"I hope you smoke," he said; "that is, if Carmencita does not object."
"Oh, I don't object. Smoke!" Carmencita's hand was waved. "After I
wash the dishes I'll write the note, then I'll go down and get Noodles
to take it. I'll ask Mr. Robinsky to bring the harp up, Father. He
brought it home for us; he's a flute-er." The explanation was made to
Van Landing. "He always brings it home when Father and I are going
somewhere else. Smoke, please. I love to smell smoke smell."
With a splash the remaining water in the tea-kettle was poured in the
dish-pan, and for a few moments the clatter of knives and forks and
spoons prevented talk. Over the blind man's face crept the content
that comes from a good cigar, and in silence he and his guest smoked
while Carmencita did her work. Not long was there silence, however,
for very shortly the child was on a stool at Van Landing's feet, in
her hands a pad of paper, and on her knee a backless magazine.
For half a minute she looked in Van Landing's face. "Isn't it nice and
funny--your being here? I like you." Her voice was joyous. "If I tell
you something, you won't tell?" She leaned forward, hands on his
knees.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67