HOTEL BARSTOW
259
naturally I admire Mr. Marburg's firm classical foundation. I must
admit his Latin
is
less literary than ecclesiastical, for he was trained
by the Franciscans, but
it
is, nevertheless, good, sound Latin. In
addition he knows history. Oh, he knows his history
well,
Miss Pride!
Roman and the French Revolution are his specialties. And then,
although he's a modest man, I have no doubt in the world he could
put many of our Harvard men to shame in the field of philosophy.
Literature he is not so keen on although he did drop the remark that
he had at one time been a great admirer of Goethe. Now there is a
man who has the perspicacity to see what I mean when I say that in
his language
Riders of the Purple Sage
is a superb piece of crafts–
manship."
Miss Pride had had enough. She rose and her face, shaded by the
wide brim of her hat, represented the pure substance of scorn. "You
will forgive me, Mr. Brock, for finding your crotchet fantastic. It
is my cantankerous opinion, sir, that you do not believe this nonsense
yourself, but that you wish to disguise your appetite for rubbish.
Not to put too fine a point on it, how could you, without the aid of
some such camouflage, indulge yourself in Elsie Dinsmore at the
age of seventy-two?"
Mortally wounded, he gave her a wan smile. "Your wit is all
that it is said to be, ma'am."
Less coldly but with the same firmness she went on, "What
interests me about this Mr. Marburg is, does he make his shoes well?
Does he know
that
craft, Mr. Brock, as well as his Latin?"
"Oh, I have no idea. I never discuss business with him."
Miss Pride was looking at my feet, shod in a pair of white moc–
casins which my father had made. I was ashamed that they were so
dirty and that my socks were ragged. She turned at the announce–
ment of luncheon, but I did not fail to hear her say to Mr. Brock
as they crossed the lobby, "I gather that he knows his business and
has little of it."
After Audrey, the headwaitress, and
f
had set the tables for din–
ner, I went upstairs with Miss Pride's fresh towels. The corridor was
quiet, for all the guests were napping. I could hear, through the wall
by Miss Pride's bed, the faint popping of air in Mrs. McKenzie's
nose as she slept deeply. Immediately I took my post at the windows
and in about a quarter of an hour, I saw Miss Pride go down the
wooden stairs of the porch, pinching the hand-rail with her gloved
fingers. Then she waited on the lawn for her high, black limousine.
Once I had seen in it vases for flowers on the sides, hanging like pic-
