|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 21
"I can't imagine Dr. Van Horn taking much pains with 'humble folk,'"
Ellen said to herself. "Yet he's evidently consulting with Red at this
house, which doesn't seem exactly a 'humble' abode. I wonder if they get
on well together. They're certainly not much alike."
The wait proved to be a long one. Ellen had studied her surroundings with
thoroughness in every direction before the house-door opened at last, and
the two men came down the walk together. They were talking earnestly as
they came, and at a point some yards away they ceased to advance, and
stood still, evidently in tense discussion over the case just left. They
spoke in the low tones customary with men of their profession, and their
words did not reach Ellen's ears. But it was not difficult to recognize,
as she watched their faces, that they were differing, and differing
radically, on the matter in hand.
They had turned to face each other, and neither looked her way, so
it was possible for Ellen to study the two without fear of intrusion.
They made an interesting study, certainly. Dr. Van Horn's face was
impassive as to the play of his features, except that he smiled, from
time to time,--a smile which bore out Ellen's previous feeling concerning
its possibilities for cynicism rather than sympathy. His eyes, however,
steely blue and cold in their expression, told more than his face of
antagonism to the man with whom he spoke. But his command of manner, to
the outward observer, who could not hear his words, was perfect.
As for R.P. Burns, M.D., there was no disguising the fact that he was
intensely angry. That he strove, and strove hard, to control his manner,
if not his anger, was perfectly evident to his wife, but that he was
succeeding ill at the task was painfully apparent. His colour was
high--it nearly matched his hair; his eyes burned like consuming fires
under their dark brows; his lips spoke fast and fiercely. He kept his
voice down--Ellen was thankful for that--and his gestures, though
forceful, were controlled; but she feared at every moment that he would
break out into open show of temper, and it seemed to her that this she
could not bear.
She had never before seen Red Pepper really angry. She had been told,
again and again since her first meeting with him, by her sister and her
sister's husband, and by the Chesters, that Burns was capable of getting
into a red rage in which nobody could influence or calm him, and in which
he could or would not control himself. They invariably added that these
hot exhibitions of high temper were frequently over as suddenly as they
had appeared, and usually did nobody any harm whatever. But they hinted
that there had been times in the past when Red had said or done that
which could not be forgiven by his victims, and that he had more than
once alienated people of standing whose good-will he could not afford to
lose.
"He keeps a woodpile back of the house," James Macauley had told her
once, laughingly, in the last days before she had married Burns, "where
he works off a good deal of high pressure. If you catch a glimpse of
him there, at unholy hours, you may know that there's murder in his
heart--for the moment. Art Chester vows he's caught him there at
midnight, and I don't doubt it in the least. But--a woodpile isn't always
handy when a man is mad clear through, and when it isn't, and you happen
to be the one who's displeased His Pepperiness, look out! I give you fair
warning, smiles and kisses won't always work with him, much as he may
like 'em when he's sane!"
"I'm not afraid, thank you, Jim," Ellen had answered, lightly. "Better a
red-hot temper than a white-cold one."
She thought of the words now, as she saw her husband suddenly turn away
from Dr. Van Horn, and march down the walk, ahead of him. The action
was pretty close to rudeness, for it left the elder man in the rear.
Evidently, in spite of his irritation, Burns instantly realized this, for
he turned again, saying quickly: "I beg your pardon, Doctor, but I've got
a lot of work waiting."
"Don't apologize, Doctor," returned the other, with perfect courtesy. "We
all know that you are the busiest man among us."
His face, as he spoke, was as pale as Burns's was high-coloured, and
Ellen recognized that here were the two sorts of wrath in apposition, the
"red" sort and the "white." And looking at Dr. Van Horn's face, it seemed
to her that she still preferred the red. But as his eyes met hers he
smiled the same suave smile which she had seen before.
"Not tired of waiting yet, Mrs. Burns?" he said, as he passed her. "You
must be a restful companion for a man harassed by many cares."
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|