Wild Geese Overhead by Neil M. Gunn Read Free Book Online Page B

this memory of primordial mornings, not this freshness of creation’s dawn, not—not too much of it, anyway. Just a little in the by-going, as much as you have a head to carry. Only a fool, who has lost his cunning, gets drunk.
    A good sleep did make a difference. It cleansed the sight in so remarkable a way that it caught birds’ eyes and unbroken hawthorn buds in a side-glance.
    And then the wind—not much of it but soft, soft. He once knew a man—an electrical engineer from Lancashire—who told him he stopped being a spiritualist when he began to see the wind. It had the loveliest curves, he said in a morose tone. So you stopped?… I got frightened, he said.
    If he had gone on until he was able to see spring’s scent in the wind as well! But probably it was no laughing matter.…
    The bus—with the girl herself! “Good morning,” he greeted her normally, squatting down on the rear seat instead of going forward, as usual. “And how’s life?”
    She gave him a quick astonished glance (it was the first time he had been personal), then smiled, reassured by his eyes. “Oh, not too bad.” A soft friendly honest country girl. “And how’s it with yourself?” she ventured.
    â€œChampion!” he said.
    She smothered a laugh.
    â€œYou don’t live in the town?” he asked.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œCome on, now—I know you don’t.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œYou’re real.”
    â€œYou’re fresh, for so early in the morning.”
    â€œBecause I live in the country—like you.”
    That fairly amused her, and she turned her back to the interior of the bus.
    â€œDo you like living in the country?” he asked.
    â€œWhy shouldn’t I?”
    â€œI merely asked. But, look here, I’ll tell you something. You wouldn’t mind living in the town except for one thing.”
    â€œWhat thing?” She looked at him, and her soft eyes were shrewd enough.
    â€œBecause he doesn’t live there.”
    â€œAre you trying to be personal or what?” But her cheeks caught a slight flush.
    â€œSorry if I’m personal. Did not mean to be. Say you forgive me.”
    â€œI don’t think you’re so simple as you look.”
    â€œCompliments are fairly flying.”
    â€œYes, aren’t they?”
    He lit a cigarette. “No good offering you one, I suppose—now that you’re on duty?”
    â€œNo. Thanks all the same.”
    It was not very easy to out-talk the rumble without raising his voice, and as she swayed expertly with the motion of the bus he sometimes had to lift his face slightly and she to lower her ear. It bred a kind of conspiracy, for they had to watch that the performance was not too obvious to the passengers.
    â€œTell me,” he said. “What does a shy fellow do when he wants—when he doesn’t know how to go about it?”
    â€œWants what? When I want anything I ask for it.”
    â€œDo you? That’s an idea.” he nodded solemnly. “But tell me—who do you ask?”
    â€œSanta Claus,” she said.
    He laughed abruptly so that several of the passengers turned round. She began to check her tickets. The bus stopped and more passengers came in.…
    As the bus drew into the terminus he got up and hung on, standing beside her. As the brakes were applied, he swayed and murmured in her ear: “Any good hanging up my stocking?”
    â€œYou’re daft,” she said.
    The street itself was a wide grin as he went down it. The chimney pots—had he ever seen the chimney pots of this street before? He felt so friendly to her in the end, so excited by her warm presence, that he could have kissed her!
    Though the street went downhill, not one of the endless crowd looked any way but straight ahead on the human level. Bowler hats, neatly rolled umbrellas, felt hats, handbags, all ages, with tweed caps and