Page:Firecrackers a realistic novel.pdf/21

 Something in a foreign language. And the second time?

He was standing on his head, sir.

I think, Paul remarked, that I shall be obliged to go down and look this fellow over for myself.

Traversing the long corridor which led to the rear of the house, he crossed the kitchen and descended the cellar-steps, pressing a button to brighten his way. Passing through the laundry, walled with Nile-green tiles, he opened the door leading to the furnace-room. Pausing for an instant on the threshold of this vast, vaulted basement, the ceiling of which was upheld by a forest of terra-cotta columns, he experienced the distinct impression that he was listening to far-away music. A line of pillars, casting great shadows across the path ahead of him, completely blocked his view of the furnace. After a little, he pressed forward, instinctively walking softly on his toes, until, as the ranks of columns fell behind him, in the circular clearing in the centre of which rose the furnace, he was confronted with an amazing spectacle. On the stone-flagged pavement a youth reclined on his belly, his chin sustained by his palms, his forearms supported by his elbows. The young man, who might have been twenty-two years old, was absorbed in the pages of a book spread flat before him.

Paul, utterly unbeheld as yet, rested immobile for a moment while he studied the picture. The