The Cone Gatherers by Robin Jenkins Read Free Book Online

possible. Once he struck the ball, and began to race between the wickets as if those runs would mean the winning of a Test Match. His uncle called to him laughingly that there was no need for such hurry. Roderick paused to glance towards where the ball had flown. He was obviously displeased to see that Monty had it in his mouth and was playing a game of come-and-get-it-if-you-can with Sheila. Roderick shouted to his sister that she was spoiling the game; but his uncle, still laughing, came down the pitch and put an arm round his neck. He was a tall almost bald man of about thirty-five, in peacetime a lawyer from Edinburgh, where his father, Lord Forgan, had been a judge. Duror knew him as a quiet, pleasant, considerate man, with his only vanity a moustache as black and glossy as a snail.
    Duror came out from behind the holly and walked respectfully along the path by the side of the lawn. His dogs too recognised the presence of superiors; when Monty came scampering along to sniff and yap insolently at them they endured it with glances up at their master as if to make sure he was noticing their forbearance.
    Captain Forgan waved his hand; then, as if that gesture had not been cordial enough, he came striding across the lawn.
    â€˜Good morning, Duror,’ he cried.
    â€˜Good morning, sir.’
    Forgan smiled up at the sky and held out his hands as if to catch some of the benison dropping from it. His face, ruddy but hardly military from open-air life in armycamps, beamed with gratitude as if he thought this spell of magnificent weather was being provided in his honour.
    â€˜This is a real honey of a morning, Duror,’ he said, ‘and no mistake. Air like champagne.’ He breathed it in deeply and gratefully. Although he was smiling he was serious: in two or three weeks he would be in an African desert.
    â€˜Well, is there going to be a deer drive?’ he asked.
    â€˜I think we’ll be able to arrange something, sir.’
    â€˜Good man. I knew I could rely on you.’ He bent down to pat the dogs. ‘Handsome creatures,’ he said, with zest. ‘Why do we talk about a dog’s life, Duror? What right have we to feel superior to these chaps?’ He glanced up at their master with a smile. ‘They have no wars, Duror.’
    â€˜No, sir.’
    Forgan rose up and laughed. It was a comprehensive laughter, at the fine scenery, at his sentimental envy of dogs, at the forlorn wickets on the lawn, at Roderick with bat at rest like a sentinel, and at himself in well-creased khaki trousers.
    â€˜We were playing cricket,’ he said.
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    Forgan gazed all round. ‘It’s really a beautiful place,’ he murmured. ‘I’m glad I could come. It’ll be very pleasant to have these memories so fresh. You know, Duror, I envy you your life here.’
    Duror did not smile back.
    â€˜If you’ll pardon me for saying it, sir,’ he said, ‘I’d prefer to be going with you.’
    The captain was taken by surprise; his smile turned foolish, and he did not know what to say. These days he tried to think like a soldier, and often reached no conclusion.
    â€˜I’m too old, sir,’ said Duror. ‘They won’t have me. I’ve tried three times.’
    Forgan thought he had hurt the keeper’s pride as patriot.
    â€˜No, no, Duror,’ he cried, shaking his head. ‘When I said I envied you I wasn’t meaning that you were lucky to escape the big and bloody war.’ He laughed. ‘Not inthe slightest. I was just carried away by the beauty of the morning. We all know you’re more than willing to do your bit. You’re a stalwart of the Home Guard here, aren’t you?’
    Duror would not be appeased.
    â€˜I’ll try again, sir. Perhaps they’ll be glad enough to have me yet.’
    The captain twisted his snail-black moustache with rueful whimsicality.
    â€˜You mean, when all the young cock