But it was growing late.
"Why the devil doesn't he come?" yawned Boehmer.
Perhaps," said Dove, mouthing deliberately as if he had a good
thing on his tongue; perhaps, by now, he is safe in the arms of----"
"Jesus or Morpheus?" asked a cockney 'cellist.
"Safe in the arms of Jesus!" sang the tipsy pianist; but he was
outsung by Krafft, who, rising from his seat, gave with dramatic
gesture:
O sink' hernieder,
Nacht der Liebe,
gieb Vergessen,
dass ich lebe . . .
After this, with much laughter and ado, they broke up to seek another
cafe in the heart of the town, where the absinthe was good and the
billiard-table better, two of his friends supporting Ford, who was
testily debating with himself why a composer should compose his own
works. At the first corner, Maurice whispered a word to Dove, and,
unnoticed by the rest, slipped away. For some time, he heard the sound
of their voices down the quiet street. A member of the group, in
defiance of the night, began to sing; and then, just as one bird is
provoked by another, rose a clear, sweet voice he recognised as
Krafft's, in a song the refrain of which was sung by all:
Give me the Rose of Sharon,
And a bottle of Cyprus wine!
What followed was confused, indistinct, but over and over again he
heard:
. . . the Rose of Sharon,
. . . a bottle of Cyprus wine!
until that, too, was lost in the distance.
Pages:
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73