young man and the old shook hands. Then husband and wife exchanged greetings-he told her it had grown colder out; he said he had walked down to a news-stand on Forty-fourth Street for a Kansas City paper. He had intended to ride back in the bus but he had found it too cold, yes, yes, yes, yes, too cold.
“Well, you are the hero!” she exclaimed admiringly. “I wouldn’t have gone out for anything.”
Mr. Gilbert He turned to the two young men and began to talk to them on the subject of the weather. Then he rather abruptly changed the subject.
“Where’s Gloria?”
“She will be here any minute.”
“Have you met my daughter, Mr…?”
“I haven’t had the pleasure. But Dick spoke of her often.”
“She and Richard are cousins.”
“Yes?” Anthony smiled with some effort.
Richard Caramel was afraid they’d have to leave.
Mrs. Gilbert was tremendously sorry.
Mr. Gilbert thought it was too bad.
Would they come again soon?
“Oh, yes.”
Gloria would be awfully sorry!
“Good-bye!”
“Good-bye!”
Smiles!
Smiles!
Two disconsolate young men are walking down the tenth-floor corridor of the Plaza in the direction of the elevator.
A Lady’s Legs
Maury Noble was purposeful. His intention, as he stated it in college was: to use three years in travel, three years in leisure – and then to become immensely rich as quickly as possible.
His three years of travel were over. Back in America, he was searching for amusement. He taught himself to drink as he taught himself Greek – like Greek it would be the gateway to new sensations, new psychical states, new reactions.
He had three rooms in a bachelor apartment on Forty-forth street, but he was there. The telephone girl[13] had a list of half a dozen people to whom he was never at home, and of the same number to whom he was always at home. Foremost on the latter list were Anthony Patch and Richard Caramel.
Maury’s mother lived in Philadelphia, and there Maury went usually for the week-ends, so one Saturday night Anthony was overjoyed to find that Mr. Noble was at home.
There he was! The room warmed Anthony. Maury filled the room, tigerlike, godlike. The winds outside were stilled.
“What keeps you here today?” Anthony asked.
“I was at a tea-party. I missed my train to Philadelphia. And you?”
“Geraldine[14]. I told you about her.”
“Oh!”
“She called me about three and stayed till five. She’s so utterly stupid.”
Maury was silent.
Anthony had known her a month. He considered her amusing and rather liked the chaste and fairylike kisses she had given him on the third night of their acquaintance, when they had driven in a taxi through the Park. She had a shadowy aunt and uncle who shared with her an apartment. She familiar and intimate and restful.
“She gets her hair over her eyes some way and then blow it out,” he informed Maury; “and she likes to say ‘You cra-a-azy!’ when some one makes a remark that she does not understand. It fascinates me.”
Maury spoke.
“Remarkable that a person can comprehend so little and yet live in such a complex civilization.”
“Our Richard could write about her.”
“Anthony, surely you don’t think she’s worth writing about.”
“As much as anybody,” he answered, yawning. “You know I was thinking today that I have a great confidence in Dick. If he sticks to people and not to ideas, I believe he’ll be a big man.”
Anthony raised himself.
“He tries to go to life. So does every author except the very worst. The incident or character may be from life, but the writer usually interprets it in terms of the last book he read. For instance, suppose he meets a captain. He already knows how to set this sea captain on paper…Whose tea was it?”
“People named Abercrombie[15].”
“Why did you stay late? Did you meet a girl?”
“Yes.”
“Did you really?” Anthony’s voice lifted in surprise.
“Yes. She seemed the youngest person there.”
“Not too young to make you miss a train.”
“Young enough. Beautiful child.”
Anthony chuckled.
“Oh, Maury, what do you mean by beautiful?”
Maury gazed helplessly into space.
“Well, I can’t describe her exactly – except to say that she was beautiful. She was tremendously alive.”
“What!”
“Mostly we talked about legs.”
“My God! Whose legs?”
“Hers. She talked a lot about hers.”
“What is she – a dancer?”
“No, she was a cousin of Dick’s.”
Anthony sat upright suddenly
“Her name is Gloria Gilbert!” he cried.
“Yes. Isn’t she remarkable?”
“I don’t know – but her father…”
“Well,” interrupted Maury, “her family may be as sad as professional mourners but I’m think that she’s a quite authentic and original character.”
“Go on, go on!” urged Anthony. “Soon as[16] Dick told me she didn’t have a brain in her head I knew she must be pretty good.”
“Did he say that?”
“Yes,” said Anthony with snorting laugh.
“Well, this
telephone girl – телефонистка
Geraldine – Джеральдина
Abercrombie – Аберкромби
soon as – как только
