Читать книгу The Missourian - Eugene P. Lyle - Страница 5

“MURGUÍA”

“He had evidently passed through salty spray, had

braved the deep, this shrinking old man in frayed black”

17“You mean that you won’t pay here, because I am the one in danger here, and not you? Bien, you want a money-getting man for your daughter, eh, Don Anastasio, though you’ll deny that you would give her to any man? Bien, bonissimo, I am going to prove myself an eligible suitor. In another minute Your Mercy will be frightened enough to pay. Attention now!”

So saying he drew a reed whistle from his jacket. It was no thicker than a pencil, and not half so long.

Murguía gripped his arm. “My daughter?” he cried. “It has been weeks since I–but you must have seen her lately. Oh tell me, señor, there is no bad news of her?” He had forgotten the threatened extortion. His voice was open too, generous in its anxiety.

“News of her, yes. But it is vague news. There’s a mystery about your daughter, Don Anastasio.”

But at this point Fra Diavolo dismissed mystery and daughter both with an ugly grimace. Nor would he say another word, for all the father’s pleading. Instead, he remembered the little reed whistle in his hand, and swung round to blow upon it, in spite of the palsied hand clutching at his arm. But in turning, he became aware of the amused Parisienne watching him. His jaw fell, whereat Don Anastasio’s hand slipped from his arm, and Don Anastasio himself began to slip away.

“Stop!” roared Fra Diavolo. “No, go ahead. Wait at the mesón, though, until I come. Wait until I give you your passports.”

Then he turned again to stare at the girl who all unconsciously had wrought the poor little crow’s release.