U.S.A_ - John Dos Passos [514]
. . she's had such a dreadful life. You'd like to do any little thing that would please her, wouldn't you? . . . And, Richard, I'm worried about Ward . . . he looks so terribly tired . . . I hope he isn't beginning to break up. He's the type you know that goes off like that. . . . You know these big shortnecked blonds."
There was a tal silver samovar on the Buhl table in front of the marble fireplace and beside it sat a large oldish woman in a tinsel shawl with her hair in a pompadour and the powder flaking off a tired blotchy face. She was very gracious and had quite a twinkle in her eye and she was piling caviar out of a heaped cutglass bowl onto a slice of blackbread and laughing with her mouth ful . Around her were grouped Russians in al stages of age and decay, some in tunics and some in cheap business suits and some frowsty-looking young women and a pair of young men with slick hair and choirboy faces. They were al drinking tea or little glasses of vodka. Everybody was ladling out caviar. Dick was introduced to the prince who was an olivefaced young man with black brows and a little pointed black mustache who wore a black tunic and black soft leather boots and had a prodigiously smal waist. They were al merry as crickets chirping and roaring in Russian, French and Eng-lish. Eleanor sure is putting out, Dick caught himself thinking as he dug into the mass of big greygrained caviar. J. W. looking pale and fagged was standing in the cor-ner of the room with his back to an icon that had three
-488-candles burning in front of it. Dick distinctly remembered having seen the icon in Eleanor's window some weeks be-fore, against a piece of purple brocade. J. W. was talking to an ecclesiastic in a black cassock with purple trimmings who when Dick went up to them turned out to have a rich Irish brogue. "Meet the Archimandrite O'Donnel , Dick," said J. W. "Did I get it right?" The Archimandrite grinned and nodded. "He's been tel ing me about the monasteries in Greece.""You mean where they haul you up in a basket?" said Dick. The Archimandrite jiggled his grinning, looselipped face up and down. "I'm goin' to have the honorr and pleasurr of introducin' dear Eleanor into the mysteries of the true church. I was tel in' Mr. Moore-house the story of my conversion." Dick found an impu-dent rol ing eye looking him over. "Perhaps you'd be carin' to come someday, Mr. Savage, to hear our choir. Unbelief dissolves in music like a lump of sugar in a glass of hot tay.""Yes, I like the Russian choir," said J. W.
"Don't you think that our dear Eleanor looks happier and younger for it?" The Archimandrite was beaming into the crowded room. J. W. nodded doubtful y. "Och, a lovely graceful little thing she is, clever too. . . . Per-haps, Mr. Moorehouse and Mr. Savage, you'd come to the service and to lunch with me afterwards. . . . I have some ideas about a little book on my experiences at Mount Athos. . . . We could make a little parrty of it." Dick was amazed to find the Archimandrite's fingers pinching him in the seat and hastily moved away a step, but not be-fore he'd caught from the Archimandrite's left eye a slow vigorous wink.
The big room was ful of clinking and toasting, and there was the occasional crash of a broken glass. A group of younger Russians were singing in deep roaring voices that made the crystal chandelier tinkle over their heads. The caviar was al gone but two uniformed maids were
-489-bringing in a table set with horsdoeuvres in the middle of which was a large boiled salmon.
J. W. nudged Dick. "I think we might go someplace where we can talk.""I was just waiting for you, J. W. I think I've got a new slant. I think it'l click this time." They'd just managed to make their way through the
crush to the door when a Russian girl in black with fine black eyes and arched brows came running after them.
"Oh, you mustn't go. Leocadia Pavlovna likes you so much. She likes it here, it is informal . . . the bohème. That is what we like about Leonora Ivanovna. She is bohème and we are bohème. We luff her." "I'm afraid we have a business appointment," said J. W. solemnly. The Russian girl snapped her fingers with, "Oh, business it is disgusting. . . . America would be so nice without the business."