Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 5
AstheypassedthroughalaneofthetablesStephensaid:
—Cranly,Iwanttospeaktoyou.
Cranlydidnotanswerorturn.Helaidhisbookonthecounterandpassedout,hiswell-shodfeetsoundingflatlyonthefloor.OnthestaircasehepausedandgazingabsentlyatDixonrepeated:
—Pawntoking’sbloodyfourth.
—Putitthatwayifyoulike,Dixonsaid.
Hehadaquiettonelessvoiceandurbanemannersandonafingerofhisplumpcleanhandhedisplayedatmomentsasignetring.
Astheycrossedthehallamanofdwarfishstaturecametowardsthem.Underthedomeofhistinyhathisunshavenfacebegantosmilewithpleasureandhewasheardtomurmur.Theeyesweremelancholyasthoseofamonkey.
—Goodevening,gentlemen,saidthestubble-grownmonkeyishface.
—WarmweatherforMarch,saidCranly.Theyhavethewindowsopenupstairs.
Dixonsmiledandturnedhisring.Theblackish,monkey-puckeredfacepurseditshumanmouthwithgentlepleasureanditsvoicepurred:
—DelightfulweatherforMarch.Simplydelightful.
—Therearetwoniceyoungladiesupstairs,captain,tiredofwaiting,Dixonsaid.
Cranlysmiledandsaidkindly:
—Thecaptainhasonlyonelove:sirWalterScott.Isn’tthatso,captain?
—Whatareyoureadingnow,captain?Dixonasked.
