Page:The plumed serpent - 1926.djvu/54

“You common-place little woman!” said Kate aloud, looking after the retreating tram-car. “You awful ill-bred little pair.”

She was a bit afraid of the natives, not quite sober, who were waiting for the car in the opposite direction. But stronger than her fear was a certain sympathy with these dark-faced silent men in their big straw hats and naïve little cotton blouses. Anyhow they had blood in their veins: they were columns of dark blood.

Whereas the other bloodless, acidulous couple from the Middle-West, with their nasty whiteness . . .!

She thought of the little tale the natives tell. When the Lord was making the first men, he made them of clay and put them into the oven to bake. They came out black. They’re baked too much! said the Lord. So he made another batch, and put them in. They came out white. They’re baked too little! He said. So He had a third try. These came out a good warm brown. They’re just right! said the Lord.

The couple from the Middle-West, that withered babyface and that limping Judge, they weren't baked. They were hardly baked at all.

Kate looked at the dark faces under the arc-lamp. They frightened her. They were a sort of menace to her. But she felt they were at least baked hot and to a certain satisfactory colour.

The taxi came lurching up, with Owen poking his head out and opening the door.

“I found the man in a pulqueria,” he said. “But I don’t think he’s quite drunk. Will you risk driving back with him?”

“The pulqueria was called La Flor de un Dia—the Flower of a Day,” said Owen, with an apprehensive laugh.

Kate hesitated, looking at her man.

“We may as well,” she said.

Away gallivanted the Ford, full speed to Hell.

“Do tell him not so fast,” said Kate.

“I don’t know how,” said Owen.

He shouted in good English:

“Hey! chauffeur! Not so fast! Don’t drive so fast.”

“No presto. Troppo presto. Va troppo presto!” said Kate.