Jerry Junior. Джин Уэбстер

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      The young man in the summer house had meanwhile dropped his cigarette upon the floor and noiselessly stepped on it. He had also—with the utmost caution lest the chair creak—shifted his position so that he might command the profile of the girl. The entrance to the summer house was fortunately on the other side, and in all likelihood they would not have occasion to look within. It was eavesdropping of course, but he had already been convicted of that yesterday, and in any case it was not such very bad eavesdropping. The court-yard of the Hotel du Lac was public property; he had been there first, he was there by rights as a guest of the house; if anything, they were the interlopers. Besides, nobody talked secrets with a head waiter. His own long conversations with Gustavo were as open and innocent as the day; the signorina was perfectly welcome to listen to them as much as she chose.

      She was sitting with her chin in her   hand, eyeing the flying coat-tails of Gustavo, a touch of amusement in her face. Her father was eyeing her severely.

      “Constance, it is disgraceful!”

      She laughed. Apparently she already knew or divined what it was that was disgraceful, but the accusation did not appear to bother her much. Mr. Wilder proceeded grumblingly.

      “It’s bad enough with those five deluded officers, but they walked into the trap with their eyes open and it’s their own affair. But look at Gustavo; he can scarcely carry a dish without breaking it when you are watching him. And Giuseppe—that confounded Farfalla with its yellow sails floats back and forth in front of the terrace till I am on the point of having it scuttled as a public nuisance; and those three washer-women and the post-office clerk and the boy who brings milk, and Luigi and—every man, woman and child in the village of Valedolmo!”

      “And my own dad as well?”

      Mr. Wilder shook his head.

      “I came here at your instigation for rest and relaxation—to get rid of nervous worries, and here I find a big new worry waiting for me that I’d never thought of having before. What if my only daughter should take it in her head to marry one of these infernally good-looking Italian officers?”

      Constance reached over and patted his arm.

      “Don’t let it bother you, Dad; I assure you I won’t do anything of the sort. I should think it my duty to learn the subjunctive mood, and that is impossible.”

      Gustavo came hurrying back with a tray. He arranged the glasses, the ice, the sugar, the cakes, with loving, elaborate obsequiousness. The signorina examined the ice doubtfully, then with approval.

      “It’s exactly right to-day, Gustavo! You got it too large the last time, you remember.”

      She stirred in some sugar and tasted it tentatively, her head on one side. Gustavo hung upon her expression in an agony   of apprehension; one would have thought it a matter for public mourning if the lemonade were not mixed exactly right. But apparently it was right—she nodded and smiled—and Gustavo’s expression assumed relief. Constance broke open a pine nut cake and settled herself for conversation.

      “Haven’t you any guests, Gustavo?” Her eyes glanced over the empty court-yard. “I am afraid the hotel is not having a very prosperous season.”

      “Grazie, signorina. Zer never are many in summer; it is ze dead time, but still zay come and zay go. Seven arrive last night.”

      “Seven! That’s nice. What are they like?”

      “German mountain-climbers wif nails in zer shoes. Zey have gone to Riva on ze first boat.”

      “That’s too bad—then the hotel is empty?”

      “But no! Zer is an Italian Signora wif two babies and a governess, and two   English ladies and an American gentleman—”

      “An American gentleman?” Her tone was languidly interested. “How long has he been here?”

      “Tree—four day.”

      “Indeed—what is he like?”

      “Nice—ver’ nice.” (Gustavo might well say that; his pockets were lined with the American gentleman’s silver lire.) “He talk to me always. ‘Gustavo,’ he say, ‘I am all alone; I wish to be ’mused. Come and talk Angleesh.’ Yes, it is true; I have no time to finish my work; I spend whole day talking wif dis yong American gentleman. He is just a little—” He touched his head significantly.

      “Really?” She raised her eyes with an air of awakened interest. “And how did he happen to come to Valedolmo?”

      “He come to meet his family, his sister and his—his aunt, who are going wif him to ze Tyrollo. But zay have not arrive. Zey are in Lucerne, he says, where zer is a lion dying, and zey wish to wait until he is   dead; zen zey come.—Yes, it is true; he tell me zat.” Gustavo tapped his head a second time.

      The signorina glanced about apprehensively.

      “Is he safe, Gustavo—to be about?”

      “Si, signorina, sicuramente! He is just a little simple.”

      Mr. Wilder chuckled.

      “Where is he, Gustavo? I think I’d like to make that young man’s acquaintance.”

      “I sink, signore, he is packing his trunk. He go away today.”

      “Today, Gustavo?” There was audible regret in Constance’s tone. “Why is he going?”

      “It is not possible for him to stand it, signorina. Valedolmo too dam slow.”

      “Gustavo! You mustn’t say that; it is very, very bad. Nice men don’t say it.”

      Gustavo held his ground.

      “Si, signorina, zat yong American gentleman say it—dam slow, no divertimento.”

      “He’s just about right, Gustavo,” Mr. Wilder broke in. “The next time a young American gentleman blunders into the Hotel du Lac you send him around to me.”

      “Si, signore.”

      Gustavo rolled his eyes toward the signorina; she continued to sip her lemonade.

      “I have told him yesterday an American family live at Villa Rosa; he say ‘All right, I go call,’ but—but I sink maybe you were not at home.”

      “Oh!” The signorina raised her head in apparent enlightenment. “So that was the young man? Yes, to be sure, he came, but he said he was looking for Prince Sartorio’s villa. I am sorry you were away, Father, you would have enjoyed him; his English was excellent.—Did he tell you he saw me, Gustavo?”

      “Si, signorina, he tell me.”

      “What did he say? Did he think I was nice?”

      Gustavo looked embarrassed.

      “I—I no remember, signorina.”

      She laughed and to his relief changed the subject.

      “Those English ladies who are staying СКАЧАТЬ