The Blood of the Conquerors 4 – Fergusson · Verses Across
Literature · Historical Fiction
The Blood of the Conquerors 4Chapter IV
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Literature · Historical Fiction
The Blood of the Conquerors 4
Chapter IV
FergussonEnglish
When the music stopped Ramon left the hall for the hotel lobby, where he soothed his sensibilities with a small brown cigarette of his own making. In one of the swinging benches covered with Navajo blankets two other dress-suited youths were seated, smoking and talking. One of them was a short, plump Jew with a round and gravely good-natured face; the other a tall, slender young fellow with a great mop of curly brown hair, large soft eyes and a sensitive mouth.
“She’s good looking, all right,” the little fellow assented, as Ramon came up.
“Good looking!” exclaimed the other with enthusiasm. “She’s a little queen! Nothing like her ever hit this town before.”
“Who’s all the excitement about?” Ramon demanded, thrusting himself into the conversation with the easy familiarity which was his right as one of “the bunch.”
Sidney Felberg turned to him in mock amazement.
“Good night, Ramon! Where have you been? Asleep? We’re talking about Julia Roth, same as everybody else.…”
“Who’s she?” Ramon queried coolly, discharging a cloud of smoke from the depths of his lungs. “Never heard of her.”
“Well, she’s our latest social sensation … sister of some rich lunger that recently hit town; therefore very important. But that’s not the only reason. Wait till you see her.”
“All right; introduce me to her,” Ramon suggested.
“Go on; knock him down to the lady,” Sidney proposed to his companion.
“No, you,” Conny demurred. “I refuse to take the responsibility. He’s too good looking.”
“All right,” Sidney assented. “Come on. It’s the only way I can get a look at her anyway—introducing somebody else. A good-looking girl in this town can start a regular stampede. We ought to import a few hundred.…”
It was during an intermission. They forced their way through a phalanx of men brandishing programs and pencils, each trying to bring himself exclusively to the attention of a small blonde person who seemed to have some such quality of attractiveness for men as spilled honey has for insects.
When Ramon saw her he felt as though something inside of him had bumped up against his diaphragm, taking away his breath for a moment, agitating him strangely. And he saw an answering surprised recognition in her wide grey eyes.
“You … you’re the girl on the train,” he remarked idiotically, as he took her hand.
She turned pink and laughed.
“You’re the man that wouldn’t look up,” she mocked.
“What’s all this about?” demanded Sidney. “You two met before?”
“May I have a dance?” Ramon inquired, suddenly recovering his presence of mind.
“Let me see … you’re awfully late.” They put their heads close together over her program. He saw her cut out the name of another man who had two dances, and then she held her pencil poised.
“Of course I didn’t get your name,” she admitted.
“No; I’ll write it … Was it Carter? Delcasar? Ramon Delcasar. You must be Spanish. I was wondering … you’re so dark. I’m awfully interested in Spanish people.…” She wrote the name in a bold, upright, childish hand.
Ramon found that he had lost his mood of discontent after this, and he entered with zest into the spirit of the dance which was fast losing its stiff and formal character. Punch and music had broken down barriers. The hall was noisy with the ringing, high pitched laughter of excitement. It was warm and filled with an exotic, stimulating odour, compounded of many perfumes and of perspiration. Every one danced. Young folk danced as though inspired, swaying their bodies in time to the tune. The old and the fat danced with pathetic joyful earnestness, going round and round the hall with red and perspiring faces, as though in this measure they might recapture youth and slimness if only they worked hard enough. Now and then a girl sang a snatch of the tune in a clear young voice, full of abandon, and sometimes others took up the song and it rose triumphant above the music of the orchestra for a moment, only to be lost again as the singers danced apart.
Ramon had been looking forward so long and with such intense anticipation to his dance with Julia Roth that he was a little self-conscious at its beginning, but this feeling was abolished by the discovery that they could dance together perfectly. He danced in silence, looking down upon her yellow head and white shoulders, the odour of her hair filling his nostrils, forgetful of everything but the sensuous delight of the moment.
This mood of solemn rapture was evidently not shared by her, for presently the yellow head was thrown back, and she smiled up at him a bit mockingly.
“Just like on the train,” she remarked. “Not a thing to say for yourself. Are you always thus silent?”
Ramon grinned.
“No,” he countered, “I was just trying to get up the nerve to ask if you’ll let me come to see you.”
“That doesn’t take much nerve,” she assured him. “Practically every man I’ve danced with tonight has asked me that. I never had so many dates before in my life.”
“Well; may I follow the crowd, then?”
“You may,” she laughed. “Or call me up first, and maybe there won’t be any crowd.”
