Біла пташка
The Inconsiderate Waiter
IremainedlongerthanwasnecessarybecauseIhadsomethingtosaytoWilliamwhichIfearedhewouldmisunderstand,butwhenheannouncedthatitwastimeforhimtocatchatrainbacktoLondon,atwhichhiswifepaled,Ideliveredthemessage.
“William,”Isaid,backingawayfromhim,“thehead-waiteraskedmetosaythatyoucouldtakeafortnight’sholiday.Yourwageswillbepaidasusual.”
Confoundhim.
“William,”Icriedfuriously,“goaway.”
ThenIsawhiswifesigningtohim,andIknewshewantedtobeleftalonewithme.
“William,”Icriedinapanic,“staywhereyouare.”
Buthewasgone,andIwasalonewithawomanwhoseeyeswerefilmy.Herclassarefondofscenes.“Ifyouplease,ma’am!”Isaidimploringly.
Butshekissedmyhand;shewaslikealittledog.
“Itcanbeonlythememoryofsomewoman,”saidshe,“thatmakesyousokindtomeandmine.”
Memorywasthewordsheused,asifallmyyouthwerefled.IsupposeIreallyamquiteelderly.
“Ishouldliketoknowhername,sir,”shesaid,“thatImaymentionherwithlovingrespectinmyprayers.”
Iraisedthewomanandtoldherthename.ItwasnotMary.“Butshehasahome,”Isaid,“asyouhave,andIhavenone.Perhaps,ma’am,itwouldbebetterworthyourwhiletomentionme.”
Itwasthiswoman,nowinhealth,whomIintrustedwiththepurchaseoftheoutfits,“oneforaboyofsixmonths,”Iexplainedtoher,“andoneforaboyofayear,”forthepainterhadboastedtomeofDavid’srapidgrowth.
