[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"Do you ever have any fun?" she asked.
Head and Shoulders 100
The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories
"What do you mean by fun?"
"See here," said Marcia sternly, "I like you, Omar, but I wish you'd talk as if you had a line on what you were
saying. You sound as if you were gargling a lot of words in your mouth and lost a bet every time you spilled
a few. I asked you if you ever had any fun."
Horace shook his head.
"Later, perhaps," he answered. "You see I'm a plan. I'm an experiment. I don't say that I don't get tired of it
sometimes-- I do. Yet-- oh, I can't explain! But what you and Charlie Moon call fun wouldn't be fun to
me."
"Please explain."
Horace stared at her, started to speak and then, changing his mind, resumed his walk. After an unsuccessful
attempt to determine whether or not he was looking at her Marcia smiled at him.
"Please explain."
Horace turned.
"If I do, will you promise to tell Charlie Moon that I wasn't in?"
"Uh-uh."
"Very well, then. Here's my history: I was a 'why' child. I wanted to see the wheels go round. My father was a
young economics professor at Princeton. He brought me up on the system of answering every question I
asked him to the best of his ability. My response to that gave him the idea of making an experiment in
precocity. To aid in the massacre I had ear trouble-- seven operations between the ages of nine and twelve.
Of course this kept me apart from other boys and made me ripe for forcing. Anyway, while my generation
was laboring through Uncle Remus I was honestly enjoying Catullus in the original.
"I passed off my college examinations when I was thirteen because I couldn't help it. My chief associates
were professors, and I took a tremendous pride in knowing that I had a fine intelligence, for though I was
unusually gifted I was not abnormal in other ways. When I was sixteen I got tired of being a freak; I decided
that some one had made a bad mistake. Still as I'd gone that far I concluded to finish it up by taking my
degree of Master of Arts. My chief interest in life is the study of modern philosophy. I am a realist of the
School of Anton Laurier-- with Bergsonian trimmings-- and I'll be eighteen years old in two months. That's
all."
"Whew!" exclaimed Marcia. "That's enough! You do a neat job with the parts of speech."
"Satisfied?"
"No, you haven't kissed me."
"It's not in my programme," demurred Horace. "Understand that I don't pretend to be above physical things.
They have their place, but-- -- "
"Oh, don't be so darned reasonable!"
Head and Shoulders 101
The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories
"I can't help it."
"I hate these slot-machine people."
"I assure you I-- " began Horace.
"Oh, shut up!"
"My own rationality-- -- "
"I didn't say anything about your nationality. You're an Amuricun, ar'n't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's O.K. with me. I got a notion I want to see you do something that isn't in your highbrow
programme. I want to see if a what-ch-call-em with Brazilian trimmings-- that thing you said you were--
can be a little human."
Horace shook his head again.
"I won't kiss you."
"My life is blighted," muttered Marcia tragically. "I'm a beaten woman. I'll go through life without ever
having a kiss with Brazilian trimmings." She sighed. "Anyways, Omar, will you come and see my show?"
"What show?"
"I'm a wicked actress from 'Home James'!"
"Light opera?"
"Yes-- at a stretch. One of the characters is a Brazilian rice-planter. That might interest you."
"I saw 'The Bohemian Girl' once," reflected Horace aloud. "I enjoyed it-- to some extent."
"Then you'll come?"
"Well, I'm-- I'm-- -- "
"Oh, I know-- you've got to run down to Brazil for the week-end."
"Not at all. I'd be delighted to come."
Marcia clapped her hands.
"Goodyforyou! I'll mail you a ticket-- Thursday night?"
"Why, I-- -- "
"Good! Thursday night it is."
Head and Shoulders 102
The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories
She stood up and walking close to him laid both hands on his shoulders.
"I like you, Omar. I'm sorry I tried to kid you. I thought you'd be sort of frozen, but you're a nice boy."
He eyed her sardonically.
"I'm several thousand generations older than you are."
"You carry your age well."
They shook hands gravely.
"My name's Marcia Meadow," she said emphatically. "'Member it-- Marcia Meadow. And I won't tell
Charlie Moon you were in."
An instant later as she was skimming down the last flight of stairs three at a time she heard a voice call over
the upper banister: "Oh, say-- -- "
She stopped and looked up-- made out a vague form leaning over.
"Oh, say!" called the prodigy again. "Can you hear me?"
"Here's your connection, Omar."
"I hope I haven't given you the impression that I consider kissing intrinsically irrational."
"Impression? Why, you didn't even give me the kiss! Never fret-- so long."
Two doors near her opened curiously at the sound of a feminine voice. A tentative cough sounded from
above. Gathering her skirts, Marcia dived wildly down the last flight, and was swallowed up in the murky
Connecticut air outside.
Up-stairs Horace paced the floor of his study. From time to time he glanced toward Berkeley waiting there in
suave dark-red respectability, an open book lying suggestively on his cushions. And then he found that his
circuit of the floor was bringing him each time nearer to Hume. There was something about Hume that was
strangely and inexpressibly different. The diaphanous form still seemed hovering near, and had Horace sat
there he would have felt as if he were sitting on a lady's lap. And though Horace couldn't have named the
quality of difference, there was such a quality-- quite intangible to the speculative mind, but real,
nevertheless. Hume was radiating something that in all the two hundred years of his influence he had never
radiated before.
Hume was radiating attar of roses.
II
On Thursday night Horace Tarbox sat in an aisle seat in the fifth row and witnessed "Home James." Oddly
enough he found that he was enjoying himself. The cynical students near him were annoyed at his audible
appreciation of time-honored jokes in the Hammerstein tradition. But Horace was waiting with anxiety for
Marcia Meadow singing her song about a Jazz-bound Blundering Blimp. When she did appear, radiant under
a floppity flower-faced hat, a warm glow settled over him, and when the song was over he did not join in the
storm of applause. He felt somewhat numb.
Head and Shoulders 103
The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories
In the intermission after the second act an usher materialized beside him, demanded to know if he were Mr.
Tarbox, and then handed him a note written in a round adolescent hand. Horace read it in some confusion,
while the usher lingered with withering patience in the aisle. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl karpacz24.htw.pl
"Do you ever have any fun?" she asked.
Head and Shoulders 100
The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories
"What do you mean by fun?"
"See here," said Marcia sternly, "I like you, Omar, but I wish you'd talk as if you had a line on what you were
saying. You sound as if you were gargling a lot of words in your mouth and lost a bet every time you spilled
a few. I asked you if you ever had any fun."
Horace shook his head.
"Later, perhaps," he answered. "You see I'm a plan. I'm an experiment. I don't say that I don't get tired of it
sometimes-- I do. Yet-- oh, I can't explain! But what you and Charlie Moon call fun wouldn't be fun to
me."
"Please explain."
Horace stared at her, started to speak and then, changing his mind, resumed his walk. After an unsuccessful
attempt to determine whether or not he was looking at her Marcia smiled at him.
"Please explain."
Horace turned.
"If I do, will you promise to tell Charlie Moon that I wasn't in?"
"Uh-uh."
"Very well, then. Here's my history: I was a 'why' child. I wanted to see the wheels go round. My father was a
young economics professor at Princeton. He brought me up on the system of answering every question I
asked him to the best of his ability. My response to that gave him the idea of making an experiment in
precocity. To aid in the massacre I had ear trouble-- seven operations between the ages of nine and twelve.
Of course this kept me apart from other boys and made me ripe for forcing. Anyway, while my generation
was laboring through Uncle Remus I was honestly enjoying Catullus in the original.
"I passed off my college examinations when I was thirteen because I couldn't help it. My chief associates
were professors, and I took a tremendous pride in knowing that I had a fine intelligence, for though I was
unusually gifted I was not abnormal in other ways. When I was sixteen I got tired of being a freak; I decided
that some one had made a bad mistake. Still as I'd gone that far I concluded to finish it up by taking my
degree of Master of Arts. My chief interest in life is the study of modern philosophy. I am a realist of the
School of Anton Laurier-- with Bergsonian trimmings-- and I'll be eighteen years old in two months. That's
all."
"Whew!" exclaimed Marcia. "That's enough! You do a neat job with the parts of speech."
"Satisfied?"
"No, you haven't kissed me."
"It's not in my programme," demurred Horace. "Understand that I don't pretend to be above physical things.
They have their place, but-- -- "
"Oh, don't be so darned reasonable!"
Head and Shoulders 101
The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories
"I can't help it."
"I hate these slot-machine people."
"I assure you I-- " began Horace.
"Oh, shut up!"
"My own rationality-- -- "
"I didn't say anything about your nationality. You're an Amuricun, ar'n't you?"
"Yes."
"Well, that's O.K. with me. I got a notion I want to see you do something that isn't in your highbrow
programme. I want to see if a what-ch-call-em with Brazilian trimmings-- that thing you said you were--
can be a little human."
Horace shook his head again.
"I won't kiss you."
"My life is blighted," muttered Marcia tragically. "I'm a beaten woman. I'll go through life without ever
having a kiss with Brazilian trimmings." She sighed. "Anyways, Omar, will you come and see my show?"
"What show?"
"I'm a wicked actress from 'Home James'!"
"Light opera?"
"Yes-- at a stretch. One of the characters is a Brazilian rice-planter. That might interest you."
"I saw 'The Bohemian Girl' once," reflected Horace aloud. "I enjoyed it-- to some extent."
"Then you'll come?"
"Well, I'm-- I'm-- -- "
"Oh, I know-- you've got to run down to Brazil for the week-end."
"Not at all. I'd be delighted to come."
Marcia clapped her hands.
"Goodyforyou! I'll mail you a ticket-- Thursday night?"
"Why, I-- -- "
"Good! Thursday night it is."
Head and Shoulders 102
The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories
She stood up and walking close to him laid both hands on his shoulders.
"I like you, Omar. I'm sorry I tried to kid you. I thought you'd be sort of frozen, but you're a nice boy."
He eyed her sardonically.
"I'm several thousand generations older than you are."
"You carry your age well."
They shook hands gravely.
"My name's Marcia Meadow," she said emphatically. "'Member it-- Marcia Meadow. And I won't tell
Charlie Moon you were in."
An instant later as she was skimming down the last flight of stairs three at a time she heard a voice call over
the upper banister: "Oh, say-- -- "
She stopped and looked up-- made out a vague form leaning over.
"Oh, say!" called the prodigy again. "Can you hear me?"
"Here's your connection, Omar."
"I hope I haven't given you the impression that I consider kissing intrinsically irrational."
"Impression? Why, you didn't even give me the kiss! Never fret-- so long."
Two doors near her opened curiously at the sound of a feminine voice. A tentative cough sounded from
above. Gathering her skirts, Marcia dived wildly down the last flight, and was swallowed up in the murky
Connecticut air outside.
Up-stairs Horace paced the floor of his study. From time to time he glanced toward Berkeley waiting there in
suave dark-red respectability, an open book lying suggestively on his cushions. And then he found that his
circuit of the floor was bringing him each time nearer to Hume. There was something about Hume that was
strangely and inexpressibly different. The diaphanous form still seemed hovering near, and had Horace sat
there he would have felt as if he were sitting on a lady's lap. And though Horace couldn't have named the
quality of difference, there was such a quality-- quite intangible to the speculative mind, but real,
nevertheless. Hume was radiating something that in all the two hundred years of his influence he had never
radiated before.
Hume was radiating attar of roses.
II
On Thursday night Horace Tarbox sat in an aisle seat in the fifth row and witnessed "Home James." Oddly
enough he found that he was enjoying himself. The cynical students near him were annoyed at his audible
appreciation of time-honored jokes in the Hammerstein tradition. But Horace was waiting with anxiety for
Marcia Meadow singing her song about a Jazz-bound Blundering Blimp. When she did appear, radiant under
a floppity flower-faced hat, a warm glow settled over him, and when the song was over he did not join in the
storm of applause. He felt somewhat numb.
Head and Shoulders 103
The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories
In the intermission after the second act an usher materialized beside him, demanded to know if he were Mr.
Tarbox, and then handed him a note written in a round adolescent hand. Horace read it in some confusion,
while the usher lingered with withering patience in the aisle. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]