Біла пташка
The Inconsiderate Waiter
”
“Thenyousawherandwentoutand—”
“Howdareyou,William?”
“Oh,sir,todothatforme!MayGodbl—”
“William.”
Hewasreinstatedinthedining-room,butoftenwhenIlookedathimIseemedtoseeadyingwifeinhisface,andsotherelationsbetweenuswerestillstrained.ButIwatchedthegirl,andherpantomimewassoilluminatingthatIknewthesuffererhadagaincleanedtheplatteronTuesday,hadattemptedaboiledeggonWednesday(youshouldhaveseenIrenechippingitinPallMall,andputtinginthesalt),butwasinawofulstateofrelapseonThursday.
“Isyourmotherveryillto-day,MissIrene?”Iasked,assoonasIhaddrawnheroutofrangeoftheclub-windows.
“My!”sheexclaimedagain,andIsawanecstaticlookpassbetweenherandastillsmallergirlwithher,whomshereferredtoasaneighbour.
Iwaitedcoldly.William’swife,Iwasinformed,hadlookedlikenothingbutadeadonetillshegotthebrandy.
“Hush,child,”Isaid,shocked.“Youdon’tknowhowthedeadlook.”
“Blessyer!”shereplied.
Assistedbyherfriend,whowasevidentlyenormouslyimpressedbyIrene’sintimacywithme,shegavemeagooddealofmiscellaneousinformation,asthatWilliam’srealnamewasMr.Hicking,butthathewasknownintheirstreet,becauseofthenumberofhisshirts,asToffHicking.Thatthestreetheldheshouldgetawayfromtheclubbeforetwointhemorning,forhismissusneededhimmorethantheclubneededhim.
