Белая птичка
Her Marriage, Her Clothes, Her Appetite, and an Inventory of Her Furniture
Thetimewasnineo’clockofaNovemberevening,andwewereinastreetofshopsthathasnotintwentyyearsdecidedwhethertobegenteelorfranklyvulgar;hereitmincesinthefashion,buttakeasteponwardanditstongueisinthecupoftheice-creamman.Iusuallyrushthisstreet,whichisnotfarfrommyrooms,withtheglassdown,butto-nightIwaswalking.Marywasinfrontofme,leaninginasomewhatfoolishwayonthehaw-er,andtheywerechattingexcitedly.Sheseemedtoberemonstratingwithhimforgoingforward,yetmorethanhalfadmiringhimfornotturningback,andIwonderedwhy.
AndafterallwhatwasitthatMaryandherpainterhadcomeouttodo?Tobuytwoporkchops.Onmyhonour.Shehadbeentryingtopersuadehim,Idecided,thattheywerelivingtoolavishly.Thatwaswhyshesoughttodrawhimback.Butinherheartshelovesaudacity,andthatiswhysheadmiredhimforpressingforward.
Nosoonerhadtheyboughtthechopsthantheyscurriedawayliketwogleefulchildrentocookthem.Ifollowed,hopingtotracethemtotheirhome,buttheysoonout-distancedme,andthatnightIcomposedthefollowingaphorism:Itisidletoattempttoovertakeaprettyyoungwomancarryingporkchops.Iwasnowdeterminedtobedonewithher.First,however,tofindouttheirabode,whichwasprobablywithineasydistanceoftheshop.Ievenconceivedthemluredintotakingtheirhousebytheadvertisement,“ConvenientlysituatedforthePorkEmporium.”
Well,oneday—nowthisreallyisromanticandIamratherproudofit.
