Part 11 (2/2)

”I have my doubts about that. A man who will go that far isn't subject to any derangement of his nerves. Want me to bring up the checkers?”

”Sure. I've got two rubbers hanging over you.”

The artist took the path that led around the villa and thence down by many steps to the village by the waterside, to the cream-tinted cl.u.s.ter of shops and enormous hotels.

The Italian was more fortunate. He was staying at the villa. He rose and sauntered over to Harrigan, who was always a source of interest to him.

Study the man as he might, there always remained a profound mystery to his keen Italian mind. Every now and then nature--to prove that while she provided laws for humanity she obeyed none herself--nature produced the prodigy. Ancestry was nothing; habits, intelligence, physical appearance counted for naught. Harrigan was a fine specimen of the physical man, yes; but to be the father of a woman who was as beautiful as the legendary G.o.ddesses and who possessed a voice incomparable in the living history of music, here logic, the cold and accurate intruder, found an unlockable door. He liked the ex-prizefighter, so kindly and wholesome; but he also pitied him. Harrigan reminded him of a seal he had once seen in an aquarium tank: out of his element, but merry-eyed and swimming round and round as if determined to please everybody.

”It will be a fine night,” said the Italian, pausing at Harrigan's bench.

”Every night is fine here, Barone,” replied Harrigan. ”Why, they had me up in Marienbad a few weeks ago, and I'm not over it yet. It's no place for a sick man; only a well man could come out of it alive.”

The Barone laughed. Harrigan had told this tale half a dozen times, but each time the Barone felt called on to laugh. The man was her father.

”Do you know, Mr. Harrigan, Miss Harrigan is not herself? She is--what do you call?--bitter. She laughs, but--ah, I do not know!--it sounds not real.”

”Well, she isn't over that rumpus in Paris yet.”

”Rumpus?”

”The abduction.”

”Ah, yes! Rumpus is another word for abduction? Yes, yes, I see.”

”No, no! Rumpus is just a mix-up, a row, anything that makes a noise, calls in the police. You can make a rumpus on the piano, over a game of cards, anything.”

The Barone spread his hands. ”I comprehend,” hurriedly. He comprehended nothing, but he was too proud to admit it.

”So Nora is not herself; a case of nerves. And to think that you called there at the apartment the very day!”

”Ah, if I had been there the right time!”

”But what puts me down for the count is the action of the fellow. Never showed up; just made her miss two performances.”

”He was afraid. Men who do cowardly things are always afraid.” The Barone spoke with decided accent, but he seldom made a grammatical error. ”But sometimes, too, men grow mad at once, and they do things in their madness.

Ah, she is so beautiful! She is a nightingale.” The Italian looked down on Como whose broad expanse was crisscrossed by rippled paths made by arriving and departing steamers. ”It is not a wonder that some man might want to run away with her.”

Harrigan looked curiously at the other. ”Well, it won't be healthy for any man to try it again.” The father held out his powerful hands for the Barone's inspection. They called mutely but expressively for the throat of the man who dared. ”It'll never happen again. Her mother and I are not going away from her any more. When she sings in Berlin, I'm going to trail along; when she hits the high note in Paris, I'm lingering near; when she trills in London, I'm hiding in the shadow. And you may put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

”I smoke only cigarettes,” replied the Barone gravely. It had been difficult to follow, this English.

Harrigan said nothing in return. He had given up trying to explain to the Italian the idiomatic style of old Broadway. He got up and brushed his flannels perfunctorily. ”Well, I suppose I've got to dress for supper,”

resentfully. He still called it supper; and, as in the matter of the silk hat, his wife no longer strove to correct him. The evening meal had always been supper, and so it would remain until that time when he would cease to look forward to it.

”Do you go to the dancing at Cadenabbia to-night?”

”Me? I should say not!” Harrigan laughed. ”I'd look like a bull in a china-shop. Abbott is coming up to play checkers with me. I'll leave the honors to you.”

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