A Passion in the Desert
A PASSION IN THE DESERT BY HONORE DE BALZAC Translated by Ernest Dowson "The whole show is dreadful," she cried coming out of the menagerie of M. Martin. She had just been looking at that daring speculator "working with his hyena,"--to speak in the style of the programme. "By what means," she continued, "can he have tamed these animals to such a point as to be certain of their affection for----" "What seems to you a problem," said I, interrupting, "is really quite
bake-shop on the Main Street of the town of Coal Creek Pennsylvania
and then went quickly inside. Something pleased him and as he stood
before the counter in the shop he laughed and whistled softly. With a
wink at the Reverend Minot Weeks who stood by the door leading to the
street, he tapped with his knuckles on the showcase.
"It has," he said, waving attention to the boy, who was making a mess
of the effort to arrange Uncle Charlie's loaf into a neat package, "a
pretty name. They call it Norman--Norman McGregor." Uncle Charlie
laughed heartily and again stamped upon the floor. Putting his finger
to his forehead to suggest deep thought, he turned to the minister. "I
am going to change all that," he said.
"Norman indeed! I shall give him a name that will stick! Norman! Too
soft, too soft and delicate for Coal Creek, eh? It shall be
rechristened. You and I will be Adam and Eve in the garden naming
things. We will call it Beaut--Our Beautiful One--Beaut McGregor."
The Reverend Minot Weeks also laughed. He thrust four ringers of each
hand into the pockets of his trousers, letting the extended thumbs lie
along the swelling waist line. From the front the thumbs looked like
two tiny boats on the horizon of a troubled sea. They bobbed and
jumped about on the rolling shaking paunch, appearing and disappearing
as laughter shook him. The Reverend Minot Weeks went out at the door
ahead of Uncle Charlie, still laughing. One fancied that he would go
A PASSION IN THE DESERT BY HONORE DE BALZAC Translated by Ernest Dowson "The whole show is dreadful," she cried coming out of the menagerie of M. Martin. She had just been looking at that daring speculator "working with his hyena,"--to speak in the style of the programme. "By what means," she continued, "can he have tamed these animals to such a point as to be certain of their affection for----" "What seems to you a problem," said I, interrupting, "is really quite