Jim had
ordered away the wines and brought out some weak and cheap
Chianti. Dallas looked gloomy at the change, but Jim explained in
an undertone that Aunt Selina didn't approve of expensive
vintages. Naturally, the meal was glum enough.
Aunt Selina had had her dinner on the train, so she spent her
time in asking me questions the length of the table, and in
getting acquainted with me. She had brought a bottle of some sort
of medicine downstairs with her, and she took a claret-glassful,
while she talked. The stuff was called Pomona; shall I ever
forget it?
It was Mr. Harbison who first noticed Takahiro. Jimmy's Jap had
been the only thing in the menage that Bella declared she had
hated to leave. But he was doing the strangest things: his
little black eyes shifted nervously, and he looked queer.
"What's wrong with him?" Mr. Harbison asked me finally, when he
saw that I noticed. "Is he ill?"
Then Aunt Selina's voice from the other end of the table:
"Bella," she called, in a high shrill tone, "do you let James eat
cucumbers?"
"I think he must be," I said hurriedly aside to Mr. Harbison.
"See how his hands shake!" But Selina would not be ignored.
"Cucumbers and strawberries," she repeated impressively. "I was
saying, Bella, that cucumbers have always given James the most
fearful indigestion.
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