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Page 66
In the instant of ominous silence which occurred while Mrs. Portheris
was getting her chin into the angle of its greatest majesty, Mr.
Mafferton considerately walked to the door. When it was accomplished
she looked at momma sideways and down her nose, precisely in the manner
of the late Mr. Du Maurier's ladies in _Punch_, in the same state of
mind. She might have sat or stood to him. It was another ideal realised.
"That is the latest, the very latest Americanism which I have observed
in your conversation, Augusta. In your native land it may be admissible,
but please understand that I cannot permit it to be applied to me
personally. To English ears it is offensive, very offensive. It is also
quite improper for you to assume any familiarity with my figure. As you
say, _I_ may be aware of its corpulence, but nobody else--er--can
possibly know anything about it."
Momma was speechless, and, as usual, the Senator came to the rescue. He
never will allow momma to be trampled on, and there was distinct
retaliation in his manner. "Look here, aunt," he said, "there's nothing
profane in saying you're fleshy when you _are_, you know, and you don't
need to remove so much as your bonnet strings for the general public to
be aware of it. And when you come to America don't you ever insult
anybody by calling her corpulent, which is a perfectly indecent
expression. Now if you won't go back to bed and tranquillise your
mind--on a plain soda----"
"I won't," said Mrs. Portheris.
"De carriages is already," said the head porter, glistening with an
amiability of which we all appreciated the balm. And we entered the
carriages--Mrs. Portheris and the downcast Isabel and Mr. Mafferton in
one, and momma, poppa, Dicky, and I in the other. For no American would
have been safe in Mrs. Portheris's carriage for at least two hours, and
this came home even to Mr. Dod.
"Never again!" exclaimed momma as we rattled down among the narrow
streets that crowd under the Funicular railway. "Never again will I call
that woman Aunt Caroline."
"Don't call her fleshy, my dear, that's what really irritated her,"
remarked the Senator. The Senator's discrimination, I have often
noticed, is not the nicest thing about him.
Hours and hours it seemed to take, that drive to Pompeii. Past the
ambitious confectioner with his window full of cherry pies, each cherry
round and red and shining like a marble, and the plate glass dry-goods
store where ready-made costumes were displayed that looked as if they
might fit just as badly as those of Westbourne Grove, and so by degrees
and always down hill through narrower and shabbier streets where all the
women walked bareheaded and the shops were mostly turned out on the
pavement for the convenience of customers, and a good many of them went
up and down in wheelbarrows. And often through narrow ways so
high-walled and many-windowed that it was quite cool and dusky down
below, and only a strip of sun showed far up along the roofs of one
side. Here and there a wheelbarrow went strolling through these streets
too, and we saw at least one family marketing. From a little square
window a prodigious way up came, as we passed, a cry with custom in it,
and a wheelbarrow paused beneath. Then down from the window by a long,
long rope slid a basket from the hands of a young woman leaning out in
red, and the vendor took the opportunity of sitting down on his barrow
handle till it arrived. Soldi and a piece of paper he took out of the
basket and a cabbage and onions he put in, and then it went swinging
upwards and he picked up his barrow again, and we rattled on and left
him shouting and pushing his hat back--it was not a soft felt but a
bowler--to look up at the other windows. In spite of the bowler it was a
picturesque and Neapolitan incident, and it left us much divided as to
the contents of the piece of paper.
"My idea is," said the Senator, "that the young woman in the red jersey
was the hired girl and that note was what you might call a clandestine
communication."
"Since we are in Naples," remarked Mr. Dod, "I think, Senator, your
deduction is correct. Where we come from a slavey with any self-respect
would put her sentiments on a gilt-edged correspondence card in a
scented envelope with a stamp on the outside and ask you to kindly drop
it into the pillar box on your way to business; but this chimes in with
all you read about Naples."
"Perfectly ridiculous!" said momma. "Mark my words, that note was either
a list of vegetables wanted, or an intimation that if they weren't going
to be fresher than the last, that man needn't stop for orders in
future. And in a country as destitute of elevators as this one is I
suppose you couldn't keep a servant a week if you didn't let her save
the stairs somehow. But I must say if I were going to have cabbage and
onions the same day I wouldn't like the neighbours to know it."
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