Part 24 (1/2)
But at Madigan's snort of disgust, the Indian profile of Split, below its bushy crown of red, shone out malevolently. She did not know what Sissy had done; she knew only that she had done something.
Sissy met her glance, and returned it with dignity. ”I didn't mean that, father, you know,” she said priggishly. ”I meant, of course, in what part of Carthage was Rome.”
”Oh, you did!” Madigan's smile was not pleasant.
”Ye-es,” said Sissy, uncertainly.
”Well,” said Madigan, explosively, ”Rome was in the same part of Carthage as Carthage was of Rome.”
His jaw was set now, and his glowing dark eyes beneath their white s.h.a.ggy brows as he sought his place in the book were not encouraging.
But the enigmatic character of his response was not enough for Sissy, dazed, yet greedy for glory. She glanced from Split, in whose ear Kate was whispering something that seemed vastly to delight her, to her father, who had begun to read again.
”I don't remember, father, please,” she said as he paused a moment to clear his throat. ”What part was that?”
A sputtering giggle broke from Split. It was unlucky, for it turned Madigan's wrath upon her.
”Outside!” he commanded, pointing to the door. ”Outside, you ox!...”
”'Six days pa.s.sed thus,'” the reading began again. (In almost the moment the door had closed behind her, Split could be heard flying down the outside steps two at a time. That he was sorely tried, Madigan's voice showed plainly, and his shrunken audience looked apprehensively at one another). ”'Six days pa.s.sed thus and only the citadel was left. It was a steep rock in the middle of the town; a temple of the G.o.d of healing crowned the summit.' The G.o.d of healing, Cecilia,” he put in, with a contempt that mantled the perfectionist's check with a resentful red, ”means that particular deity--”
A soft little snore came from Miss Madigan. Her head had fallen to one side, and the lamp-light shone on her soft, pretty, high-colored face, placid in its repose as a baby's.
In the moment that Madigan paused and looked at her, Sissy's hand sought Kate's in terror. But the reader controlled himself with an effort, remembering possibly that, after all, it was not his sister but his daughters he was educating.
”'The rock was covered with people,'” he went on, skipping the explanation he had intended giving to Sissy. And he read on for some minutes without interruption, becoming more and more interested himself in the vivid picture as it unrolled, and half declaiming it in his enthusiasm, with a verve that accounted for Sissy's successful rendition of ”The Polish Boy” at school entertainments. ”'The trumpets sounded,'”
he sang out. ”'The soldiers, clas.h.i.+ng their bucklers with their swords and uttering the war-cry _Alala! Alala!_ advanced in--'”
”Mercy me!” exclaimed Miss Madigan, waked by his realistic shout, and blinking her bright little eyes to accustom them to the light.
”Anne,” said Madigan, tensely, ”if you are not interested, you--are not obliged to listen, of course. But it would be more--civil to withdraw if--”
”Not interested?” she repeated, with gentle surprise, as she took up her crocheting again. ”Why, it's very interesting--most interesting; don't you find it so, Kate?”
”'A man dressed in purple rushed out of the temple with an olive-branch in his hand,'” Madigan began again, all the ardor gone from his voice.
”'This was Hasdrubal, the commander-in-chief, and the Robespierre of the Reign of Terror. His--'”
”Missy Kate--want chocolate--picnic--” Wong stood open-mouthed in the doorway. Consciousness of having interrupted the master, as well as amazement at beholding him out of his own room after dinner, was too much for him.
”What do you want, Wong?” demanded Madigan, harshly.
”Notting--oh, notting,” murmured Wong, deprecatingly. ”One picnic, sabe, t'-malla morning.”
”Irene--I mean Cecilia--Thousand devils!--Kate,” stormed Madigan, in his rage forgetting his daughter's precise appellation, ”go out into the kitchen and give your orders. If you had the least grain of common sense you'd know that the first duty of a housekeeper is to have some system about her work; to do things at the right time and not to interrupt the evening's entertainment.” He gulped a bit at this, though Kate's dropped lids quickly hid the ironical gleam in her eye. ”Well, why don't you go--and stay? You might as well, or you'll forget something else and interrupt us again.”
A desire to make herself look very numerous, intelligent, and appreciative possessed Sissy as the door closed on her big sister. She was in the familiar frame of mind in which she disapproved of her sisters, yet she was terrified lest, if she gave him time, her father might draw the same inference that she had.
”Perhaps you'll let me read aloud for a while, father. Mr. Garvan often has me read things to the cla.s.s,” she suggested quickly, when she saw he was about to close the book.