Three orders, waiter."
He took the wine card, but she held it a moment longer, as though
something had suddenly attracted her attention. Their hands had almost
touched.
"Yes--three orders will be enough."
The company groaned, but submitted. In reality they were too stimulated
already by an invisible, exuberant spirit among them to care much. From
where he waited for Francey's order on the threshold of the pantry Robert
could see and hear them. It was really the old days over again.
Fundamentally things outside himself did not change much. The Brothers
Banditti had grown up. They were not nice children any more. The
innocent building-ground and nefarious plottings against unpopular
authority had given place to restaurants and more subtle wickednesses.
But still Francey played her queer, elusive role among them. She was of
them--and yet she stood a little apart, a little on one side. Probably
Howard thought himself their real leader. They did not talk to her
directly very much, nor she to them. But all the time they were playing
up to her, trying to draw her attention to themselves and make her laugh
with them. She did laugh. It did not seem to matter to her at all that
they were often crude and blatant and sometimes common in their
self-expression. She laughed from her heart. But her laughter was a
little different. It sat by itself, an elfish thing, with a touch of
seriousness about it, its arms hugging its knees, and looked beyond them
all and saw how much bigger and finer the joke was than they thought it.
Pages:
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136