1.
Even if Professor Litefoot made constant banter over Mr. Jago's fondness of dapple decorations, his own apartment was also filled with silly attachments. Though of course, his vases and ostrich feather fans, and what have you, were all authentic. The Professor was a well travelled and wealthy man, where as Mr. Jago was like a magpie, lured by all things shiny.
"Everything that looks good, is good to have, and when you feel good, you'll be good-looking!" was Mr. Jago's motto, and it meant roughly quality to be damned.
However, there was significantly little art in the Professor's home. That was something Mr. Jago had noticed a long time ago. There sure were seven different sorts of cups and mugs and whatnot. But you'd think a man, who self-described himself as "a modernist", had other modernities in his household than just a telephone.
2.
Only paintings in the room were three framed round portraits, sweetly arranged in a shape of an upside down triangle. Mr. Jago hadn't previously paid much attention to them, as they, first of all, were really dark and so small, that you had to look at them very closely to notice any details. Besides, he guessed they're obviously family pictures – the Brigadier-General Litefoot on the left, and his Mrs. on the right. Young man below between them was of course their only son.
Looking up closely one could learn other interesting facts. Especially from Mrs. Litefoot, who stared at Jago in the eyes with a stern outlook, hands folded in her lap.
"Oh golly gosh! I say!" said Jago, slapping his big hands together. The Professor was startled and almost jumped out of his very skin. He was measuring dry gin on the glasses.
3.
"Your mother was a real Chinawoman!" said Jago astonished.
"Chinese is more appropriate", Litefoot corrected him as dryly as the gin was, "And only half at that. Is that so strange? My father's duties had him stationed in Peking ever since he was a young corporal."
"How come I have never twigged it out of you? Even though I've scrutinized your face so snugly before."
You could clearly see from the Professor's posture, that he was deeply indignant.
"Hrmph! All Chinese look the same, now don't they? I can't even bother to describe", he snapped and chucked down his drink uncharacteristically quickly. Mr. Jago realized immediately his words had been as appealing as slimy toads coming out of his throat. It was wise to let the topic die down – on the rare occasion Litefoot drank fast, he became snappy.
Jago looked at the youth that was Litefoot's portrait. His black hair was combed in an English way.
4.
Mr. Jago has arranged the meetup at The New Regency Theatre, as he had to pop into the office before allowing the day to turn into a jolly night at the tavern. He hadn't expected the Professor to arrive so early though, so he wasn't there to meet him at the doors in time.
This didn't seem to bother the good Professor too much. He had surrendered into a some kind of light chit-chat with this one boy named Zhu, who took care of running small jobs at the theatre. When he found time from his other mischiefs, that is. Mr. Jago kept many lads like that on his payroll, street kids and emigrant children, just as he was let to join the circus when he had been just a tannery nipper without any skills whatsoever.
Litefoot was chatting in Chinese. Even though Mr. Jago knew, and had always known, that his friend had spent most of his childhood and youth in Peking, he hadn't seriously thought about it. Or, that surely the Professor would know all the languages, that were spoken to the young Masters by the servants.
"Servants..." Jago mumbled out loud the tail end of his thought. He felt a sudden mean bite of stupidity in his forehead. Why had he thought of servants, when Litefoot had a mother!
5.
"Ask away, then", said Litefoot after singeing his man painstakingly long, letting him burn in the hot liquids of his own curiosity. Mr. Jago was as stiff as a fully blown rubber funfair animal, volatile and funnily bloated. For an actor, he was astoundingly horrendous liar, and even worse to cover up his temper.
"Where did your parents meet each other?" Jago burst right after getting a permit to do so. Litefoot examined at the silver knob of his walking cane as if it was the most interesting thing. Sure, it was a dagger as much as a cane, but more likely he just wanted to tease Mr. Jago by acting more aloof than he really was.
"In Twickenham", he stated curtly.
"Ow... quite", said Jago. You could clearly depict a thick layer of disappointment in his voice. Litefoot hid his amusement by glancing elsewhere.
"Did you think it was some sort of a fluffy Oriental fairy tale, considering of a princess and a soldier?" he asked, to which embarrassed Jago didn't dare to answer honestly.
"Would I, Henry Gordon Jago, a professional dramaturge, have such fanciful ideas involving narrative clichés? Perish the thought!" he huffed. But as said, Mr. Jago had no lying abilities. With broad strokes had his imagination painted a picture of paddy fields and Panda bears, and not some southwest London dust.
6.
After the Doctor'd and Lady Romana's visit Mr. Jago was thinking, way into the night as a matter of fact, if the Professor's almost ridiculously emphasized sensitivity towards women was the result of the family circumstances.
The Doctor's female friend reacted a somewhat apathetic way to the chivalry. However, Mr. Jago knew, that the Professor didn't act that way to feel superiority over her. He was just that genuinely and altruistically kind. He didn't posses any romantic feelings towards women... which would have suited Mr. Jago's taste as a personality trait of his own. That could have at least save him from pretty much all the biggest mistakes of his life, like the proposal of Miss Vane that had ended in the most humiliating public rejection imaginable.
"My biggest mistake was, that I even bothered to try a military career in hopes of pleasing my father", said Litefoot. The very picture of young Litefoot in a cadet school was absolutely hilarious to Mr. Jago!
"Oh, for the love of wishy-washies… that would have made, no doubt, the world have it's puzzle pieces in puzzling piles, if the best pathologist of London had been some feeble lieutenant of banging battalion instead", Jago laughed his eyes watering, "You weren't exactly chummy with your old man, now were you?"
"No", Litefoot stated. How is it so, that a word can tell everything and beyond? Mr. Jago squeezed his hand and smiled.
7.
"Did you happen to know, by the way, that Professor Litefoot's mother, Anna Okinawa, was a daughter or a Chinese aristocrat and an English businessman?" Sergeant Quick mentioned rather in passing. He wasn't dressed in his usual uniform, but instead in his best dress attire for the theatre.
It was a whole other subject entirely, if The New Regency Theatre was at its best worth all the don clothing, but Mr. Jago's ego was stroked.
"Bah, of course I knew!", said Jago, "You can crystal clear see it from his bally bearing alone, that the man has more than an ounce of blue blood in his vivacious veins!"
"Well, I wouldn't have ever guessed. Never in my life", said Quick.
"You obviously assumed all Chinese look like those mocking caricatures you see on the papers", Jago teased, making the Sergeant squirm in guilt.
"Oh no, please don't bother to tell him!" Quick asked, "The Professor will be offended, if he was to know I compared him to all biased stereotypes."
"I would never", Jago promised like a jovial man he was. Professor Litefoot was wearing a blue scarf when he arrived the theatre. If you just managed to look him right, you could almost see him as that fairy tale prince Mr. Jago had dared to dream of in his vivid imagination.
FIN