafferton In
One, And Momma, Poppa, Dicky, And I In The Other. For No American Would
Have Been Safe In Mrs. Portheris'S Carriage For At Least Two Hours, And
This Came Home Even To Mr. Dod.
"Never Again!" Exclaimed Momma As We Rattled Down Among The Narrow
Streets That Crowd Under The Funicular Railway. "Never Again Will I Call
That Woman Aunt Caroline."
"Don'T Call Her Fleshy, My Dear, That'S What Really Irritated Her,"
Remarked The Senator. The Senator'S Discrimination, I Have Often
Noticed, Is Not The Nicest Thing About Him.
Hours
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