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Chapter 3
“Man,I’veoftenthoughtthataninnkeeperwouldmakethebeststory-tellerintheworld.”
“Notnow,”hesaideagerly.“Maybeintheolddayswhenyouhadpilgrimsandballad-makersandhighwaymenandmail-coachesontheroad.Butnotnow.Nothingcomesherebutmotor-carsfulloffatwomen,whostopforlunch,andafishermanortwointhespring,andtheshootingtenantsinAugust.Thereisnotmuchmaterialtobegotoutofthat.Iwanttoseelife,totraveltheworld,andwritethingslikeKiplingandConrad.ButthemostI’vedoneyetistogetsomeversesprintedinChambers’sJournal.”
Ilookedattheinnstandinggoldeninthesunsetagainstthebrownhills.
“I’veknockedabitabouttheworld,andIwouldn’tdespisesuchahermitage.D’youthinkthatadventureisfoundonlyinthetropicsoramonggentryinredshirts?Maybeyou’rerubbingshoulderswithitatthismoment.”
“That’swhatKiplingsays,”hesaid,hiseyesbrightening,andhequotedsomeverseabout“Romancebringsupthe9.15.”
“Here’satruetaleforyouthen,”Icried,“andamonthfromnowyoucanmakeanoveloutofit.”
SittingonthebridgeinthesoftMaygloamingIpitchedhimalovelyyarn.Itwastrueinessentials,too,thoughIalteredtheminordetails.ImadeoutthatIwasaminingmagnatefromKimberley,whohadhadalotoftroublewithI.D.B.andhadshownupagang.Theyhadpursuedmeacrosstheocean,andhadkilledmybestfriend,andwerenowonmytracks.
Itoldthestorywell,thoughIsayitwhoshouldn’t.
