[Titanic] Ticket

Autumn was about to pass, the north wind and ice and snow were beginning to appear, and the leaves were falling. Antonio wrapped his coat tightly, cursed the damn weather in a low voice, and then got into the warm carriage.

Clara flipped through the report of the month, glanced at the opposite side: "Is everything going well?"

Antonio rubbed his palms, the rising heat made him feel better, he shrunk his face into the scarf, and said in a muffled voice: "Americans are always easy to talk, and the others—" Antonio frowned, and Clara guessed the scarf There must have been a disgusted face below, "They are high above and dismissive of the boss's business, thank God, it looks like I should kneel down and ask them to accept the invitation."

"Oh, then they will regret it, maybe in the near future, those capitalists with eyes on top of their heads will swarm up to kiss your leather shoes, Mr. Blake." Clara turned over slowly. One page, slender fingers casually pinning hair behind ears, "It's no big deal, every Hockley succeeds, it's written in their family tree."

Antonio moved in his seat, his eyes fell on the street outside the window, white steam was steaming in the chimneys, some small decorations were hung on the glass windows of the shop, the festive atmosphere was already quite strong, the carriage was paved with gravel Running briskly on the road, some poor children yelled and ran past their carriage, smiling on their dirty little faces, fighting for a piece of chocolate wrapped in golden plastic paper.

It's all good, Antonio thought, except their business.

In fact, just as Antonio expected, Karl’s new factory opened in silence, no one cared about it, and no one was optimistic about this business—people called Karl “the lamp oil seller”, Karl invested a lot of money, This has affected other businesses in the same way. He is like a brand of shame engraved on a copper pillar, and has become a topic of conversation after dinner. It sounds a bit pitiful, doesn't it?

Carl cut open the envelope with a paper knife, and glanced through the few words: "Father's letter, it seems that the entire upper class in New York knows that young Hockley has committed a big joke."

Catherine casually smeared jam on the toast: "That's pretty good, I bet you'll be the next season's celebrity — with no effort at all."

"Don't be so mean to him, Catherine," Lester said. "I invested in a car company, and they promised to send me a demo car, and I promise, my dear, that the worst will pass."

Carl leaned over and kissed his forehead, and honestly, it was a wonderful feeling to have someone behind you at this moment.

……

The fourth Thursday in November is fast approaching, and the manor is buzzing, with everyone rejoicing for Thanksgiving, especially Mrs. Highmore, whose husband has extended an invitation to the Carls--which leaves her several Tian Du seemed to have mustered all his energy, raising his chin to be superior to others.

"Catherine has been preparing since six o'clock, and the clothes she and Clara bought finally come into play." Carl yawned, he was so sleepy, Lester sat by the bed and changed his clothes, the white shirt was loose It was held on the arm, and the bare shoulders were so white that it almost shone, Carl lingered close to it, carefully sucking and licking the kiss, making some beautiful and charming small marks.

Lester pushed him: "It's time to go, Mr. Carl Sticky Hockley, we can't disappoint Mr. Highmore's kindness."

"I don't understand, you all regard this as a big deal." Carl turned over with his hands spread out, the late autumn sunlight came in through the white gauze curtain, stretching across his chest like a soft silk, Les Te bent down and kissed him on the lips, killing those unflattering complaints.

The town where Mr. Haimer lives is surprisingly lively. His family has a small hotel in the local area with a courtyard full of green grass. There are many seasonal flowers blooming in it, which looks warm and lovely.

Mr. Highmore is a gentle and reserved old man. His three sons are standing by, and Mrs. Highmore said that she intends to let her youngest son serve in the manor.

"Hello, Mr. Highmore, I hope I didn't disturb you. Happy Thanksgiving." Lester shook hands with Mr. Highmore, he was too nervous to speak, "No, no, it's my honor, you, Hello, sir."

Carl put his arm on Lester's shoulder in silence. He was afraid that he would kill the middle-aged man if he opened his mouth. Haimo's eldest son was good at communication. In the dining area, Lester knew him as Daniel, a doctor, and a college student in Philadelphia.

"I miss it a lot. After all, compared to here, Philadelphia is open and democratic enough, and I can get more opportunities."

"It's hard to leave the homeland." Lester said, patted him on the shoulder, "It's a good place, Daniel, there is a saying in business, opportunities and risks coexist."

Daniel nodded: "Of course, Mr. Roland, I understand the truth. A small place has its advantages. At least it's much more convenient for me to open a clinic here."

"It sounds like an interesting proposal. I think we can have a more detailed and pleasant conversation after lunch." Lester smiled, and they walked into the courtyard. Underneath it was glowing, turkeys, cakes, and pumpkin pies piled high, and several well-dressed young women were adding corn, sweet potatoes, and a stew of venison to the plates of their guests.

Mr. Highmore solemnly introduced their identities to the townspeople, Catherine and Clara undoubtedly became the focus, and many young country gentlemen surrounded them courteously, trying to exchange one or two lame jokes for a lonely Get along for a weekend date.

Lester was biting into a golden-fried pumpkin pie filled with cane sugar, honey, and a light cheese. It was surprisingly delicious, and Lester loved it.

"Would you like one?" Lester said vaguely.

"No." Carl grinned, he leaned over and grabbed the other side of the pumpkin pie, his lips were almost pressed together, the sweet and soft taste made him frown, he chewed roughly a few mouthfuls and swallowed it whole , the young man smiled with his eyes bent, and his golden hair was draped over his shoulders, like a whole glowing stream, extremely charming.

They moved fast, the guests were so absorbed in the good things and the festive atmosphere that no one noticed what was happening in the corner, Carl and Lester shared some food until the supposedly pleasant lunch was shattered by a flurry of bowls. The disk ruptured with the sound of a woman screaming.

Mr. Branson raised his hands in bewilderment, he couldn't believe he did it, until all eyes fell on him, and he jumped up like a monkey who got kicked in the ass , the big face flushed: "I, this is not my fault! I swear I didn't mean it!"

"Oh, Ruth, my God, are you hurt!" A young girl with blonde hair rushed to help the woman who had fallen in the mess, her back was facing Lester and Carl, her red hair was wrapped in a turban Here, wearing a dusty skirt and old leather shoes, even though she looked dirty and down-and-out, she still had the air of a noble lady in her standing——Lester squinted his eyes and shook the wine glass in his hand.

"Ruth Bukett." Carl said. He folded his arms, his face was expressionless, and his profile was carved out of ice and snow. He seemed indifferent to the tragedy of his ex-fiancee. "She shouldn't be here."

Ruth, who was standing not too far away, had evidently heard it, and turned her head with a force that would have broken her neck - no doubt stunned by the presence of Lester and Carl, those wide green eyes Flashing quickly, she seemed to have forgotten why she came, and pushed Mr. Branson away and ran out of Haimer's house without looking back.

There was a chuckle from the crowd, and Goldilocks blushed in embarrassment. Mr. Branson came over to thank them. He was a little uneasy. Who would have guessed that these two rich people had a connection with that poor Dawson.

"I'm so, so sorry, sir," Branson said, "I shouldn't have done this to her, I was mad—"

"Don't be nervous." Lester handed him a glass of red wine, and the latter drank it down. "We met her once on the Titanic, and Bucket is a nobleman."

Branson wiped off the cold sweat, and he poured himself another glass from the wine bottle: "This, this is really unexpected. She and her husband came to the town and never mentioned the history-she has Strength and good looks, you know, I hired her to work in my shop." He said awkwardly, his face turned pale, but fortunately Lester didn't care about it.

"……her husband?"

"Yes, a very talented young man. If I ask you, he will become famous in time." Branson smiled wryly, "Unfortunately, he is ill and has tuberculosis. Otherwise, a woman would not be allowed to come out to do hard work."

Lester opened his mouth, his voice stuck in his throat, time passed quickly, he almost forgot the memories of the Titanic - it was nothing worth remembering, despair always makes people feel bitter.

Carl pondered for a moment: "Where do they live?"

Branson didn't expect him to speak. Compared with the gentle and easy-going Lester, this young Mr. Hockley seemed too intimidating. His cheek muscles twitched and he whispered: " ...Number 178, sir."

After sending off Mr. Branson who was about to faint, Lester squeezed Carl's fingers. The capitalist broke free from his emotions, hugged Lester and said softly: "I owe him my life, Hockley is gracious Must report."

The young man nodded docilely, but Karl's eyes were darkened, and the clouds were hard to dissipate.