Apart from her, he was a somewhat vulgar, entirely commonplace young
man, of saving habits, and with some aptitude for business, in a small
way. He had been well on his way to becoming a small but successful
shopkeeper, thereby realizing the only ideals which had yet presented
themselves to him, when Madame Violet had unconsciously intervened. Of
what might become of him now he had no clear conception of himself.
"I'll go!" he declared.
Mademoiselle Violet's eyes flashed behind her veil. Her fingers
touched his for a moment.
"It is a long way," she said.
"I don't care," he answered valiantly.
"To--America!"
"America!" he gasped. "But--is this a joke, Miss Violet?"
She shook her head.
"Of course not! America is not a great journey."
"But it will cost--"
She laughed softly.
"My mistress is very rich," she said. "The cost does not matter at
all. You will have all the money you can spend--and more."
He felt himself short of breath, and bereft of words.
"Gee whiz!" he murmured.
They sat there in silence for a few moments. A promenading couple put
their heads behind the screen, and withdrew with the sound of feminine
giggling. Outside, the piano was being thumped to the tune of a
popular polka.
"But what have I go to do?" he asked.
"To watch a man who will go out by the same steamer as you," she
answered. "Write to London, tell me what he does, how he spends his
time, whether he is ill or well.
Pages:
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109