Master Up. Учебное пособие по английскому языку

He swore softly.

«I can’t see baby now,» he said aloud. «How long ’fore you’ll be down?»

There was a mysterious pause, and then a succession of «Don’ts’ and «Look outs, Maxy’ evidently meant to avert some threatened catastrophe.

«How long ’fore you’ll be down?» repeated Roger, slightly irritated.

«Oh, I’ll be right down.»

«How soon?» he shouted.

He had trouble every day at this hour in adapting his voice from the urgent key of the city to the proper casualness for a model home. But tonight he was deliberately impatient. It almost disappointed him when Gretchen came running down the stairs, three at a time, crying «What is it?» in a rather surprised voice.

They kissed – lingered over it some moments. They had been married three years, and they were much more in love than that implies. It was seldom that they hated each other with that violent hate of which only young couples are capable, for Roger was still actively sensitive to her beauty.

«Come in here,» he said abruptly. «I want to talk to you.»

His wife, a bright-coloured, Titian-haired girl, vivid as a French rag doll, followed him into the living room.

«Listen, Gretchen’ – he sat down at the end of the sofa – ’beginning with tonight I’m going to – What’s the matter?»

«Nothing. I’m just looking for a cigarette. Go on.»

She tiptoed breathlessly back to the sofa and settled at the other end.

«Gretchen – ' Again he broke off. Her hand, palm upward, was extended towards him. «Well, what is it?» he asked wildly.

«Matches.»

«What?»

In his impatience it seemed incredible that she should ask for matches, but he fumbled automatically in his pocket.

«Thank you,» she whispered. «I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Go on.»

«Gretch – »

Scratch! The match flared. They exchanged a tense look.

Her fawn’s eyes apologized mutely this time, and he laughed. After all, she had done no more than light a cigarette; but when he was in this mood her slightest positive action irritated him beyond measure.

«When you’ve got time to listen,» he said crossly, ’you might be interested in discussing the poorhouse question with me.»

«What poorhouse?» Her eyes were wide, startled; she sat quiet as a mouse.

«That was just to get your attention. But, beginning tonight, I start on what’ll probably be the most important six weeks of my life – the six weeks that’ll decide whether we’re going on forever in this rotten little house in this rotten little suburban town.»

Boredom replaced alarm in Gretchen’s black eyes. She was a Southern girl, and any question that had to do with getting ahead in the world always tended to give her a headache.

«Six months ago I left the New York Lithographic Company,» announced Roger, ’and went in the advertising business for myself.»

«I know,» interrupted Gretchen resentfully; ’and now instead of getting six hundred a month sure, we’re living on a risky five hundred.»

«Gretchen,» said Roger sharply, ’if you’ll just believe in me as hard as you can for six weeks more we’ll be rich. I’ve got a chance now to get some of the biggest accounts in the country.» He hesitated. «And for these six weeks we won’t go out at all, and we won’t have anyone here. I’m going to bring home work every night, and we’ll pull down all the blinds and if anyone rings the doorbell we won’t answer.»

He smiled airily as if it were a new game they were going to play. Then, as Gretchen was silent, his smile faded, and he looked at her uncertainly.

«Well, what’s the matter?» she broke out finally. «Do you expect me to jump up and sing? You do enough work as it is. If you try to do any more you’ll end up with a nervous breakdown. I read about a – »

«Don’t worry about me,» he interrupted; «I’m all right. But you’re going to be bored to death sitting here every evening.»

«No, I won’t,» she said without conviction – ’except tonight.»

«What about tonight?»

«George Tompkins asked us to dinner.»

«Did you accept?»

«Of course I did,» she said impatiently. «Why not? You’re always talking about what a terrible neighbourhood this is, and I thought maybe you’d like to go to a nicer one for a change.»

«When I go to a nicer neighbourhood I want to go for good,» he said grimly.

«Well, can we go?»

«I suppose we’ll have to if you’ve accepted.»

Somewhat to his annoyance the conversation abruptly ended. Gretchen jumped up and kissed him sketchily and rushed into the kitchen to light the hot water for a bath. With a sigh he carefully deposited his portfolio behind the bookcase – it contained only sketches and layouts for display advertising, but it seemed to him the first thing a burglar would look for. Then he went abstractedly upstairs, dropping into the baby’s room for a casual moist kiss, and began dressing for dinner.

They had no automobile, so George Tompkins called for them at 6.30. Tompkins was a successful interior decorator, a broad, rosy man with a handsome moustache and a strong odour of jasmine. He and Roger had once roomed side by side in a boarding-house in New York, but they had met only intermittently in the past five years.

«We ought to see each other more,» he told Roger tonight. «You ought to go out more often, old boy. Cocktail?»

«No, thanks.»

«No? Well, your fair wife will – won’t you, Gretchen?»

«I love this house,» she exclaimed, taking the glass and looking admiringly at ship models. Colonial whisky bottles, and other fashionable dеbris of 1924.

«I like it,» said Tompkins with satisfaction. «I did it to please myself, and I succeeded.»

Roger stared moodily around the stiff, plain room, wondering if they could have blundered into the kitchen by mistake.

«You look like the devil, Roger,» said his host. «Have a cocktail and cheer up.»

«Have one,» urged Gretchen.

«What?» Roger turned around absently. «Oh, no, thanks. I’ve got to work after I get home.»