The Judas Tree by A. J. Cronin Read Free Book Online

cheese, a wholesome repast though lacking, inevitably, in those refinements that had been produced for Walter. Thereafter the evening passed quietly. Moray played draughts with the baker and was handsomely beaten three times in a row, while Mary, on a low stool by the fireside, worked on a piece of crochet which was clearly intended for her trousseau. Watching it develop, he could not help wondering if it was an edging for a nightdress – a warm, indulgent thought, not lewd. From time to time she would look at the clock and remark, with sedate concern, wholly unlike the girl full of humour and high spirits who had whirled gaily through space with him only an hour ago: ‘Walter will be at his meeting now.’ And again: ‘Surely he’ll get a chance to give his speech. He wrote it all out so careful, and was so set on making it.’ And finally: ‘He should be on his way to the train by this time. I hope he remembered his overshoes, he’s such a martyr to cold feet.’
    They all retired early. In Willie’s back room, which over-looked the yard, Moray had his first real talk with the boy, whose shyness had hitherto kept him silent. It appeared that as a school prize he had recently received an exciting book on David Livingstone, and soon they were in the wilds of Africa together, discovering Lake Nyanza, deploring the ravages of beri-beri and the tsetse fly. Moray had to answer a spate of eager questions, but at last he turned out the light and presently they were asleep.

Chapter Three
    Next morning Walter arrived punctually at half-past nine, greeting Moray like an old friend, full of his success on the previous evening. Although a number of ill-bred bounders had left the hall before the conclusion of his address, he had spoken extremely well, and for a good three-quarters of an hour. Having fully earned this day of relaxation he was in the mood to enjoy it. Nothing had pleased him more, he added, than to organise the expedition.
    This bumptious effusiveness puzzled Moray. Was there a streak of the woman in Walter or did he, as a man consistently rebuffed by his fellows, so lack male companionship that he fastened on to the first newcomer who came along? Perhaps the prestige of a future doctor attracted him, for he was patently a snob. Or it might be that through vanity he was simply bent on demonstrating his own importance to someone new to the town. With a shrug, Moray gave up.
    Mary and her brother had been ready for some time and now they set out, Walter leading the party along the Esplanade towards the pier, obviously determined to do things in style. At the steamer booking office he demanded first-class return tickets, adding casually:
    â€˜Three and a half: the boy is under age.’
    The booking clerk turned a practised eye on Willie.
    â€˜Four full fares,’ he said.
    â€˜I believe I asked for three and a half.’
    â€˜Four,’ said the clerk in a tired voice.
    An argument then ensued, brief yet fierce on Walter’s side, ending when Willie, interrogated by the clerk, truthfully gave his age, thus disqualifying himself from the reduced rate. Not a good start, thought Moray, ironically observing Walter slap down the extra coins with an injured air.
    The little red-funnelled paddle-boat came spanking down river and alongside the pier. She was the Lucy Ashton. Walter, somewhat recovered, explained to Moray that all the North British boats were named after characters in Scott’s novels, but he seemed disappointed that they were not to have the Queen Alexandra , the new two-funnelled Caledonian turbine; its absence seemed a slight impairment of his prestige.
    The gangway was skilfully run out, they went on board, and, looking around, he selected seats in the stern. Then the paddles churned and they were off, across the sparkling estuary and out towards the open firth.
    â€˜Delightful, is it not?’ Walter murmured, settling back. Things were going better