Canaan's Tongue by John Wray Page B

said only—: “Is the horse trade not going well enough for you, Mr. M——?”
    “The horse trade is going
gloriously,
Colonel,” the R—— replied. “So well, in fact, that there are some—or so I’m told—who’d be content to spend the rest of their lives dealing in other people’s horses.” He cocked his head. “Might you, perhaps, be such a man?”
    The Colonel took a breath. He thought of an answer, swallowed it, and sat back in his chair.
    “This question—,” said the R——: “this question of
whether
to try our hand at reversing the flow of trade, is the least interesting of the questions I’m prepared to address this evening. Allow me to pass over the ‘should we,’ for the moment, in favor of the ‘how.’ ”
    “By all means, let’s have it!” the Colonel said quickly.
    The R—— nodded and began rifling through a stack of papers. Sitting behind him as I was, I could see what only Virgil and the R—— himself could see—: that they were blank as bed-sheets, every one. Here’s a crafty sort of blackguard, I thought to myself. We’re marbles to him, all of us—; to be tossed for and collected.
    “Each of you may play a role in the effort I’m going to describe,” he said, still studying the papers. “Some of you have already given me your pledge.”
    “You have my thupport, Thir—you know
that,
” said a lisping, wheedling fellow at the table’s near corner. His prim little face sat on a plump round body that looked to belong to a different man entirely. His chin was drawn into his face as though he was chewing on a lemon.
    “Thank you, Harvey,” the R—— said. “Now, gentlemen. Kindly permit me to detail the logistics of our plan.”
    “Whose plan, now?” came a hard-sounding voice from behind the Colonel.
    “
Ours,
I hope, Lieutenant Beauregard,” the R—— said politely.
    That one’s not his marble yet, I thought.
    “I’ve no doubt that you
hope
it, M——; who
conceived
of it was my question.”
    To my surprise the R—— took Virgil by the arm. “Ah! In that sense,
ours,
Lieutenant. Young Mr. Ball’s here and my own.”
    Though I couldn’t see Virgil’s face I saw his neck go pale and heard him commence to groan and stammer. All heads turned to look at him.
    “I’ve heard tell of this idiot of yours,” the lieutenant said in a comfortable way.
    I sat up then and looked the lieutenant over. He sported a gleaming black moustache and a canary-yellow waistcoat. His face was cruel and prideful.
    “D’Ancourt tells me you read him something like a compass,” he said.
    “Good lord, Pierre!
I
never said so,” the Colonel wheezed.
    The R——’s face crimped together. “Ah! Mr. Beauregard. You are new to our little company. I assure you Mr. Ball is anything but an
idiot,
as you express it. Quite the opposite.”
    Virgil was still scratching busily with his pencil, his nose all but pressed against the table. He was taking the minutes even then. My hands balled together at the thought of it and my tongue thickened in my mouth. I wished the lieutenant every earthly evil. But a part of me wished Virgil even worse.
    The R—— heaved a sigh. “Such japes, if you’ll pardon my saying so, waste precious minutes. We’ve still a great deal to discuss.”
    That said, he went back to shuffling his papers. My eyes wandered about the room. There’s every kind of citizen here, I thought. One of each kind of American, like on board of Noah’s ark.
    The room was poorly lit and the backs of the chairs threw great heavy shadows into the corners. There, where the dark was closest, I saw a man I hadn’t taken note of before. He was dressed in some manner of long black nightshirt and his body was as narrow and ganglish as I ever thought to see, with hairs on his face and forehead exactly like a possum’s. His mouth was bent sideways and his body was stiff and bristly as a broom. He came piece by piece out of the dark and when his leer fell upon me I went