A man above could easily have struck at me with some implement,
say, six feet long. I shut my eyes and pictured that curved mystery,
and then in a flash I had it: a scythe blade tied to a pole! If I
could find a scythe blade fastened to a pole, or a blade and pole
separate, I should not be far off the end of my quest. The next moment
I smiled at my own optimism when I realised what a house to house hunt
that would imply. Still, I saw a fresh possibility and came back
silently thanking my guide.
Conversation was rather easier coming back, perhaps because I felt in
higher spirits and could play my absurd part with more gusto. Still, the
girl remained a little disquieting. She was now in a very smiling and
friendly mood, and a man who blinked through gold rimmed glasses and
giggled through a dyed beard ought to have felt exceedingly flattered.
But now I was saying to myself that for a girl of fastidious taste she
was really too nice to such a fellow. And then I remembered that O'Brien
had a black beard too, and the thought struck me,
"Can she have such pleasant recollections of black beards that I am
providing her with reminiscent romance?"
I think it was just as this idea occurred to me that she roused me very
sharply from my meditations.
"I suppose you have heard of the mysterious man who appeared here last
summer?" she enquired.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173