"That's my reply," said I. "Yours is:
"My girl's a corker,
She's a New Yorker----"
"What piffle you talk, you poor prune," said this typical Norwegian.
So we filled our glasses to our respective countries, and another round
to that jolly flag which bears more stars and stripes than the Chilean
ensign.
It being my turn to investigate the cellar I went. Down there in one of
the alleys between bins and casks I saw Thusis moving with a lighted
candle--a startling and charming apparition.
What she might be doing down there I could not guess, and she was so
disturbingly pretty that I didn't think it best to go over and inquire.
Maybe she was counting the bottles of Moselle to keep reproachful tabs
on us; maybe she was after vinegar. No; I realized then for the first
time that the girl was far too pretty for any man to encounter her by
candle-light with impunity.
She did not see me--wouldn't have noticed me at all in the dim light had
not my bunch of bottles clinked--both hands being loaded, and a couple
of extra ones under each arm.
The sound startled her apparently; she turned quite white in the
candle-light and stood rigid, listening, one hand pressing her breast.
"It is I, Thusis," I said. "Did I frighten you?"
She denied it rather faintly. She was distractingly pretty in her
breathless attitude of a scared child.
I ought to have said something cheerful and matter of fact, and gone out
of the cellar with my cargo of bottles. Instead I went over to her and
looked at her--a silly, dangerous proceeding. "Thusis," I said, "I would
not frighten you for one million dollars!"
Realizing suddenly the magnitude of the sum I mentioned I pulled myself
together, conscious that I could easily make an ass of myself.
So, resolutely expelling from voice and manner any trace of sex
consciousness, I said in the spirit of our best American novelists:
"Permit me, Thusis, to recommend a small glass of this very excellent
Moselle. Sipped judiciously and in moderation the tonic qualities are
considered valuable as a nourishment to the tissues and nerves."
"Thank you," she said, slightly bewildered.
So I knocked off the neck of the bottle in medieval fashion--which
wasted its contents because she was afraid of swallowing glass, and said
so decidedly. I then noticed a row of corkscrews hanging on a beam, and
she, at the same moment, discovered a tasting porringer of antique
silver under one of the casks.
She picked it up naively and polished it with a corner of her apron.
Then she looked inquiringly at me.
So I drew the cork and filled her porringer.
"It is delicious Moselle," she said. "Is it Chateau Varenn?"
"It is. How did you guess?"
"I once tasted some."
"Another of your accomplishments," said I, laughing. She laughed too,
but blushed a little at her expert knowledge of Moselle.
"I have rather a keen sense of taste and a good memory," she explained
lightly; and she sipped her Moselle looking at me over the rim of the
silver porringer--a perilous proceeding for me.
"Thusis," said I.
"Yes, Monsieur O'Ryan."
"Did you ever, by chance, see that photograph they sell all over Europe
called 'The Laughing Girl'?"
Her dark-fringed eyes regarded me steadily over the cup's silver edge:
"Yes," she said, "I've seen it."
"Do you think that b-b-beautiful c-creature resembles you?"
"Do you?" she inquired coolly, and lowered the cup. There ensued a
little silence during which I became vaguely aware of my danger. I kept
repeating to myself: "Try to recollect that your grandfather was an
Admiral."
After a moment she smiled: "Thank you for the tonic, Monsieur. I feel
better; but I am afraid it was a presumption for me to drink in your
presence.... And no cup to offer you."
"I'll use yours," said I, taking it. She was still smiling. I began to
feel that I ought to pull myself together and invoke the Admiral more
earnestly. But when I remembered him he bored me. And yet, could it be
possible that an O'Ryan was drinking Moselle in his own cellar with his
cook? In no extravagance of nightmare had I ever evoked such a
cataclysmic scene. I have dreamed awful dreams in the course of my
life:--such grotesqueries as, for example, finding myself on Fifth
Avenue clothed only in a too brief undershirt. I have dreamed that I
was wedded to a large Ethiopian who persisted in embracing me
passionately in public. Other horrors I have dreamed after dining
incautiously, but never, never, had I dreamed of reveling in cellars
with my own cook!
A slight perspiration bedewed my brow;--I said in a strained and tenor
voice not my own, but over-modulated and quite sexless: "Thusis, I am
gratified that the slight medicinal tonic of which you have partaken in
moderation has restored you to your normal condition of mental and
bodily vigor. I trust that the natural alarm you experienced at
encountering me in the dark, has now sufficiently subsided to enable you
to return to your culinary duties. Allow me to suggest an omelette for
luncheon.... I thank you."
The girl's bewildered eyes rested on me so sweetly, so inquiringly, that
I knew I must pull myself together at once or never. But when I evoked
the image of that damned Admiral he was grinning.
"Thusis," I said hoarsely, "you do look like that girl in my photograph.
I--I can't help it--b-but you do!"
At that her perplexed expression altered swiftly and that bewitching
smile flashed in her gray eyes.
"Good heavens," I exclaimed, "you look more like her than ever when you
smile! Don't you know you do?"
Instantly the hidden laughter lurking in the curled corners of her mouth
rippled prettily into music.
"Oh, Lord," I said, "you _are_ 'The Laughing Girl' or her twin sister!"
"And you," she laughed, "are so much funnier than you realize,--so
delightfully young to be so in earnest! You consider the world a very,
very serious place of residence,--don't you, Mr. O'Ryan? And life a
most sober affair. And I am afraid that you also consider yourself
quite the most ponderous proposition upon this tottering old planet.
Don't you?"
Horrified at her levity I tried to grasp the amazing fact that my cook
was poking fun at me. I could not compass the idea. All I seemed to
realize was that I stood in my cellar confronting a slender laughing
stranger by candle-light--an amazingly pretty girl who threatened most
utterly to bewitch me.
"I'm sorry!--are you offended?" she asked, still laughing, and her
dark-fringed eyes very brilliant with mischief.--"Are you very angry at
me, Mr. O'Ryan?"
"Why do you think so?" I asked, wincing at her mirth.
"Because I suppose I know what you are thinking."
"What am I thinking?"
"You're very, very angry with me and with yourself. You are saying to
yourself in pained amazement that you have no business in a cellar
exchanging persiflage with a presumptuous servant! You are chagrined,
mortified! You are astonished at yourself--astounded that the solemn,
dignified, distinguished Cabalero Don Michael O'Ryan y Santiago de Chile
y Manhattanos----"
I turned red with surprise and wrath--and then slightly dizzy with the
delicious effrontery of her beauty which daring had suddenly made
dazzling in the candle-light.
For a minute my brain resembled a pin-wheel; then I pulled myself
together, but not with the aid of the Admiral. No! The Admiral made me
sick. In my sudden rush of exhilaration I derided him.
"Thusis," said I, when I recovered power of speech, "there's just one
thing to do with you, and that is to kiss you for your impudence."
"Your own _cook_! Oh, shocking! Oh, Senor! Oh Don Michael----"
--"And I'm going to do it!----" said I solemnly.
"Remember the seriousness of life!" she warned me, retreating a step or
two as I set all my bottles upon the ground. "Remember the life-long
degradation entailed by such an undignified proceeding, Don Michael."
That was too much. She saw trouble coming, turned to escape what she
had unloosed: and I caught her near the cellar stairs.
Then, under the lifted candle, I saw her face pale a little, change,
then a flush stain the white skin to her throat.
"Don't do that," she said, still smiling, but in a quiet and very
different voice. "I invited it by my silly attitude;--I know it
perfectly well. But you won't do it--will you, Mr. O'Ryan?"
"You deserve it, Thusis."
"I know I do. But don't."
My arms slipped from her. I released her. She was still smiling
faintly.
"Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry I offered you provocation. I don't
know why you seem to tempt me to--to laugh at you a little--not
unkindly. But you _are_ so very young to be so solemn----"
"I tell you I _will_ kiss you if you repeat that remark again!"
It was on the tip of her tongue to retort that I dared not: I saw
defiance in her brilliant eyes. Something in mine, perhaps, made her
prudent; for she suddenly slipped past me and fled up the stairs.
Half way up she turned and looked back. There was an odd silence for a
full minute. Then she lifted the candle in mocking salute:
"I defy you," she said, "to tell Mr. Smith what you've been about down
here in the cellar with your cook!" I said nothing. She mounted the
stairs, her head turned toward me, watching me. And, on the top step:
"Try always to remember," she called back softly, "that the world is a
very, very solemn and serious planet for a ponderous young man to live
in!"
I don't remember how long after that it was before I picked up my
bottles and went out to the fountain where Smith sat awaiting me. I
don't know what he saw in my face to arouse his suspicion.
"You've been in the kitchen again!" he exclaimed.