[Titanic] Ticket

Antonio shrank his neck like a frozen quail and walked into the state hospital. When he was about to arrive at the front desk, he quickly wiped off the snow on his shoulders. When the woman behind the office desk raised her head and smiled, he had already maintained his figure just right. Doglike demeanor: "Good morning, Lily."

"Good morning, Mr. Blake," said Lily, who had long golden brown hair and sweet, playful amber eyes, and Antonio could smell the lavender perfume on her body, which made him think he might be falling deeply. love river.

"Honey, a cup of hot cocoa. Oh, don't hide it, you know I smell that."

"God, Mr. Blake, I thought you were here to soak me." Lily complained, took out a medium-sized thermos bottle from under the table, and made him a cup of the warm brown color Liquid, Antonio muttered softly and contentedly, and now he looked like he was really alive.

"So, how is he?" He knocked on the table. There were dark stains from melting snowflakes on the sleeves of the suit, which was uncomfortable, and now he even hated the color of the suit——Antonio didn't want to Understand, what on earth is he wearing it to go out.

Lily refilled his glass and said softly: "You mean Jack—oh, of course, who else would you be here for? He's a lovely lad, and if he hadn't got a fiancée—that'd be nice. Broken, recovering well, to be honest, I may not have heard of a few people who can save their lives from the 'white plague', God bless him."

Antonio smiled, thanked him for the cup of warm cocoa, and walked towards the corridor on the left, the third door from the bottom - apparently his boss, who had nothing but money, picked them an independent, frankly expensive In the flying ward, laughter and the screaming of the little girl came from inside.

He opened the door and saw that the little girl was jumping into Jack's arms, and the woman in a foreign dress was sitting on a chair watching them fooling around—look, a family, hell, the father and daughter are still wearing the same style of red and white hair The little pointed hat, blinded his dog's eyes, couldn't be worse.

"I hope you didn't disturb your happy parent-child time." Antonio said, "I have good news, Mr. Dawson. One of my bosses, Mr. Rowland, got you an application for the Art Institute of Chicago, as you know, The tuition fees there are expensive, and to compensate you, my two bosses have worked hard."

"Yes, of course I know, I never tried to doubt Leicester's generosity and kindness, we are best friends." Jack said, he noticed that Antonio showed a rather disdainful expression, but he did not let go In my heart, "But this is not appropriate, I shouldn't consume our friendship like this, I will rely on myself-"

"I have to say, it's a bit difficult, sir." Antonio casually found a chair for himself. He had no intention of staying here, but the current situation forced them to come to a period where the status was not very equal and the atmosphere was not destined to be pleasant. Where is the conversation going, he rubbed his hair irritably, "As far as I know, the Art Institute of Chicago is a private school—"

"Yes, yes, it consists of a museum and a school. I heard that its museum is really great." Jack said.

"The information you're checking now, don't criticize, Mr. Dawson." Antonio glared at him coldly, and then retracted his gaze after receiving a signal from the other party that he would shut up and listen to him, "This means that someone like you Status has a hard time getting a place in it—no irony here, you should accept my boss's kindness. With all due respect, it's a career ladder where you succeed and then reward Mr. Rowland with your own worth."

"For the money," Ruth commented.

Antonio rolled up his lips and said sarcastically: "It hits the nail on the head, but that's what you need."

Ruth's face was as red as her hair, and Lester had found her a job, a decent clerical job, which meant she had plenty of time to take care of Jack and some money to buy the little girl's birthday Presents—the favors made her slump her shoulders in frustration and shut her mouth reluctantly.

"Looks like I have no choice," Jack said.

"I'm glad we finally came to an agreement." Antonio smiled the first time he entered the ward, even if it wasn't sincere.

……

Karl put down the tablecloth and cut open the letter in his hand with a silver knife. What was written on the small piece of paper made his eyebrows rise high, and it took him a while to say: "Bucket was caught. 30 years, She's going to stay in jail until she dies."

"Oh, stealing, high gambling debts, like things he can do." Catherine glanced at it, and continued to stir the oats on the plate with a silver spoon, "maybe add a trafficker, Ruth Booker Especially her best merchandise."

"Mr. Hockley's handwriting, he must be pissed off." Lester concluded at the end. Obviously, except for a few silly dogs, no one at the dinner table wanted to sympathize with this greedy, despicable and cruel woman.

"Speaking of my father," Catherine said, eyeing Carl cautiously until he turned away impatiently, "I guess he wrote to you, he's coming to New Mexico, and I think Lester needs to know This news, after all, his tone seems to be a bit loose."

Lester looked at her mildly: "Around Christmas?"

"Before Christmas," Catherine said.

"The worst Christmas in 30 years." Carl snorted coldly, "I can't wait for that day to come soon."

Lester and Catherine discussed baking a whole huge cake with cherries or strawberries. Catherine insisted on fresh ones, but Lester thought the conditions were a bit harsh, and the taste of canned fruit was not too bad. Determined to ignore Carl, who was sulking on the couch, looking like he was having trouble with the world.

Carl hugged Chocolate, which had grown quite big, with a thick coat, standing one and a half feet tall on its hind feet, with a terrific temper, and let its male owner complain endlessly in his ears: "Your mother So heartless, who am I for? He's wondering what a Christmas he's going to do, Mr Hockley can wreck this place—just open his mouth."

"Don't complain." Someone touched his face with a glass, and he shivered from the freezing temperature. Lester stuffed a whole glass of freshly squeezed orange juice into his hand, and carried a glass into it himself. On the sofa opposite him—by the way, since Leicester entered the main manor, he has completely isolated himself from coffee, cigarettes, and occasional alcohol, but the frequency is pitifully infrequent.

Chocolate gave a powerful kick on his hind legs and jumped out of Carl's arms, then briskly ran to his feet and squatted down. Carl complained softly and stared at the furry, stupid dog face endlessly.

"No matter how you look at it, it's impossible for it to grow a second head." Lester said kindly, "Don't be so sad, it's not necessarily a bad result. I guess Mr. Hockley just missed you."

Carl rubbed his face and lay tiredly on the back of the sofa: "You don't understand, Lester. For him, interests are above all else. He may have come to New Mexico for any reason, but definitely not because of what the hell And the ridiculous nostalgia is at work."

He was the invincible Hockley in business, but he seemed helpless against old Henry, who was one of the few who could be classified into the closest group.

"Relax, you're pushing yourself too hard." A weight fell beside him, and a pair of warm hands pressed down on his head—with a scent of orange juice, they passed through the hair delicately and gently, Taking care of every detail and giving him comfort, he leaned down, and put his warm neck close to Karl's face, "The factory has improved, and the research on the generator has also improved. I mentioned this to you, it's It's going to make the oil business hot, and I think there's hope in life," he draws out in a rather melodramatic aria.

"Except for my father," Carl put in dryly.

"...God, it's hard to coax, don't be like a vexatious 12-year-old girl, I don't need to remind you, Mr. Hockley, you are long past that age." Lester sighed.

Cal gave him a wrinkled smirk, and the young man's eyes were gentle and steady, and it made him feel that everything was just as he said it was—hope, that's a good word.

"I'm going to add rosemary and pate to the cake."

"It can't be done... This sounds like a recipe for dark cuisine." Lester pushed Carl's head away expressionlessly.

……

You also know that no one in the world knows his father better than Karl—the old bastard, who is more out of line than anyone can imagine, so that Karl is more willing to walk away or walk away when he sees him. Throwing the whole table up in his face.

"Look, I should invite Dawson and Bucket to the Christmas party, shouldn't I? This is really—this is really—" Carl slammed the table like a trapped animal, looking suffocated. Crazy, but not afraid to throw a dozen or two swear words of the most vicious and disgusting words into his father's old face.

Lester gave him a quick look: "They're coming soon. Victor—well, all right, Mr. Strauss, he'll be happy to see your gaffe."

"Don't even think about it, I'm a Hockley." Carl straightened his cuffs, raised his chin slightly, his eyes were shrewd and sharp, he looked coldly at the two people walking not far away, it was hard to imagine the strength of his eyes , as if to crush the whole pier.

"Like you're a god or something," Lester grumbled, laughing.