But have your good time, grave monk; doubtless you
are willing that the fiddlers shall be paid." And wrapping his toga
about him majestically, he stalked away, leaving me staring
dumfoundedly after his receding form.
Discovered!
The deuce! Had I been attired like yon Romeo, I certainly should have
taken to my heels; but a fellow can not run in a Capuchin's gown, and
retain any dignity. I would much rather be arrested than laughed at.
I stood irresolute. What was to be done? How much did he know? Did
he know who I was? And what was his object in letting me run my
course? I was all at sea. . . . Hang the grisly old Roman! I shut my
teeth; I would see the comedy to its end, no matter what befell. If
worst came to worst, there was always Teddy Hamilton to fall back on.
I made off toward the smoking-room, rumbling imprecations against the
gods for having given me the idea of attending this masquerade, when it
would have been cheaper and far more comfortable to go to the theater.
But as soon as I entered the smoking-room, I laughed. It was a droll
scene. Here we were, all of us, trying savagely to smoke a cigar or
cigarette through the flabby aperture designated in a mask as the
mouth. It was a hopeless job; for myself, I gave it up in disgust.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57