got him settled at length, although not before the sudden apparition of a dragon with a scaly tail—one of the drawings that hung above the couch—had wrested from him a howl of terror: he had sprung out of bed and rushed out of Wang’s apartment and into Eugene’s, saying hoarsely, and in a tone of frightened indignation: “Do you expect me to spend the night alone in there with that damned Chinaman and his dragon?… How do I know what he’ll do?… One of those people would cut your throat while you’re asleep and think nothing of it…. I’m not going to stay in there.” Gene finally persuaded him of Wang’s innocence and kindness, and at length he went off to sleep after drinking the better part of a bottle of Wang’s rice wine.
XXXVIII
One Sunday morning early in the month of May, Starwick and Eugene had crossed the bridge that led to the great stadium, and turned right along a path that followed the winding banks of the Charles River. Spring had come with the sudden, almost explosive loveliness that marks its coming in New England: along the banks of the river the birch trees leaned their slender, white and beautiful trunks, and their boughs were coming swiftly into the young and tender green of May.
That spring—which, for Eugene, would be the third and last of his years in Cambridge—Starwick had become more mannered in his dress and style than ever before. During the winter, much to Professor Hatcher’s concern—a concern which constantly became more troubled and which he was no longer able to conceal—the darling protégé on whom his bounty and his favour had been lavished, and to whom, he had fondly hoped, he would one day pass on the proud authorities of his own position when he himself should become too old to carry on “the work,” had begun to wear spats and carry a cane and be followed by a dog.
Now, with the coming of spring, Frank had discarded the spats, but as they walked along beside the Charles, he twirled his elegant light stick with an air of languid insouciance, interrupting his conversation with his friend now and then to speak sharply to the little dog that frisked and scampered along as if frantic with the joy of May, crying out to the little creature sharply, commandingly, and in a rather womanish tone from time to time:
“Heel, Tang! Heel, I say!”
