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Updated: June 11, 2025
"The' 's suthin' kind o' familiar about your face " he began. Sergia's hand was again on his arm. He patted it lightly. "Don't you worry a mite, Sergia. I ain't goin' to say anything rash. But it does seem to me as if I've seen Mr. Curie's face somewheres or other. 'T ain't a face you're liable to forget." The Frenchman acknowledged the compliment. "It is possible we have met. You have traveled?"
We three'll get along all right in it." "And Sergia?" said the man, with a smile. Uncle William rubbed his head. "Um I'd forgot her, too." The man laughed out. "You don't need to worry. I'm going to lend them my yacht for a trip." "Both on 'em?" asked Uncle William. His puzzled face gazed at the man. "Yes." Uncle William stared. Then the light dawned. "Right off?" he demanded.
He had slipped off his shoes and was in his stocking feet. He stole over to the bed and stood looking down at the thin face. It was a little drawn, with hollow eyes. "He'll perk considabul when he hears about them picters," said Uncle William. But in the morning when, after breakfast, Uncle William announced his great news, the artist ignored it. "Is she coming Sergia?"
How did you know?" Uncle William's eyes twinkled to the boyish face. "Well, I didn't know it not jest that way. I didn't know as she sung songs on a platform, dressed up, like I've heard 'em. What I meant was, her heart kind o' bubbles and sings " "Yes" the artist leaned forward "that is Sergia. It's the way she is. She doesn't sing in public.
The room was filled with the hum of light faces and flowers and color everywhere. Uncle William walked among them erect, overtopping the crowd, his gaze, for the most part, on the sky-line. Sergia, beside him, seemed a slight figure. Glances followed them as they went, amused or curious or a little admiring.
"A leetle," admitted Uncle William. Sergia's face relaxed. She moved away for a minute. The Frenchman nodded. "We have doubtless met; but one forgets " He lifted his eyeglasses and surveyed Uncle William's round, good face. "It doesn't seem as if I could have forgotten yours," he said thoughtfully. "And yet I don't place it." Sergia had returned. "He has been to St. Petersburg," she suggested.
He began to pack vigorously, emerging now and then out of the dust and clatter to beam on the young man. "Now, don't you worry a mite. You're goin' to get well and earn money and come back and pay her, and everything's comin' out all right." In the afternoon tickets arrived from Sergia. There was a line with them, asking Uncle William to call for her, at eight, that evening.
Sergia had whispered a word here and there as she left the room. It made its way back through the crowd "A friend of Mademoiselle Lvova's a sea-captain. She has brought him to hear the MacDowell pieces." The audience smiled and relaxed. The music was beginning. Two young girls played a concerto from Rubenstein, with scared, flying fingers.
The artist smiled through the soft dark. "I would like to get down on my knees." Uncle William smoothed the spread in place. "They'd feel kind o' sharp, I guess. I wouldn't try it not yet. You wait till Sergia comes." "Will she come?" "She'd come to-night if she knew you wanted her. You go to sleep, and in the mornin' you'll take that other pill."
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