IV
Reading edition
The poker game was finished. Pigalle sauntered slowly over to my table.
“You know Handy?” he asked, slowly, in his broken English.
“Who’s that?”
“The hole man that ees just go out. ’Is name ees Handy Gor-don.” He rolled his great expressive eyes. “’E’s cra-zee man. Also wot you call loafer: ’e do not work wen ’e wish not to. But, mon Dieu, ’ow ’e can play, that man!” He made a suave, swelling gesture with his hands and arms and heaved up his great bulk gracefully. “’Ow ’e can play! ’Ow ’e can play!”
“He is Andy Gordon!” I exclaimed. “What is he? A weaver?”
“Comment?”
“A weaver? Makes cloth—like this?” I held up the corner of the tablespread.
“Corpo, no!” ejaculated the astonished Pigalle. “Handy ees violinist-a.”