The Man from Home | Page 8

Probably made a fortune in sausages.
VASILI [heard within the hotel, approaching]. Nein, nein, Ribiere! 'S
macht nichts!
[He enters from the hotel. He is a portly man of forty-five, but rather
soldierly than fat. His hair, pompadour, is reddish blond, beginning to
turn gray, like his mustache and large full beard; the latter somewhat
"Henry IV." and slightly forked at bottom. His dress produces the effect
rather of carelessness than of extreme fashion. He wears a
travelling-suit of gray, neat enough but not freshly pressed, the trousers
showing no crease, the coat cut in "walking-coat style," with big,
slanting pockets, in which he carries his gloves, handkerchief, matches,
and a silver cigarette-case full of Russian cigarettes. On his head is a
tan-colored automobile cap with buttoned flaps. He is followed by
RIBIERE, who, anxious and perturbed, wishes to call his attention to
the item in the Neapolitan morning paper.]
VASILI [waving both RIBIERE and the paper aside, in high
good-humor]. Las' mich, las' mich! Geh'n sie weg!

[RIBIERE bows submissively, though with a gesture of protest, and
exit into the hotel. The group about the tea-table watch VASILI with
hostility.]
LADY CREECH. What a dreadful person!
[VASILI crosses to his seat at the breakfast-table in front of
MARIANO and MICHELE, who bows profoundly as he passes.]
VASILI [lifting his hand in curt, semi-military salute, to acknowledge
the waiters' bows]. See to my American friend.
[MICHELE immediately hastens into the hotel. VASILI sits, and
MARIANO serves him.]
HAWCASTLE [to LADY CREECH, in her ear]. Quite right; but take
care, he speaks English.
LADY CREECH [glaring at VASILI]. Many thoroughly objectionable
persons do!
VASILI [apparently oblivious to her remark, to MARIANO]. My
American friend wishes his own national dish.
MARIANO [deferentially, and serving VASILI to caviar]. Yes, Herr
von Gröllerhagen, he will have the eggs on but one of both sides and
the hams fried. So he go to cook it himself.
[Loud shouts and wild laughter from the street. HORACE, ALMERIC,
and LADY CREECH set their papers down in their laps and turn
toward the door.]
MARIANO. Ha! He return from the kitchen with those national dish.
ETHEL [glancing in the doorway]. How horrid!
[MICHELE backs out on the stoop from the doorway laughing,
carrying a platter of ham and eggs.]

MICHELE. He have gone to wash himself at the street fountain.
[Tumult outside reaches its height, the shouts of "Yanka Dooda!"
predominating.]
VASILI [laughing, clapping his hands]. Bravo! Bravo!
ETHEL. Horrible!
[PIKE enters from the hotel. He is a youthful-looking American of
about thirty-five, good-natured, shrewd, humorous, and kindly. His
voice has the homely quality of the Central States, clear, quiet, and
strong, with a very slight drawl at times when the situation strikes him
as humorous, often exhibiting an apologetic character. He does not
speak a dialect. His English is the United States language as spoken by
the average citizen to be met on a daycoach anywhere in the Central
States. He is clean-shaven, and his hair, which shows a slight tendency
to gray, is neatly parted on the left side. His light straw hat is edged
with a strip of ribbon. The hat, like the rest of his apparel, is neither
new nor old. His shirt, "lay-down" collar, and cuffs are of white,
well-laundered linen. He wears a loosely knotted tie. A linen
motor-duster extends to his knees. His waistcoat is of a gray mixture,
neither dark nor light. His trousers are of the same material and not
fashionably cut, yet they fit him well and are neither baggy at the knees
nor "high-water." His shoes are plain black Congress gaiters and show
a "good shine." In brief, he is just the average well-to-do but
untravelled citizen that you might meet on an accommodation train
between Logansport and Kokomo, Indiana. As he enters he is wiping
his face, after his ablutions, with a large towel, his hat pushed far back
on his head. The sleeves of his duster are turned back, and his
detachable cuffs are in his pocket. He comes through the doors rubbing
his face with the towel, but, pausing for a moment on the stoop, drops
the towel from his face to dry his hands. All except VASILI and the
waiters stare at him with frowns of annoyance.]
PIKE [beamingly unconscious of this, surprised, and in a tone of
cheerful apology, believing all the world to be as good-natured and
sensible as Kokomo would be under the circumstances]. Law! I didn't

know there was folks here. I reckon you'll have to excuse me.
[As he speaks he dries his hands quickly.]
Here, son!
[He hands the towel to MICHELE. PIKE rapidly descends the steps,
goes to the breakfast-table, joining VASILI and taking the seat opposite
him.]
VASILI [gayly]. You're a true patriot, my friend. You allow no