� well, perhaps two hundred because I shall work for you more than one week?" "Very well," said William. "Look, I brought your chequebook for you from your room in case you might need it. What a good secretary I should be!" "Do you really think you can get some news?" "Why, yes, of course. For instance I am very friendly with an Austrian man � it is his wife who made me this dress � and his sister is governess to the President's children so they know everything that goes on. I will visit them tomorrow...only," she added doubtfully, "I don't think it would be polite to go to her house and not buy anything. You are paid expenses by your paper?" "Yes." "For everything? The canoe and for this vermouth and all the things in your room?" "Yes." "Then I will be paid expenses too�The Austrian has some nightgowns she made for a lady at the French legation only the lady's husband did not like them, so they are very cheap. There are four of them in crepe de Chine. She would sell them for sixty American dollars. Shall I get them?" "You don't think she would give you news if you did not?" "It would be impolite to ask." "Very well." "And the man who cut my hair � he shaves the Minister of the Interior. He would know a great deal. Only I cannot have my hair washed again so soon. Shall I buy some scent from him? And I should like a rug for my room; the floor is cold and has splinters; the Russian who sells fur is the lover of one of the Miss Jacksons. Oh, William, what fun we shall have working together." "But, K�hen, you know, this isn't my money. You know that if I was rich, I should give you everything you wanted, but I can't go spending the paper's money..." "Silly William, it is because it is the paper's money that I can take it. You know I could not take yours. My husband would not let me take money from a man, but from a newspaper...I think that Mr. Gentakian knows a great deal of news too � you know his shop opposite the Ping-Pong?�Oh, William, I feel so happy tonight. Let us not go back to dine at the Pension where Frau Dressler disapproves. Let us dine again at the Ping-Pong. We can buy some tinned caviar at Benakis and Popotakis will make us some toast..." After dinner K�hen became grave. "I was so happy just now," she said. "But now I am thinking, what is to become of me? A few weeks and you will go away. I have waited so long for my husband; perhaps he will not come." "Do you think you could bear to live in England?" "I have lived in England. That is where I learned to speak. It was when I was sixteen, after my father went to South America; I worked in a dance hall." "Where?" "I don't know. It was by the sea. I met my husband there; he was so pleased to find someone who would talk German with him. How he talked ...Now you have made me think of him and I am ashamed to be drinking champagne when perhaps he is in trouble." "K�hen, how long must you wait for him?" "I don't know." She unwrapped the speckled foil from the bottle of champagne. "He is not a good husband to me," she admitted, "to go away for so long." She held the foil to her face and carefully modelled it round her nose. "Dear K�hen, will you marry me?" She held the false nose up to William's. "Too long," she said. "Too long to wait?" "Too long for your nose." "Damn," said William. "Now you are upset." "Won't you ever be serious?" "Oh I have been serious too much, too often." Then she added hopefully, "I might go with you now, and then when he comes back I will go with him. Will that do?" "No. I want you to come to England with me. How long must I wait?" "Do not spoil the evening with questions. We will play ping-pong." That night when they reached the Pension Dressler they walked through the yard arm-in-arm; the livestock were asleep and overhead the sky was clear and brilliant with stars. "How long must I wait? How long?" "Not long. Soon. When you like," said K�hen, and ran to her loft.
The three-legged dog awoke and all over the town, in yards and refuse heaps, the pariahs took up his cries of protest.
chapter 3
Next morning William awoke in a new world. As he stood on the verandah calling for his boy, he slowly became aware of the transformation which had taken place overnight. The rains were over. The boards were warm under his feet; below the steps the dank weeds of Frau Dressler's garden had suddenly burst into crimson flower; a tropic sun blazed in the sky, low at present, but with promise of a fiery noon, while beyond the tin roofs of the city, where before had hung a blank screen of slatey cloud, was now disclosed a vast landscape, mile upon mile of sunlit highland, rolling green pastures, dun and rosy terraces, villas and farms and hamlets, gardens and crops and tiny stockaded shrines; crest upon crest receding to the blue peaks of the remote horizon. William called for his boy and called in vair. "He is gone," said Frau Dressler, crossing the yard with a load of earthenware. "All the boys have gone today. They are making holiday for the end of the rains. Some German friends have come to help me." And William's breakfast was eventually brought him by a destitute mechanic who owed Frau Dressler for his share of the last Christmas tree.