Part 21 (1/2)
The street was narrow and squalid and the houses were dilapidated--even for a native quarter; pa.s.sers-by had a slinking stealthy gait, and cast glances of surprise and suspicion at the young lady who lingered outside the premises of Ah Shee.
One evening, as she waited thus, in the warm, damp dusk, FitzGerald in uniform clattered by; he caught sight of Sophy out of what is called ”the tail of the eye,” and pulled up so suddenly as to throw his horse upon its haunches.
”Miss Leigh!” he exclaimed. ”Yes, it is! May I ask why you find yourself among the Seven Dials, or devils, of Rangoon?”
”Oh, Aunt Flora comes to Ah Shee's shop hunting for ivories; she is collecting netsukes.”
”Netsukes!” he repeated; ”netsukes _here_!”
”Oh yes, and such good ones--the best in Burma; but it's a horrible place, and as to the odours!” and she made a gesture expressive of disgust.
”Yes, by Jove, the Chinese beat all the world in stinks; but I say, Miss Leigh, try to persuade your aunt to hunt elsewhere for ivories--this part of the world is unhealthy.”
”I'm not surprised at that.”
”Be advised by me and make _this_ your last visit to this c.h.i.n.ky shop.
Well, I must be shoving on,” and he trotted away.
A moment later Mrs. Krauss emerged and, by the quivering eye of an electric lamp, Sophy noticed that she looked strangely animated--indeed almost radiant. No doubt she had secured some wonderful prize.
”Who were you talking to, my dear?” she asked.
”Mr. FitzGerald; he was so surprised to see me and says we ought not to come here--the place is unhealthy and, indeed, Aunt Flora, I wonder you can stand the reek of Ah Shee's den for so long without feeling horribly sick.”
”Oh, Mr. FitzGerald--the police-officer? Yes, he is right; it is a low neighbourhood and the air is poisonous, but I've managed to get what I wanted,” and she held up a pocket handkerchief bulging with ivories.
”I won't have to come again for ages and ages.”
Meanwhile Ah Shee and son had shuffled off to summon the chauffeur, and the car now appeared round the corner of the street, looking like some crouching black monster, with round, fiery eyes. Attended by the two obsequious Chinamen, Mrs. Krauss and her niece entered the motor and were speedily borne away. For a considerable time the former did not open her lips, but lay back in her corner in an att.i.tude of contented la.s.situde.
They made their way homewards through the teeming bazaar and brilliantly illuminated Phayre Street, with its brave show of shops, offering a kaleidoscopic review of jewellery, glittering silver, cut gla.s.s and bra.s.s work, or ma.s.ses of rich, many-coloured stuffs and silks, each shop with a special circle of admirers.
It was the hour when offices disgorge their employes, when idlers come to lounge and stare, and between foot-pa.s.sengers, trams, taxis and carts, the thoroughfare was almost impa.s.sable. During a block Mrs.
Krauss suddenly roused from her condition of happy contemplation, and said, as she opened her handkerchief:
”My dear Sophy, I've got _such_ treasures--such finds; real, old netsukes, signed, and _so_ cheap! Do look at this delicious rabbit!”
holding out a beautiful model. ”Is it not too perfect, exquisitely carved, and smooth with age? And the tortoise with the little tiny one on its back--what a darling!” and she took it up and kissed it with rapture.
It puzzled Sophy to witness this extraordinary enthusiasm and then to recall the cold fact that, on her return to ”Heidelberg,” her aunt's interest in these ivories seemed to wane and disappear. Was there not a bowl of specimens in the drawing-room already consigned to oblivion and dust? Aunt Flora's character exhibited an amazing combination of fantastic caprice and invincible good nature.
CHAPTER XIX
CHAFF
It was Thursday, the Station holiday. A capital paper-chase had recently engaged the entire community; the pace had been unusually severe; the obstacles large and formidable--especially the notorious Log Jump--and casualties were not a few. Shafto and FitzGerald, on hot and heaving horses, had only halted for a moment at the hospitable ”Finish,” where refreshments were being served, as care for their precious steeds was taking them and their animals home. After an unusually long silence FitzGerald exclaimed, apropos of nothing in particular:
”So--sits the wind in that quarter?”
Shafto turned his head and met a pair of knowing Irish eyes.