I've a pretty private suite there. I shall arrange
a little supper for to-night. My automobile is here."
"Is it possible that I once saved your life and have forgotten all
about it?" Edward Henry exclaimed. "Or do you treat everybody like
this?"
"We like to look after our friends," said Mr. Sachs, simply.
In the terrific confusion of the quay, where groups of passengers
were mounted like watch-dogs over hillocks of baggage, Mr. Sachs stood
continually between the travellers and the administrative rigour and
official incredulity of a proud republic. And in the minimum of time
the fine trunk of Edward Henry and the modest packages of the poet
were on the roof of Mr. Sachs's vast car. The three men were inside,
and the car was leaping, somewhat in the manner of a motor-boat at
full speed, over the cobbles of a wide mediaeval street.
"Quick!" thought Edward Henry. "I haven't a minute to lose!"
His prayer reached the chauffeur. Conversation was difficult; Carlo
Trent groaned. Presently they rolled less perilously upon asphalt,
though the equipage still lurched. Edward Henry was for ever bending
his head towards the window aperture in order to glimpse the roofs of
the buildings, and never seeing the roofs.
"Now we're on Fifth," said Mr. Sachs, after a fearful lurch, with
pride.
Vistas of flags, high cornices, crowded pavements, marble, jewellery
behind glass--the whole seen through a roaring phantasmagoria of
competing and menacing vehicles!
And Edward Henry thought:
"This is my sort of place!"
The jolting recommenced.
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