Page:Aaron's Rod, Lawrence, New York 1922.djvu/226

 The welcome sound of these two magic words, All Right! was what the waiter most desired. "All right! Yes! All Right!" This is the pith, the marrow, the sum and essence of the English language to a southerner. Of course it is not all right. It is Or-rye—and one word at that. The blow that would be given to most foreign waiters, if they were forced to realize that the famous orye was really composed of two words, and spelt all right, would be too cruel, perhaps.

"Half litre Chianti. Orye," said the waiter. And we'll let him say it.

"English!" whispered Francis melodramatically in the ear of Angus. "I thought so. The flautist."

Angus put in his monocle, and stared at the oblivious shoulders of Aaron, without apparently seeing anything.

"Yes. Obviously English," said Angus, pursing like a bird.

"Oh, but I heard him," whispered Francis emphatically.

"Quite," said Angus. "But quite inoffensive."

"Oh, but Angus, my dear—he's the flautist. Don't you remember? The divine bit of Scriabin. At least I believe it was Scriabin.—But perfectly divine!!! I adore the flute above all things—" And Francis placed his hand on Angus' arm, and rolled his eyes—Lay this to the credit of a bottle of Lacrimæ Cristi, if you like."

"Yes. So do I," said Angus, again looking archly through the monocle, and seeing nothing. "I wonder what he's doing here."

"Don't you think we might ask him?" said Francis, in a vehement whisper. "After all, we are the only three English people in the place."

"For the moment, apparently we are," said Angus. "But the English are all over the place wherever you go, like bits of orange peel in the street. Don't forget that, Francesco."

"No, Angus, I don't. The point is, his flute is perfectly divine—and he seems quite attractive in himself. Don't you think so?"

"Oh, quite," said Angus, whose observations had got no further than the black cloth of the back of Aaron's jacket. That there was a man inside he had not yet paused to consider.