Part 130 (2/2)
Sitting in his own room a little perplexed by the noise across the landing, d.i.c.k suddenly began to laugh to himself.
”When one comes to think of it the situation is intensely comic.
Maisie's quite right--poor little thing. I didn't know she could cry like that before; but now I know what Torp thinks, I'm sure he'd be quite fool enough to stay at home and try to console me--if he knew.
Besides, it isn't nice to own that you've been thrown over like a broken chair. I must carry this business through alone--as usual. If there isn't a war, and Torp finds out, I shall look foolish, that's all. If there is a way I mustn't interfere with another man's chances. Business is business, and I want to be alone--I want to be alone. What a row they're making!”
Somebody hammered at the studio door.
”Come out and frolic, d.i.c.kie,” said the Nilghai.
”I should like to, but I can't. I'm not feeling frolicsome.”
”Then, I'll tell the boys and they'll drag you like a badger.”
”Please not, old man. On my word, I'd sooner be left alone just now.”
”Very good. Can we send anything in to you? Fizz, for instance.
Ca.s.savetti is beginning to sing songs of the Sunny South already.”
For one minute d.i.c.k considered the proposition seriously.
”No, thanks, I've a headache already.”
”Virtuous child. That's the effect of emotion on the young. All my congratulations, d.i.c.k. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your welfare.”
”Go to the devil--oh, send Binkie in here.”
The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been made much of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; but scarcely inside the studio he realised that this was no place for tail-wagging, and settled himself on d.i.c.k's lap till it was bedtime.
Then he went to bed with d.i.c.k, who counted every hour as it struck, and rose in the morning with a painfully clear head to receive Torpenhow's more formal congratulations and a particular account of the last night's revels.
”You aren't looking very happy for a newly accepted man,” said Torpenhow.
”Never mind that--it's my own affair, and I'm all right. Do you really go?”
”Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted on better terms than before.”
”When do you start?”
”The day after tomorrow--for Brindisi.”
”Thank G.o.d.” d.i.c.k spoke from the bottom of his heart.
”Well, that's not a pretty way of saying you're glad to get rid of me.
But men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.”
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