BOOK TWO
8
I did not see Brett again until she came back from San Sebastian. One card came from her from there. It had a picture of the Concha, and said: âDarling. Very quiet and healthy. Love to all the chaps. BRETT.â
Nor did I see Robert Cohn again. I heard Frances had left for England and I had a note from Cohn saying he was going out in the country for a couple of weeks, he did not know where, but that he wanted to hold me to the fishing-trip in Spain we had talked about last winter. I could reach him always, he wrote, through his bankers.
Brett was gone, I was not bothered by Cohnâs troubles, I rather enjoyed not having to play tennis, there was plenty of work to do, I went often to the races, dined with friends, and put in some extra time at the office getting things ahead so I could leave it in charge of my secretary when Bill Gorton and I should shove off to Spain the end of June. Bill Gorton arrived, put up a couple of days at the flat and went off to Vienna. He was very cheerful and said the States were wonderful. New York was wonderful. There had been a grand theatrical season and a whole crop of great young light heavyweights. Any one of them was a good prospect to grow up, put on weight and trim Dempsey. Bill was very happy. He had made a lot of money on his last book, and was going to make a lot more. We had a good time while he was in Paris, and then he went off to Vienna. He was coming back in three weeks and we would leave for Spain to get in some fishing and go to the fiesta at Pamplona. He wrote that Vienna was wonderful. Then a card from Budapest: âJake, Budapest is wonderful.â Then I got a wire: âBack on Monday.â
Monday evening he turned up at the flat. I heard his taxi stop and went to the window and called to him; he waved and started up-stairs carrying his bags. I met him on the stairs, and took one of the bags.
âWell,â I said, âI hear you had a wonderful trip.â
âWonderful,â he said. âBudapest is absolutely wonderful.â
âHow about Vienna?â
âNot so good, Jake. Not so good. It seemed better than it was.â
âHow do you mean?â I was getting glasses and a siphon.
âTight, Jake. I was tight.â
âThatâs strange. Better have a drink.â
Bill rubbed his forehead. âRemarkable thing,â he said. âDonât know how it happened. Suddenly it happened.â
âLast long?â
âFour days, Jake. Lasted just four days.â
âWhere did you go?â
âDonât remember. Wrote you a post-card. Remember that perfectly.â
âDo anything else?â
âNot so sure. Possible.â
âGo on. Tell me about it.â
âCanât remember. Tell you anything I could remember.â
âGo on. Take that drink and remember.â
âMight remember a little,â Bill said. âRemember something about a prize-fight. Enormous Vienna prize-fight. Had a nigger in it. Remember the nigger perfectly.â
âGo on.â
âWonderful nigger. Looked like Tiger Flowers, only four times as big. All of a sudden everybody started to throw things. Not me. Niggerâd just knocked local boy down. Nigger put up his glove. Wanted to make a speech. Awful noble-looking nigger. Started to make a speech. Then local white boy hit him. Then he knocked white boy cold. Then everybody commenced to throw chairs. Nigger went home with us in our car. Couldnât get his clothes. Wore my coat. Remember the whole thing now. Big sporting evening.â
âWhat happened?â
âLoaned the nigger some clothes and went around with him to try and get his money. Claimed nigger owed them money on account of wrecking hall. Wonder who translated? Was it me?â
âProbably it wasnât you.â
âYouâre right. Wasnât me at all. Was another fellow. Think we called him the local Harvard man. Remember him now. Studying music.â
âHowâd you come out?â
âNot so good, Jake. Injustice everywhere. Promoter claimed nigger promised let local boy stay. Claimed nigger violated contract. Canât knock out Vienna boy in Vienna. âMy God, Mister Gorton,â said nigger, âI didnât do nothing in there for forty minutes but try and let him stay. That white boy musta ruptured himself swinging at me. I never did hit him.â â
âDid you get any money?â
âNo money, Jake. All we could get was niggerâs clothes. Somebody took his watch, too. Splendid nigger. Big mistake to have come to Vienna. Not so good, Jake. Not so good.â
âWhat became of the nigger?â
âWent back to Cologne. Lives there. Married. Got a family. Going to write me a letter and send me the money I loaned him. Wonderful nigger. Hope I gave him the right address.â
âYou probably did.â
âWell, anyway, letâs eat,â said Bill. âUnless you want me to tell you some more travel stories.â
âGo on.â
âLetâs eat.â
We went down-stairs and out onto the Boulevard St. Michel in the warm June evening.
âWhere will we go?â
âWant to eat on the island?â
âSure.â
We walked down the Boulevard. At the juncture of the Rue Denfert-Rochereau with the Boulevard is a statue of two men in flowing robes.
âI know who they are.â Bill eyed the monument. âGentlemen who invented pharmacy. Donât try and fool me on Paris.â
We went on.
âHereâs a taxidermistâs,â Bill said. âWant to buy anything? Nice stuffed dog?â
âCome on,â I said. âYouâre pie-eyed.â
âPretty nice stuffed dogs,â Bill said. âCertainly brighten up your flat.â
âCome on.â
âJust one stuffed dog. I can take âem or leave âem alone. But listen, Jake. Just one stuffed dog.â
âCome on.â
âMean everything in the world to you after you bought it. Simple exchange of values. You give them money. They give you a stuffed dog.â
âWeâll get one on the way back.â
âAll right. Have it your own way. Road to hell paved with unbought stuffed dogs. Not my fault.â
We went on.
âHowâd you feel that way about dogs so sudden?â
âAlways felt that way about dogs. Always been a great lover of stuffed animals.â
We stopped and had a drink.
âCertainly like to drink,â Bill said. âYou ought to try it some times, Jake.â
âYouâre about a hundred and forty-four ahead of me.â
âOught not to daunt you. Never be daunted. Secret of my success. Never been daunted. Never been daunted in public.â
âWhere were you drinking?â
âStopped at the Crillon. George made me a couple of Jack Roses. Georgeâs a great man. Know the secret of his success? Never been daunted.â
âYouâll be daunted after about three more pernods.â
âNot in public. If I begin to feel daunted Iâll go off by myself. Iâm like a cat that way.â
âWhen did you see Harvey Stone?â
âAt the Crillon. Harvey was just a little daunted. Hadnât eaten for three days. Doesnât eat any more. Just goes off like a cat. Pretty sad.â
âHeâs all right.â
âSplendid. Wish he wouldnât keep going off like a cat, though. Makes me nervous.â
âWhatâll we do to-night?â
âDoesnât make any difference. Only letâs not get daunted. Suppose they got any hard-boiled eggs here? If they had hard-boiled eggs here we wouldnât have to go all the way down to the island to eat.â
âNix,â I said. âWeâre going to have a regular meal.â
âJust a suggestion,â said Bill. âWant to start now?â
âCome on.â
We started on again down the Boulevard. A horse-cab passed us. Bill looked at it.
âSee that horse-cab? Going to have that horse-cab stuffed for you for Christmas. Going to give all my friends stuffed animals. Iâm a nature-writer.â
A taxi passed, some one in it waved, then banged for the driver to stop. The taxi backed up to the curb. In it was Brett.
âBeautiful lady,â said Bill. âGoing to kidnap us.â
âHullo!â Brett said. âHullo!â
âThis is Bill Gorton. Lady Ashley.â
Brett smiled at Bill. âI say Iâm just back. Havenât bathed even. Michael comes in to-night.â
âGood. Come on and eat with us, and weâll all go to meet him.â
âMust clean myself.â
âOh, rot! Come on.â
âMust bathe. He doesnât get in till nine.â
âCome and have a drink, then, before you bathe.â
âMight do that. Now youâre not talking rot.â
We got in the taxi. The driver looked around.
âStop at the nearest bistro,â I said.
âWe might as well go to the Closerie,â Brett said. âI canât drink these rotten brandies.â
âCloserie des Lilas.â
Brett turned to Bill.
âHave you been in this pestilential city long?â
âJust got in to-day from Budapest.â
âHow was Budapest?â
âWonderful. Budapest was wonderful.â
âAsk him about Vienna.â
âVienna,â said Bill, âis a strange city.â
âVery much like Paris,â Brett smiled at him, wrinkling the corners of her eyes.
âExactly,â Bill said. âVery much like Paris at this moment.â
âYou have a good start.â
Sitting out on the terrace of the Lilas Brett ordered a whiskey and soda, I took one, too, and Bill took another pernod.
âHow are you, Jake?â
âGreat,â I said. âIâve had a good time.â
Brett looked at me. âI was a fool to go away,â she said. âOneâs an ass to leave Paris.â
âDid you have a good time?â
âOh, all right. Interesting. Not frightfully amusing.â
âSee anybody?â
âNo, hardly anybody. I never went out.â
âDidnât you swim?â
âNo. Didnât do a thing.â
âSounds like Vienna,â Bill said.
Brett wrinkled up the corners of her eyes at him.
âSo thatâs the way it was in Vienna.â
âIt was like everything in Vienna.â
Brett smiled at him again.
âYouâve a nice friend, Jake.â
âHeâs all right,â I said. âHeâs a taxidermist.â
âThat was in another country,â Bill said. âAnd besides all the animals were dead.â
âOne more,â Brett said, âand I must run. Do send the waiter for a taxi.â
âThereâs a line of them. Right out in front.â
âGood.â
We had the drink and put Brett into her taxi.
âMind youâre at the Select around ten. Make him come. Michael will be there.â
âWeâll be there,â Bill said. The taxi started and Brett waved.
âQuite a girl,â Bill said. âSheâs damned nice. Whoâs Michael?â
âThe man sheâs going to marry.â
âWell, well,â Bill said. âThatâs always just the stage I meet anybody. Whatâll I send them? Think theyâd like a couple of stuffed race-horses?â
âWe better eat.â
âIs she really Lady something or other?â Bill asked in the taxi on our way down to the Ile Saint Louis.
âOh, yes. In the stud-book and everything.â
âWell, well.â
We ate dinner at Madame Lecomteâs restaurant on the far side of the island. It was crowded with Americans and we had to stand up and wait for a place. Some one had put it in the American Womenâs Club list as a quaint restaurant on the Paris quais as yet untouched by Americans, so we had to wait forty-five minutes for a tabl...