One of Ours Willa Cather (accelerated reader books txt) đ
- Author: Willa Cather
Book online «One of Ours Willa Cather (accelerated reader books txt) đ». Author Willa Cather
âYouâll never go home again,â Claude said with conviction. âI donât see you settling down in any little Iowa town.â
âIn the air service,â said Victor carelessly, âwe donât concern ourselves about the future. Itâs not worth while.â He took out a dull gold cigarette case which Claude had noticed before.
âLet me see that a minute, will you? Iâve often admired it. A present from somebody you like, isnât it?â
A twitch of feeling, something quite genuine, passed over the airmanâs boyish face, and his rather small red mouth compressed sharply. âYes, a woman I want you to meet. Here,â twitching his chin over his high collar, âIâll write Maisieâs address on my card: âIntroducing Lieutenant Wheeler, A.E.F.â Thatâs all youâll need. If you should get to London before I do, donât hesitate. Call on her at once. Present this card, and sheâll receive you.â
Claude thanked him and put the card in his pocketbook, while Victor lit a cigarette. âI havenât forgotten that youâre dining with us at the Savoy, if we happen in London together. If Iâm there, you can always find me. Her address is mine. It will really be a great thing for you to meet a woman like Maisie. Sheâll be nice to you, because youâre my friend.â He went on to say that she had done everything in the world for him; had left her husband and given up her friends on his account. She now had a studio flat in Chelsea, where she simply waited his coming and dreaded his going. It was an awful life for her. She entertained other officers, of course, old acquaintances; but it was all camouflage. He was the man.
Victor went so far as to produce her picture, and Claude gazed without knowing what to say at a large moon-shaped face with heavy-lidded, weary eyesâ âthe neck clasped by a pearl collar, the shoulders bare to the matronly swell of the bosom. There was not a line or wrinkle in that smooth expanse of flesh, but from the heavy mouth and chin, from the very shape of the face, it was easy to see that she was quite old enough to be Victorâs mother. Across the photograph was written in a large splashy hand, Ă mon aigle! Had Victor been delicate enough to leave him in any doubt, Claude would have preferred to believe that his relations with this lady were wholly of a filial nature.
âWomen like her simply donât exist in your part of the world,â the aviator murmured, as he snapped the photograph case. âSheâs a linguist and musician and all that. With her, everyday living is a fine art. Life, as she says, is what one makes it. In itself, itâs nothing. Where you came from itâs nothingâ âa sleeping sickness.â
Claude laughed. âI donât know that I agree with you, but I like to hear you talk.â
âWell; in that part of France thatâs all shot to pieces, youâll find more life going on in the cellars than in your home town, wherever that is. Iâd rather be a stevedore in the London docks than a banker-king in one of your prairie States. In London, if youâre lucky enough to have a shilling, you can get something for it.â
âYes, things are pretty tame at home,â the other admitted.
âTame? My God, itâs death in life! Whatâs left of men if you take all the fire out of them? Theyâre afraid of everything. I know them; Sunday-school sneaks, prowling around those little towns after dark!â Victor abruptly dismissed the subject. âBy the way, youâre pals with the doctor, arenât you? Iâm needing some medicine that is somewhere in my lost trunk. Would you mind asking him if he can put up this prescription? I donât want to go to him myself. All these medicos blab, and he might report me. Iâve been lucky dodging medical inspections. You see, I donât want to get held up anywhere. Tell him itâs not for you, of course.â
When Claude presented the piece of blue paper to Doctor Trueman, he smiled contemptuously. âI see; this has been filled by a London chemist. No, we have nothing of this sort.â He handed it back. âThose things are only palliatives. If your friend wants that, he needs treatmentâ âand he knows where he can get it.â
Claude returned the slip of paper to Victor as they left the dining-room after supper, telling him he hadnât been able to get any.
âSorry,â said Victor, flushing haughtily. âThank you so much!â
VIIITod Fanning held out better than many of the stronger men; his vitality surprised the doctor. The death list was steadily growing; and the worst of it was that patients died who were not very sick. Vigorous, clean-blooded young fellows of nineteen and twenty turned over and died because they had lost their courage, because other people were dyingâ âbecause death was in the air. The corridors of the vessel had the smell of death about them. Doctor Trueman said it was always so in an epidemic;
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