[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
only a word of ill omen, a threat on the lips of brutes, an extra battalion of
peril in an army of perplexities. He felt like some homely rustic who finds
himself swept unwittingly into the moonlight hunt of Artemis and her maidens.
"He is a romantic," she said. "I have known so many like him."
"He's no that," said Dickson shortly. "Why he used to be aye laughing at me
for being romantic. He's one that's looking for truth and reality, he says,
and he's terrible down on the kind of poetry I like myself.
She smiled. "They all talk so. But you, my friend Dickson" (she pronounced the
name in two staccato syllables ever so prettily), "you are different. Tell me
about yourself."
"I'm just what you see--a middle-aged retired grocer."
"Grocer?" she queried. "Ah, yes, epicier. But you are a very remarkable
epicier. Mr. Heritage
I understand, but you and those little boys--no. I am sure of one thing--you
are not a romantic.
You are too humorous and--and--I think you are like Ulysses, for it would not
be easy to defeat you."
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/John%20Brunner%20-%20Huntingtower.tx
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t
Her eyes were kind, nay affectionate, and Dickson experienced a preposterous
rapture in his soul, followed by a sinking, as he realized how far the job was
still from being completed.
"We must be getting on, Mem," he said hastily, and the two plunged again into
the heather.
The Ayr road was crossed, and the fir wood around the Mains became visible,
and presently the white gates of the entrance. A wind-blown spire of smoke
beyond the trees proclaimed that the house was not untenanted. As they entered
the drive the Scots firs were tossing in the gale, which blew fiercely at this
altitude, but, the dwelling itself being more in the hollow, the daffodil
clumps on the lawn were but mildly fluttered.
The door was opened by a one-armed butler who bore all the marks of the old
regular soldier.
Dickson produced a card and asked to see his master on urgent business. Sir
Archibald was at home, he was told, and had just finished breakfast. The two
were led into a large bare chamber which had all the chill and mustiness of a
bachelor's drawing-room. The butler returned, and said Sir
Archibald would see him. "I'd better go myself first and prepare the way,
Mem," Dickson whispered, and followed the man across the hall.
He found himself ushered into a fair-sized room where a bright fire was
burning. On a table lay the remains of breakfast, and the odour of food
mingled pleasantly with the scent of peat. The horns and heads of big game,
foxes' masks, the model of a gigantic salmon, and several bookcases adorned
the walls, and books and maps were mixed with decanters and cigar-boxes on the
long sideboard. After the wild out of doors the place seemed the very shrine
of comfort. A young man sat in an arm-chair by the fire with a leg on a stool;
he was smoking a pipe, and reading the
Field, and on another stool at his elbow was a pile of new novels. He was a
pleasant brown-faced young man, with remarkably smooth hair and a roving
humorous eye.
"Come in, Mr. McCunn. Very glad to see you. If, as I take it, you're the
grocer, you're a household name in these parts. I get all my supplies from
you, and I've just been makin' inroads on one of your divine hams. Now, what
can I do for you?"
"I'm very proud to hear what you say, Sir Archibald. But I've not come on
business. I've come with the queerest story you ever heard in your life and
I've come to ask your help."
"Go ahead. A good story is just what I want this vile mornin'."
"I'm not here alone. I've a lady with me."
"God bless my soul! A lady!"
"Ay, a princess. She's in the next room."
The young man looked wildly at him and waved the book he had been reading.
"Excuse me, Mr. McCunn, but are you quite sober? I beg your pardon. I see you
are. But you know, it isn't done. Princesses don't as a rule come here after
breakfast to pass the time of day.
It's more absurd than this shocker I've been readin'."
"All the same it's a fact. She'll tell you the story herself, and you'll
believe her quick enough. But to prepare your mind I'll just give you a sketch
of the events of the last few days."
Before the sketch was concluded the young man had violently rung the bell.
"Sime," he shouted to the servant, "clear away this mess and lay the table
again. Order more breakfast, all the breakfast you can get. Open the windows
and get the tobacco smoke out of the air. Tidy up the place for there's a lady
comin'. Quick, you juggins!"
He was on his feet now, and, with his arm in Dickson's, was heading for the
door.
"My sainted aunt! And you topped off with pottin' at the factor. I've seen a
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
few things in my day, but I'm blessed if I ever met a bird like you!"
CHAPTER XI
GRAVITY OUT OF BED
It is probable that Sir Archibald Roylance did not altogether believe
Dickson's tale; it may be that he considered him an agreeable romancer, or a
little mad, or no more than a relief to the tedium of a wet Sunday morning.
But his incredulity did not survive one glance at Saskia as she stood in that
bleak drawing-room among Victorian water-colours and faded chintzes. The young
man's boyishness deserted him. He stopped short in his tracks, and made a
profound and awkward bow. "I
am at your service, Mademoiselle," he said, amazed at himself. The words
seemed to have come out of a confused memory of plays and novels.
She inclined her head--a little on one side, and looked towards Dickson.
"Sir Archibald's going to do his best for us," said that squire of dames. "I
was telling him that we had had our breakfast."
"Let's get out of this sepulchre," said their host, who was recovering
himself. "There's a roasting fire in my den. Of course you'll have something
to eat--hot coffee, anyhow--I've trained my cook to make coffee like a
Frenchwoman. The housekeeper will take charge of you, if you want to tidy up,
and you must excuse our ramshackle ways, please. I don't believe there's ever
been a lady
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/John%20Brunner%20-%20Huntingtower.tx
t (57 of 87) [10/18/2004 5:04:23 PM]
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/John%20Brunner%20-%20Huntingtower.tx
t in this house before, you know."
He led her to the smoking-room and ensconced her in the great chair by the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl chiara76.opx.pl
only a word of ill omen, a threat on the lips of brutes, an extra battalion of
peril in an army of perplexities. He felt like some homely rustic who finds
himself swept unwittingly into the moonlight hunt of Artemis and her maidens.
"He is a romantic," she said. "I have known so many like him."
"He's no that," said Dickson shortly. "Why he used to be aye laughing at me
for being romantic. He's one that's looking for truth and reality, he says,
and he's terrible down on the kind of poetry I like myself.
She smiled. "They all talk so. But you, my friend Dickson" (she pronounced the
name in two staccato syllables ever so prettily), "you are different. Tell me
about yourself."
"I'm just what you see--a middle-aged retired grocer."
"Grocer?" she queried. "Ah, yes, epicier. But you are a very remarkable
epicier. Mr. Heritage
I understand, but you and those little boys--no. I am sure of one thing--you
are not a romantic.
You are too humorous and--and--I think you are like Ulysses, for it would not
be easy to defeat you."
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/John%20Brunner%20-%20Huntingtower.tx
t (56 of 87) [10/18/2004 5:04:23 PM]
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/John%20Brunner%20-%20Huntingtower.tx
t
Her eyes were kind, nay affectionate, and Dickson experienced a preposterous
rapture in his soul, followed by a sinking, as he realized how far the job was
still from being completed.
"We must be getting on, Mem," he said hastily, and the two plunged again into
the heather.
The Ayr road was crossed, and the fir wood around the Mains became visible,
and presently the white gates of the entrance. A wind-blown spire of smoke
beyond the trees proclaimed that the house was not untenanted. As they entered
the drive the Scots firs were tossing in the gale, which blew fiercely at this
altitude, but, the dwelling itself being more in the hollow, the daffodil
clumps on the lawn were but mildly fluttered.
The door was opened by a one-armed butler who bore all the marks of the old
regular soldier.
Dickson produced a card and asked to see his master on urgent business. Sir
Archibald was at home, he was told, and had just finished breakfast. The two
were led into a large bare chamber which had all the chill and mustiness of a
bachelor's drawing-room. The butler returned, and said Sir
Archibald would see him. "I'd better go myself first and prepare the way,
Mem," Dickson whispered, and followed the man across the hall.
He found himself ushered into a fair-sized room where a bright fire was
burning. On a table lay the remains of breakfast, and the odour of food
mingled pleasantly with the scent of peat. The horns and heads of big game,
foxes' masks, the model of a gigantic salmon, and several bookcases adorned
the walls, and books and maps were mixed with decanters and cigar-boxes on the
long sideboard. After the wild out of doors the place seemed the very shrine
of comfort. A young man sat in an arm-chair by the fire with a leg on a stool;
he was smoking a pipe, and reading the
Field, and on another stool at his elbow was a pile of new novels. He was a
pleasant brown-faced young man, with remarkably smooth hair and a roving
humorous eye.
"Come in, Mr. McCunn. Very glad to see you. If, as I take it, you're the
grocer, you're a household name in these parts. I get all my supplies from
you, and I've just been makin' inroads on one of your divine hams. Now, what
can I do for you?"
"I'm very proud to hear what you say, Sir Archibald. But I've not come on
business. I've come with the queerest story you ever heard in your life and
I've come to ask your help."
"Go ahead. A good story is just what I want this vile mornin'."
"I'm not here alone. I've a lady with me."
"God bless my soul! A lady!"
"Ay, a princess. She's in the next room."
The young man looked wildly at him and waved the book he had been reading.
"Excuse me, Mr. McCunn, but are you quite sober? I beg your pardon. I see you
are. But you know, it isn't done. Princesses don't as a rule come here after
breakfast to pass the time of day.
It's more absurd than this shocker I've been readin'."
"All the same it's a fact. She'll tell you the story herself, and you'll
believe her quick enough. But to prepare your mind I'll just give you a sketch
of the events of the last few days."
Before the sketch was concluded the young man had violently rung the bell.
"Sime," he shouted to the servant, "clear away this mess and lay the table
again. Order more breakfast, all the breakfast you can get. Open the windows
and get the tobacco smoke out of the air. Tidy up the place for there's a lady
comin'. Quick, you juggins!"
He was on his feet now, and, with his arm in Dickson's, was heading for the
door.
"My sainted aunt! And you topped off with pottin' at the factor. I've seen a
Page 78
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
few things in my day, but I'm blessed if I ever met a bird like you!"
CHAPTER XI
GRAVITY OUT OF BED
It is probable that Sir Archibald Roylance did not altogether believe
Dickson's tale; it may be that he considered him an agreeable romancer, or a
little mad, or no more than a relief to the tedium of a wet Sunday morning.
But his incredulity did not survive one glance at Saskia as she stood in that
bleak drawing-room among Victorian water-colours and faded chintzes. The young
man's boyishness deserted him. He stopped short in his tracks, and made a
profound and awkward bow. "I
am at your service, Mademoiselle," he said, amazed at himself. The words
seemed to have come out of a confused memory of plays and novels.
She inclined her head--a little on one side, and looked towards Dickson.
"Sir Archibald's going to do his best for us," said that squire of dames. "I
was telling him that we had had our breakfast."
"Let's get out of this sepulchre," said their host, who was recovering
himself. "There's a roasting fire in my den. Of course you'll have something
to eat--hot coffee, anyhow--I've trained my cook to make coffee like a
Frenchwoman. The housekeeper will take charge of you, if you want to tidy up,
and you must excuse our ramshackle ways, please. I don't believe there's ever
been a lady
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/John%20Brunner%20-%20Huntingtower.tx
t (57 of 87) [10/18/2004 5:04:23 PM]
file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/John%20Brunner%20-%20Huntingtower.tx
t in this house before, you know."
He led her to the smoking-room and ensconced her in the great chair by the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]