"_Vous etes chef de chambre_," he said fiercely to Judas--"why
don't you make the men stop this? _C'est enmerdant._" "Ah," replied Judas
smoothly and insinuatingly--"They are only men, and boors at that; you
can't expect them to have any manners." A tremendous group of Something
Elses greeted this remark together with cries, insults, groans and
linguistic trumpetings. I got up and walked the length of the room to the
cabinet (situated as always by this time of night in a pool which was in
certain places six inches deep, from which pool my _sabots_ somewhat
protected me) and returned, making as loud a clattering as I was able.
Suddenly the voice of Monsieur Auguste leaped through the din in an
"_Alors! c'est as-sez._"
The next thing we knew he had reached the window just below the cabinet
(the only window, by the way, not nailed up with good long wire nails for
the sake of warmth) and was shouting in a wild, high, gentle, angry voice
to the sentinel below:
"_Plan-ton!_ It is impos-si-ble to sleep!"
A great cry: "Yes! I am coming!" floated up--every single noise
dropped--Rockyfeller shot out his hand for the candle, seized it in
terror, blew it out as if blowing it out were the last thing he would do
in this life--and The Enormous Room hung silent; enormously dark,
enormously expectant.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253