Part 19 (1/2)
Doc Curfoot, whose business included the ability to talk convincingly on any topic, took the Reverend Mr. Carew's measure and chose literature; and his suave critique presently became an interesting monologue listened to in silence by those around him.
Brandes had said, ”Put me in right, Doc,” and Doc was accomplis.h.i.+ng it, partly to oblige Brandes, partly for practice. His agreeable voice so nicely pitched, so delightfully persuasive, recapitulating all the commonplaces and cant phrases concerning the literature of the day, penetrated gratefully the intellectual isolation of these humble gentlepeople, and won very easily their innocent esteem. With the Reverend Mr. Carew Doc discussed such topics as the influence on fiction of the ethical ideal. With Mrs. Carew Captain Quint exchanged reminiscences of travel on distant seas. Brandes attempted to maintain low-voiced conversation with Rue, who responded in diffident monosyllables to his advances.
Brandes walked down to their car with them after they had taken their leave.
”What's the idea, Eddie?” inquired Doc Curfoot, pausing before the smart little speeder.
”It's straight.”
”Oh,” said Doc, softly, betraying no surprise--about the only thing he never betrayed. ”Anything in it for you, Eddie?”
”Yes. A good girl. The kind you read about. Isn't that enough?”
”Minna chucked you?” inquired Captain Quint.
”She'll get her decree in two or three months. Then I'll have a home.
And everything that you and I are keeps out of that home, Cap. See?”
”Certainly,” said Quint. ”Quite right, Eddie.”
Doc Curfoot climbed in and took the wheel; Quint followed him.
”Say,” he said in his pleasant, guarded voice, ”watch out that Minna don't double-cross you, Eddie.”
”How?”
”--Or shoot you up. She's some _schutzen-fest_, you know, when she turns loose----”
”Ah, I tell you she _wants_ the divorce. Abe Grittlefeld's crazy about her. He'll get Abe Gordon to star her on Broadway; and that's enough for her. Besides, she'll marry Maxy Venem when she can afford to keep him.”
”_You_ never understood Minna Minti.”
”Well, who ever understood any German?” demanded Brandes. ”She's one of those sour-blooded, silent Dutch women that make me ache.”
Doc pushed the self-starter; there came a click, a low humming.
Brandes' face cleared and he held out his square-shaped hand:
”You fellows,” he said, ”have put me right with the old folks here.
I'll do the same for you some day. Don't talk about this little girl and me, that's all.”
”All the same,” repeated Doc, ”don't take any chances with Minna.
She's on to you, and she's got a rotten Dutch disposition.”
”That's right, Doc. And say, Harman,”--to Quint--”tell Ben he's doing fine. Tell him to send me what's mine, because I'll want it very soon now. I'm going to take a month off and then I'm going to show Stein how a theatre can be run.”
”Eddie,” said Quint, ”it's a good thing to think big, but it's a d.a.m.n poor thing to talk big. Cut out the talk and you'll be a big man some day.”
The graceful car moved forward into the moonlight; his two friends waved an airy adieu; and Brandes went slowly back to the dark verandah where sat a young girl, pitifully immature in mind and body--and two old people little less innocent for all their experience in the ranks of Christ, for all the wounds that scarred them both in the over-sea service which had broken them forever.