Manly Wade Wellman - John Thunstone 01 by What Dreams May Come (v1.1) Read Free Book Online Page B

she
faded into a dark dreamlessness and, without waking, he missed her but was
happy to have seen her.
                 At
last came a clear vision. He walked on the sharp,
grassy slope of Sweepside, up toward the traced outline of Old Thunder. As he
approached, Old Thunder rose suddenly, a powerful,
clumsy surge of movement, and loomed over him. The crude outline of the face
lived. Its eyes stared down with a concentrated menace. At that Thunstone
awoke, to find the sun streaming in at his window.
                 His
watch told him that it was half-past seven. He smiled as he remembered his
boyhood, and what his grandmother had said once; that to wake from a dream is
always good, because if it was a good dream you were happy to have had it and
if it was a bad dream you were glad it was not true. Well, he had had a good
dream and a bad dream, and his grandmother had been right about their
respective impacts.
                 He
dressed quickly, went to the bathroom to shave and wash, then came back to his
own room. There he put his notebook into his pocket and took his cane. He went
downstairs and into Mrs. Fother- gilTs parlor.
                 “We
serve breakfast in here, Mr. Thunstone/' she said from the arched doorway to
the room behind. “And we have another guest today. But coffee's ready now;
would you take a cup?"
                “With great pleasure," he said,
and went with her to where a dining room was furnished with a cloth-covered
table and silver and dishes upon it and chairs set around. Mrs. Fothergill wore
a green dress this morning, with white edging at neck and sleeves. They sat
down while she filled two cups from a china pot. “Cream in the jug," she
said, “and sugar in the bowl."
                 “I'll
just take it black, if you please."
                 Thunstone
drank. The coffee was strong and good. He remembered friends who insisted that
good coffee couldn't be had in England . That was like so many sweeping statements,
an example to you to avoid sweeping statements on your own part.
                 “I
dare hope," said Mrs. Fothergill, poising her own cup daintily, “that
you're finding what you hoped here in Claines."
                 “I
came here with no sure notion of what to find," Thunstone told her, “but
I've found out several interesting things." He looked across the table at
her. “I'm to see Mr. Ensley today, and maybe he'll be helpful."
                 “Oh,
ah," said Mrs. Fothergill, “I doubt not but that he will."
                 “I
hear that he owns most of the houses in Claines."
                 “A
good lot of them," she said, “but not this one. It so happens that it's been in my family for generations. Mr. Ensley likes to keep an
old-fashioned atmosphere in Claines, old-world as you might say. And I don't
mind that, I'm sure, though sometimes I miss dear London ."
                 A
clatter of feet in the parlor, and a young man entered the room. His long, lank
hair and long, lank mustache were more or less the color of strong tea. His
jeans pants were tucked into shiny boots. At the open throat of his blue shirt
dangled a silver medallion on a chain, with an image Thunstone could not make
out. In one hand he carried a massive white helmet.
                 “Good
morning," Mrs. Fothergill greeted him. “Will you have coffee?"
                 “Yes'm,
I thank ye." He laced his cupful with cream and put in several spoonfuls
of sugar. He looked at Thunstone. “ You passing through, too?”
                “Staying for a few
days.”
                 “Me,
I'm headed down to the coast. Biking there.”
                 Constance
Bailey came in from the kitchen. She wore a white apron and a white cap and
carried a broad tray. She put down plates for them, each with a lightly fried
egg on a slice of toast, two