For a while he amused himself by using his curious power, alternately
waking the squirrel and allowing it to bound off, tail twitching, and
then calling it back, slowly but inexorably to climb his trousers and
curl up on his knee and sleep an uncanny and deep sleep which might end
only at the young man's pleasure.
He, too, began to feel the subtle stillness of the drowsing woodland;
musing there, caressing his short, crisp mustache, he watched the purple
grackle walking about in iridescent solitude, the sun spots waning and
glowing on the grass; he heard the soft, garrulous whimper of waterfowl
along the water's edge, the stir of leaves above.
He thought of various personal matters: his poverty, the low ebb of his
balance at the bank, his present profession, his approaching debut as an
entertainer, the chances of his failure. He thought, too, of the
astounding change in his life, the future, vacant of promise, devoid of
meaning, a future so utterly new and blank that he could find in it
nothing to speculate upon. He thought also, and perfectly impersonally,
of a girl whom he had met now and then upon the stairs of the apartment
house which he now inhabited.
Evidently there had been an ebb in her prosperity; the tumble of a New
Yorker's fortune leads from the Avenue to the Eighties, from thence
through Morristown, Staten Island, to the West Side.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25