Two Solitudes Read Free Page B

Yardley spoke with a twanging lilt that caught the ear. “But I don’t like waiting around. Never did.”
    McQueen turned from the window. With a glance toward the open door, he spoke in an undertone from the corner of his mouth and his lips barely moved. “You never can be sure where you stand with people like these. I know them. Our host, for instance. He married a girl young enough to be his daughter. Irish, and she can hardly speak a word of French. Strange business. Tallard has quite a reputation with women. I’d like to see what she’s like myself. One hears things, you know.”
    When Yardley made no reply he turned his attention to the books that lined the walls. “Who’d have expected to find a library like this? Good books, too. Solid reading.” He shook his head. “Nearly as many as I’ve got myself.”
    Yardley limped over to the front window. His interest quickened as he caught sight of a ship, looking very small in the wide spaces of the river. It was a red and white lake boat, high in the bow with a low bridge forward and a single funnel set far aft over a squat stern. He watched it for a time, and then hearing the movement of a third person in the room, he turned. A small boy was watching from the door.
    â€œHullo!” Yardley said. “Where did you come from?”
    The boy continued to watch him with an odd mixture of shyness and curiosity. He was slim and dark-haired, and his eyes were shadowed by heavy lashes. He looked somewhat younger than his seven years.
    â€œI was here,” he said at last. Two buck teeth appeared for a moment below a well-formed upper lip as he smiled back at Yardley. He seemed not to notice McQueen. Yardley limped across the room and put out his hand and the boy touched it diffidently.
    â€œIt’s awfully big,” he said.
    â€œIt ought to be. When I was only a little older than you I had to use my hands like a monkey, and a monkey’s got mighty big hands for the size of the rest of him.”
    McQueen looked at them from his corner by the bookshelves with the expression of a busy man asked to admire his neighbour’s baby. Yardley went on talking as the boy followed him back to the window.
    â€œWhy, when I was fourteen I was sent to sea, and in those days the boys were the ones they sent aloft. Man! We’d be up there on the r’y’l yards going with the swing of the mast, and the sea roaring white and green a hundred and fifty feet below, and we’d look down and get scared, and then we’d see a hard-case mate watching us on the deck and he’d make us scareder.”
    The boy’s mouth was open in wonder and Yardley smiled good-naturedly. He bent and touched his left leg. “Feel that,” he said.
    The boy poked it gingerly. “It’s hard.”
    â€œFella thet first went aloft with me, he had a timber leg just like thet,” Yardley said.
    McQueen was still shaking his head when Athanase Tallard returned to the library. “Tea will be here in a moment, gentle men,” he said, his interest caught by McQueen’s inspection of his books.
    Yardley inquired about his wife and Tallard was beginning to say that she was better when he caught sight of the boy half-hidden by the folds of the draperies. “What are you doing downstairs?” he said sharply. “I’ve told you not to come in here when I have guests.”
    â€œWe’ve been getting acquainted,” Yardley said.
    Tallard continued to hold the boy’s eyes with his own. “Remember your manners, Paul,” he said. “This is Captain Yardley, and this is Mr. McQueen.”
    The boy straightened his shoulders, his face drew itself into lines of seriousness, and he shook hands first with Yardley and then with McQueen, bobbing his head each time. He said, “How do you do, sir,” twice and then left the room without a backward glance and disappeared down the hall in the