Farther along, and in a considerably better-housed neighborhood, if not one where you were likely to meet your maiden aunt or her pastor, a woman waved from a window and called out a greeting which they politely returned. The greeting was followed by an invitation which they politely declined. At the next window, another woman. Another greeting. Another invitation. And at the next window . . . And at the next . . . And . . .
“Dunno why they need any light," said Pard, who had already pushed his sombrero to a rakish angle. “Them red petticuts is bright enough.”
They rode on a moment or so before the same thought occured to them. They mentioned the name and the need of Professor Gronk. And ... it is to be feared . . . they both burst out laughing. “Sure to be silk,” Pard declared. Still... He began to sing:
“I ain’t got no use for the women, the ladies and girls o’ the town: They’ll stick to a man when he’s winnin, and step on his face when he’s down. . . .”
By and by they found themselves fairly near the mouth of the Little Ister where it disembogued into the Ister proper, and whom should they see sitting on her invariable stool but that well-known character, the Frow Widow Wumple. Wumple (“God rest his soul”) had been a master boatwright; his prows were famous: “dumpling-cutters” they were called; and his relict lived by renting out the ways. Right now no vessel was hauled up for repairs, scraping, caulking, painting ... but who knew what rascal might care to try? . . . and then try getting away without paying! Therefore, as always, the Frow Widow Wumple on her stool. Conversation with her was always interesting, providing only that one had an infinite capacity for hearing the phrase, “Ah, they didn’t have none o’ them things when / was a gal!” — and Dr. Eszterhazy had. Today the list of things which they didn’t have none of when the Widow Wumple was a girl included: store-boughten butter, paved roads, a disgusting French disease called la grippe, indoor plumbing, and some foreign food named sandwhich... the Widow Wumple wasn’t quite sure what this last was, but was sure it was unwholesome. “. . . bound to be... ” Another thing, etc., was gentlemen who would light up segars and not offer one to a poor old woman with the affliction in both legs and scarce a pennikk to bless herself with; Eszterhazy was so remorseful and hasty that he forgot to blow out the lucifer match before tossing it away.
“... and she says to me [puff], ‘So you see Mother Wumple [puff], we be getting married in church so I hopes you won’t draw the wrong conclusion.’ [Puff] 'See?’ says I. T ben’t blind,’ says I. ‘Wrong conclusion, indeed,’says I. [Puff-puff] ‘I’ve had 11 children of me own and can count up to nine as well as the next one, the wedding feast we needn’t ask about but send me some sugared almonds from the chrismation snack,’ ah they didn’t have such things when I was a girl [puff. . . puff].”
Eszterhazy, in mock surprise, said, “Which? Christening or sugared almonds?” The old woman cackled, smacked skinny hand on skinny knee.
The lucifer had begun to burn more and not less brightly, and he felt obliged to dismount and stamp it out. And stayed where he was, looking.
“Ah, that’s all that scurf from across the Little River,” the old woman said. “First there come all that sawdust. Then come all that coal-dust.
The current wash them here, when the seas’nal tides was high. The both of them has sort of conglobulate together and dried out and a body has to be certain careful where she drop or dump a bucket o’ hot ashes or that scurf will start blazin; ah they didn’t have none ’f them things when / was a girl but now I’m just a old woman with the affliction in both legs [puff], and I can’t do nothin about anythin [puff].”
Eszterhazy said that he would see to it that the rubbish was cleared away. But he set no date to it. And the two cantered on. And as the two cantered on, the European asked a question and the American delivered an answer. “ ‘What do I think —?’ Why, I believe old Burgenblitz is not such a bad old son of a bitch for such a bad old son of a bitch as he is, you know, Elmer. Trouble is, he is bored! He’s tired! Bein a European-style, country gentleman bores him! Pokin fat pigs, feedin fat cattle, ballroom dancin, opry, why he’s done it all, he is bored with it. He is tired of your make-buhlieve hunts, they air all fakes, Elmer — peasants drivin pheasants in front of where he stands a-shootin of them, servants loadin his guns for him, servants countin up his kills for him — why they ain’t no good wars he could jine up into right now — folks want to go to Jerusalem they don’t go on a Crusade, they go on a Cook’s Tour — he can’t read no books for pleasure....So whut’s left for him to do but to dig in his heels and say, ‘Nobuddy tells me whut t’do!’ Jest like some old Florida Cracker.”
Much would “Elmer” have wished to ask him more about the Old Florida Crackers ... from “Old” Florida? and what did they crack, corn?
. . . but it was at that moment that everything changed; it was at that moment that he encountered De Bly, the Civil Provost of the Capital and ex officio a member of the Privy Council; De Bly was riding his dun gelding and riding him hard, Eszterhazy could not quite make out where, exactly, De Bly was going: and perhaps De Bly at that moment could not have made it out either. And De Bly looked like doom.
He hailed him. The man looked up, mouth open, chops sagging, began a gesture, let his hand fall, made as if to ride on: stopped, suddenly, waved the younger man to come on. Began to talk while they were still not face to face. “They tell me that you are a Doctor-Philosopher now, Eszterhazy, I don’t know what that means, but I know you performed well in the Illyrian Campaign, and I know you did something quick and clever in the matter of that Northish King who came here incognito. Oh you better do something quick and clever right now, I don’t know what it may be, but damned quick —” And then he told him what he had heard at the session of the Privy Council.
Eszterhazy listened, quite without joy.
Then De Bly went his wild, bewildered way, and left Eszterhazy to go his. Who, as he proceeded back towards the heart of the city, translated for his companion. Who thoughtfully said, “Sort of like .. .oh ... sort of
like, say, Hayti and Santo Domingo tryin to carve up northern Mexico between them. Would we like that? No we wouldn’t.” But Eszterhazy had nothing to say to such a comparison.
And Eszterhazy had nothing to say when he heard Pard say, “How, Burgey. You old galoot.” For a moment. He heard a wordless murmur. There, wearing the undress uniform of an officer of Imperial Jaegers, was Burgenblitz. He looked rather tired; and he looked at Eszterhazy, for all that he had recently been his guest, with the same wary indifference with which he looked at most people when he did not look at them with anger. A spark blazed hotly in the younger man’s head. He raised his left hand as though, it being his right, he were about to take an oath. “Baron,” he said, “I absolutely deny that you have any authority over me whatsoever.” He of course gained instantly the Baron’s interest... if not his understanding. “I also absolutely deny that I have any authority over you whatsoever.” The Lord of Blitzenburg was not denying this denial; the Doctor of Philosophy and aspiring doctor of science went on, briskly but not hastily, speaking with clear pronunciation but avoiding any special emphasis of words; “Therefore not as one claiming authority and not as one designating or yielding authority, but simply as one member of the Order of St. Cyril to another, I do ask this of you: that you, acting upon the rank of special constable inherent in your own noble rank, take charge of the field called the Old Fair Grounds. That you take charge of whatever supplies may be sent to it. That you enlist the help of as many soldiers or sailors whom you may need and find at liberty, as you are entitled to do anyway by virtue of your own military rank . . . you are certainly justified in treating them to beer .. . there is a crisis impending and apparently the State cannot act in time.” Eszterhazy ceased to speak.