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The Streets of Ascalon
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"Please lean on the piano." He did so, inquiringly.
"Otherwise," she said, "you'd have attempted to seat yourself on this bench; and there isn't room for both of us without crowding."
"If you moved a little – "
"But I won't," she said serenely, and dropped her slim hands on the key-board.
She sang one or two modern songs, and he took second part in a pleasant, careless, but acceptable barytone.
"The old ones are the best," she commented, running lightly through a medley ranging from "The Mikado" to "Erminie," the "Black Hussar," and "The Mascotte." They sang the "gobble duet" from the latter fairly well:
She
"When on your manly form I gaze
A sense of pleasure passes o'er me";
He
"The murmured music of your voice
Is sweeter far than liquid honey!"
And so on through the bleating of his sheep and the gobbling of her turkeys until they could scarcely sing for laughing.
Then the mood of the absurd seized her; and she made him sing "Johnny Schmoker" with her until they could scarcely draw breath for the eternal refrain:
"Kanst du spielen?"
and the interminable list of musical instruments so easily mastered by that Teutonic musician.
"I want to sing you a section of one of those imbecile, colourless, pastel-tinted and very precious Debussy things," she exclaimed; and did so, wandering and meandering on and on through meaningless mazes of sound until he begged for mercy and even had to stay her hands on the key-board with his own.
She stopped then, pretending disappointment and surprise.
"Very well," she said; "you'll have to match my performance with something equally imbecile"; and she composed herself to listen.
"What shall I do that is sufficiently imbecile?" he asked gravely; "turn seven solemn handsprings?"
"That isn't silly enough. Roll over on the rug and play dead."
He prepared to do so but she wouldn't permit him:
"No! I don't want to remember you doing such a thing… All the same I believe you could do it and not lose – lose – "
"Dignity?"
"No – I don't know what I mean. Come, Mr. Quarren; I am waiting for you to do something silly."
"Shall I say it or do it?"
"Either."
"Then I'll recite something very, very precious – subtly, intricately, and psychologically precious."
"Oh, please do!"
"It's – it's about a lover."
She blushed.
"Do you mind?"
"You are the limit! Of course I don't!"
"It's about a lady, too."
"Naturally."
"And love – rash, precipitate, unwarranted, unrequited, and fatal love."
"I can stand it if you can," she said with the faintest glimmer of malice in her smile.
"All right. The title is: 'Oh, Love! Oh, Why?'"
"A perfectly good title," she said gravely. "I alway says 'why?' to Love."
So he bowed to her and began very seriously:
"Oh, Lover in haste, beware of Fate!
Wait for a moment while I relate
A harrowing tragedy up to date
Of innate Hate.
"A maiden rocked on her rocking-chair;
Her store-curls stirred in the summer air;
An amorous Fly espied her there,
So rare and fair.
"Before she knew where she was at,
He'd kissed the maiden where she sat,
And she batted him one which slapped him flat
Ker-spat! Like that!
"Oh, Life! Oh, Death! Oh, swat-in-the-eye!
Beyond the Bournes of the By-and-By,
Spattered the soul of that amorous Fly.
Oh, Love! Oh, Why?"
She pretended to be overcome by the tragic pathos of the poem:
"Otherwise," she said, "you'd have attempted to seat yourself on this bench; and there isn't room for both of us without crowding."
"If you moved a little – "
"But I won't," she said serenely, and dropped her slim hands on the key-board.
She sang one or two modern songs, and he took second part in a pleasant, careless, but acceptable barytone.
"The old ones are the best," she commented, running lightly through a medley ranging from "The Mikado" to "Erminie," the "Black Hussar," and "The Mascotte." They sang the "gobble duet" from the latter fairly well:
She
"When on your manly form I gaze
A sense of pleasure passes o'er me";
He
"The murmured music of your voice
Is sweeter far than liquid honey!"
And so on through the bleating of his sheep and the gobbling of her turkeys until they could scarcely sing for laughing.
Then the mood of the absurd seized her; and she made him sing "Johnny Schmoker" with her until they could scarcely draw breath for the eternal refrain:
"Kanst du spielen?"
and the interminable list of musical instruments so easily mastered by that Teutonic musician.
"I want to sing you a section of one of those imbecile, colourless, pastel-tinted and very precious Debussy things," she exclaimed; and did so, wandering and meandering on and on through meaningless mazes of sound until he begged for mercy and even had to stay her hands on the key-board with his own.
She stopped then, pretending disappointment and surprise.
"Very well," she said; "you'll have to match my performance with something equally imbecile"; and she composed herself to listen.
"What shall I do that is sufficiently imbecile?" he asked gravely; "turn seven solemn handsprings?"
"That isn't silly enough. Roll over on the rug and play dead."
He prepared to do so but she wouldn't permit him:
"No! I don't want to remember you doing such a thing… All the same I believe you could do it and not lose – lose – "
"Dignity?"
"No – I don't know what I mean. Come, Mr. Quarren; I am waiting for you to do something silly."
"Shall I say it or do it?"
"Either."
"Then I'll recite something very, very precious – subtly, intricately, and psychologically precious."
"Oh, please do!"
"It's – it's about a lover."
She blushed.
"Do you mind?"
"You are the limit! Of course I don't!"
"It's about a lady, too."
"Naturally."
"And love – rash, precipitate, unwarranted, unrequited, and fatal love."
"I can stand it if you can," she said with the faintest glimmer of malice in her smile.
"All right. The title is: 'Oh, Love! Oh, Why?'"
"A perfectly good title," she said gravely. "I alway says 'why?' to Love."
So he bowed to her and began very seriously:
"Oh, Lover in haste, beware of Fate!
Wait for a moment while I relate
A harrowing tragedy up to date
Of innate Hate.
"A maiden rocked on her rocking-chair;
Her store-curls stirred in the summer air;
An amorous Fly espied her there,
So rare and fair.
"Before she knew where she was at,
He'd kissed the maiden where she sat,
And she batted him one which slapped him flat
Ker-spat! Like that!
"Oh, Life! Oh, Death! Oh, swat-in-the-eye!
Beyond the Bournes of the By-and-By,
Spattered the soul of that amorous Fly.
Oh, Love! Oh, Why?"
She pretended to be overcome by the tragic pathos of the poem:
Другие электронные книги автора Robert Chambers
Другие аудиокниги автора Robert Chambers
Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее