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Fortunately, the lady arrived late, and we had already enjoyed some interesting conversation before she came. A wetter "wet blanket" it has never been my fortune to encounter. She was a very handsome woman, and therefore good to look at, but in the rôle of sympathetic audience she was a miserable failure.
Ada had forgotten her fatigue of the evening. It seemed to them that they could have walked all night like that, on the silent grass, in the hovering mists, that grew wetter and more dense along the river that was wrapped in a whiteness as of the moon. The steamer's siren hooted: the invisible monster plunged heavily away and away. They said, laughing: "We will take the next."
Nein, nein, I 'll meddle with her no more; she's a witch of the fiend, a real deyvil's kind, but that's her affair. Donner and wetter! I'll neither make nor meddle; that's her work. But for the rest why, if I thought the trade would not suffer, I would soon rid you of the younker, if you send me word when he's under embargo.
"You sing it to perfection," said I. "There's nothing wrong, nothing at all. Wetter here is mad." "Wetter is certainly mad," echoed Varvilliers, rising from the sofa. "Wetter is damned mad," said Wetter. "Wetter is right ah, so right," came in a despairing grumble from poor Struboff, who still played away. "To supper, to supper!" cried Wetter. "You're right, all of you. And I'm right. And I'm mad.
Coralie's voice echoed through the house as we entered. For a moment we paused in the hall to listen. Then Wetter dashed up the stairs, crying, "Good God! Wooden, wooden, wooden!" We followed him at a run; he flung the door open and rushed in. Coralie broke off her singing and came to greet me with a little cry of pleased surprise. Struboff sat at the piano, looking rather bewildered.
His deep voice echoed and re-echoed through the empty rooms, and Dorothy laughed; a little hysterically this time. Match after match sputtered and failed. "Couldn't have got much wetter if I'd been in swimming," he grumbled. "Here goes the last one." By the uncertain light they found a candle and Harlan drew a long breath of relief. "It would have been pleasant, wouldn't it?" he went on.
Wetter waved a hand to him and laughed. Laugh, laugh, Wetter! It is your only gospel and therefore must be pardoned its inevitable defects. Laugh even at poor Struboff whose stomach is so gross, whose feelings so fine, who may not give his wife a piece of bread, and would ask no greater joy than to kiss her feet.
"We ought to have umbrellas," said Freddie, as he felt the drops of rain pelting down. "If we had umbrellas this would be fun, 'cause we aren't hurt from our balloon ride." "No, we aren't hurt," agreed Flossie, "'ceptin' I'm jiggled up a lot." "So'm I," Freddie stated. "I'm jiggled, too!" "And we hasn't got any umbrella, and I'm gettin' wetter'n wetter!" half sobbed Flossie.
We did not quarrel, we felt a friendliness for one another. Each knew the price the other paid or must pay as well as he knew his own price. But we were rivals. Varvilliers was wrong when he said that Coralie cared nothing about Wetter. She cared, although it was in a peculiar fashion that she cared.
"Death Valley has nothing on this place," he mourned. Bob explained apologetically, "I'm sorry, but there's nothing in the house wetter than Croton water." "I understand! Will you object if I sweeten a glass of it with some Scottish rites? I'm afraid of germs, and if water rots leather think what it must do to the sensitive lining of a human stomach?"
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