PAGE 10
Reka Dom
by
“My father broke in with mock horror on his face: ‘Don’t speak of six gardens!’ he exclaimed. ‘The one will condemn the place, I fear, but we must go home and consult your mother.’
“I suppose we did consult her.
“I know we described all the charms of the house and garden, and passed rather a poor examination as to their condition, and what might be expected from the landlord. That my father endeavoured to conceal his personal bias, and that I made no secret of mine. At last my mother interrupted some elaborately practical details by saying in her gentle voice–
“‘I think choosing a home is something like choosing a companion for life. It is chiefly important to like it. There must be faults everywhere. Do you take to the place, my dear?’
“‘I like it certainly,’ said my father. ‘But the question is not what I like, but what you like.’
“Then I knew it was settled, and breathed freely. For though my father always consulted my mother’s wishes, she generally contrived to choose what she knew he would prefer. And she chose Reka Dom.
* * * * *
“Henceforward good luck seemed to follow our new home.
“First, as to the landlord. The old woman had certainly not exaggerated his oddity. But one of his peculiarities was a most fortunate one for us. He was a bibliomaniac–a lover and collector of valuable and curious books. When my father called on him to arrange about the house, he found him sitting almost in rags, apparently dining upon some cheese-parings, and surrounded by a library, the value of which would have fed and clothed him with comfort for an almost indefinite period. Upon the chair behind him sat a large black cat with yellow eyes.
“When my father was ushered in, he gazed for a moment in silent astonishment at the unexpected sight. Books in shelf after shelf up to the ceiling, and piled in heaps upon the floor. As he stood speechless, the little old man put down the plate, gathered his ragged dressing-gown about him, and, followed by the cat, scrambled across the floor and touched his arm.
“‘You look at books as if you loved them?’ he said.
“My father sighed as if a spell had been broken.
“‘I am nearly half a century old,’ he said, ‘and I do not remember the day when I did not love them.’
“He confessed afterwards to my mother that not less than two hours elapsed before Reka Dom was so much as spoken of. Then his new acquaintance was as anxious to secure him for a tenant as he had been to take the house.
“‘Put down on paper what you think wants doing, and it shall be done,’ was the old gentleman’s liberal order on the subject of repairs. ‘Lord! Lord!’ he went on, ‘it’s one thing to have you, and another thing to put the house right for men who don’t know an Elzevir from an annual in red silk. One fellow came here who would have given me five pounds more than I wanted for the place; but he put his vile hat upon my books. Lord! Lord!’
“The old man’s strongest effort in my father’s favour, however, was the proposal of a glass of wine. He seemed to have screwed himself up to the offer, and to be proportionately relieved when it was declined.
“‘You’re quite right,’ he said, frankly; ‘my wine is not so good as my books. Come and see them, whenever you like.’
“‘The bookshelves shall be repaired, sir,’ was his final promise in answer to a hint from my father, who (it being successful, and he being a very straight-forward man) was ever afterwards ashamed of this piece of diplomacy. ‘And the fire-place must be seen to. Lord! Lord! A man can live anywhere, but valuable books must be taken care of. Would you believe it? I have a fire in this room three times a week in bad weather. And fuel is terribly dear, terribly dear. And that slut in the kitchen burns as much as if she had the care of the Vatican Library. She said she couldn’t roast the meat without. “Then give me cold meat!” I said; but she roasts and boils all the same. So last week I forbade the butcher the house, and we’ve lived on cheese ever since, and that’s eightpence a pound. Food is terribly dear here, sir; everything is dear. It’s enough to ruin a man. And you’ve got a family. Lord! Lord! How a man can keep a family and books together, I can’t imagine. However, I suppose children live chiefly on porridge.’