The Argosy — page 59: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

46 Letters from Majorca. sure. Accidents are unknown. Every cloud, you know, has its silver lining. The morning was broiling, but as a compartment is always reserved for Mr. Bateman, with whom this is a weekly journey, we travelled as agreeably as circumstances permitted. Far more so, than on the day — I took this journey the reverse way—for our destination this morning was La Puebla. You will remember how I there waited for the train after my arrival at Alcudia at three o’clock in the morning, pacing the platform in soul-patience and physical hunger. We reached La Puebla, and were soon driving towards Mr. Bate- man’s house, which is in one of the streets of the little town. On this occasion I was far better seated than I ever had been in the lordly barouche or in a Mallorcan karrawakky. The house is quaint and pretty. Mr. and Mrs. Lee Bateman have planned, altered, and arranged it with much artistic skill. Entering a covered archway, we were met by Rosa, to whom I must at once introduce you. Her office here is the important one of cook and housekeeper to Mrs. Bateman. She bears a romantic name, but is neither young in person nor beautiful in appearance. She is peculiar, and somewhat erratic: has phases of eccentricity, and times and seasons for their waxing and waning. At the new and full of the moon she attains her apogee of originality—a good word when speak- ing of lunar influences. On the day of our arrival, for instance, she was not at all herself. It is true my advent had not been announced; but I am not for- midable, and in my calm demeanour there could be nothing to cause special aberration. Nevertheless, when Mr. Bateman told her to prepare my room, she went up with her husband, moved every article of furniture out of a large bedroom into the middle of an adjoining dressing-room, proceeded to dismantle beds, roll up carpets, and altogether caused as pretty a state of confusion as was possible. In short, she turned everything upside down. We heard a great noise going on; a noise as of giants above, playing at football with the furniture; some such noise as once kept me awake at Manacor when the giants were playing football with the wine barrels. It suddenly occurred to Mr. Bateman to wonder what meant this sound of unseen artillery. Up we went on a voyage of discovery. Behold the result. Absolute chaos. A dis- mantled chamber, as if in preparation for a moonlight flitting. Rosa’s better half was meekly obeying orders. If Rosa had commanded him to make a bonfire of the débris, he would have done so, without argument. Such conjugal obedience is beautiful—but only when on the feminine side of the house. Rosa herself was standing in the middle of this chaos, like an avenging Nemesis; a dreamy, far off, somnambulistic look in her eyes. ‘Rosa, what does this mean?” asked Mr. Bateman. Then she came out of her trance, gazed about her in astonishment, Gomichbooksneo