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.It would take the land years to recover, andthere would be no more tourists, for there was little money left in the world.I dropped a question about the Pink Chalet, and was told that it belonged toone Schweigler, aMr.StandfastMr.Standfast121professor of Berne, an old man who came sometimes for a few days in thesummer.It was often let, but not now.Asked if it was occupied, she remarkedthat some friends of the Schweiglers rich people from Basle had been therefor the winter.'They come and go in great cars,' she said bitterly, 'and theybring their food from the cities.They spend no money in this poor place.'Presently Peter and I fell into a routine of life, as if we had always kepthouse together.In the morning he went abroad in his chair, in the afternoon Iwould hobble about on my own errands.We sank into the background and took itscolour, and a less conspicuous pair never faced the eye of suspicion.Once aweek a young Swiss officer, whose business it was to look after Britishwounded, paid us a hurried visit.I used to get letters from my aunt inZurich, Sometimes with the postmark of Arosa, and now and then these letterswould contain curiously worded advice or instructions from him whom my auntcalled 'the kind patron'.Generally Iwas told to be patient.Sometimes I had word about the health of 'my littlecousin across the mountains'.OnceI was bidden expect a friend of the patron's, the wise doctor of whom he hadoften spoken, but though after that I shadowed the Pink Chalet for two days nodoctor appeared.My investigations were a barren business.I used to go down to the village inthe afternoon and sit in an outoftheway cafe, talking slow German withpeasants and hotel porters, but there was little to learn.Iknew all there was to hear about the Pink Chalet, and that was nothing.Ayoung man who skied stayed for three nights and spent his days on the alpsabove the firwoods.A party of four, including two women, was reported to havePage 126 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlbeen there for a night all ramifications of the rich family of Basle.Istudied the house from the lake, which should have been nicely swept intoicerinks, but from lack of visitors was a heap of blown snow.The high oldwalls of the back part were built straight from the water's edge.I remember Itried a short cut through the grounds to the highroad and was given 'Goodafternoon' by a smiling German manservant.One way and another I gathered there were a good many serving men about theplace too many for the infrequent guests.But beyond this I discoverednothing.Not that I was bored, for I had always Peter to turn to.He was thinking a lotabout South Africa, and the thing he liked best was to go over with me everydetail of our old expeditions.They belonged to a life which he could thinkabout without pain, whereas the war was too near and bitter for him.He likedto hobble outofdoors after the darkness came and look at his old friends, thestars.He called them by the words they use on the veld, and the first star ofmorning he called the _voorlooper the little boy who inspans the oxen a nameI had not heard for twenty years.Many a great yarn we spun in the longevenings, but I always went to bed with a sore heart.The longing in his eyeswas too urgent, longing not for old days or far countries, but for the healthand strength which had once been his pride.one night I told him about Mary.'She will be a happy _mysie,' he said, 'butyou will need to be very clever with her, for women are queer cattle and youand I don't know their ways.They tell me English women do not cook and makeclothes like our vrouws, so what will she find to do? I doubt an idle womanwill be like a mealiefed horse.'It was no good explaining to him the kind of girl Mary was, for that was aworld entirely beyond his ken.ButI could see that he felt lonelier than ever at my news.So I told him of thehouse I meant to have in England when the war was over an old house in agreen hilly country, with fields that would carry four head of cattle to theMorgan and furrows of clear water, and orchards of plums and apples.'And youwill stay with us all the time,' I said.'You will have your own rooms andyour own boy to look after you, and you will help me to farm, and we willcatch fish together, and shoot the wild ducks when they come up from the pansin the evening.I have found a better countryside than the Houtbosch, whereyou and I planned to have a farm.It is a blessed and happy place, England.'He shook his head.'You are a kind man, Dick, but your pretty _mysie won'twant an ugly old fellow like me hobbling about her house.I do not think Iwill go back to Africa, for I should be sad there in the sun.I willMr.StandfastMr.Standfast122find a little place in England, and some day I will visit you, old friend.'That night his stoicism seemed for the first time to fail him.He was silentfor a long time and went early to bed, where I can vouch for it he did notsleep.But he must have thought a lot in the night time, for in the morning hehad got himself in hand and was as cheerful as a sandboy.I watched his philosophy with amazement.It was far beyond anything I couldhave compassed myself.He was so frail and so poor, for he had never hadanything in the world but his bodily fitness, and he had lost that now [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.It would take the land years to recover, andthere would be no more tourists, for there was little money left in the world.I dropped a question about the Pink Chalet, and was told that it belonged toone Schweigler, aMr.StandfastMr.Standfast121professor of Berne, an old man who came sometimes for a few days in thesummer.It was often let, but not now.Asked if it was occupied, she remarkedthat some friends of the Schweiglers rich people from Basle had been therefor the winter.'They come and go in great cars,' she said bitterly, 'and theybring their food from the cities.They spend no money in this poor place.'Presently Peter and I fell into a routine of life, as if we had always kepthouse together.In the morning he went abroad in his chair, in the afternoon Iwould hobble about on my own errands.We sank into the background and took itscolour, and a less conspicuous pair never faced the eye of suspicion.Once aweek a young Swiss officer, whose business it was to look after Britishwounded, paid us a hurried visit.I used to get letters from my aunt inZurich, Sometimes with the postmark of Arosa, and now and then these letterswould contain curiously worded advice or instructions from him whom my auntcalled 'the kind patron'.Generally Iwas told to be patient.Sometimes I had word about the health of 'my littlecousin across the mountains'.OnceI was bidden expect a friend of the patron's, the wise doctor of whom he hadoften spoken, but though after that I shadowed the Pink Chalet for two days nodoctor appeared.My investigations were a barren business.I used to go down to the village inthe afternoon and sit in an outoftheway cafe, talking slow German withpeasants and hotel porters, but there was little to learn.Iknew all there was to hear about the Pink Chalet, and that was nothing.Ayoung man who skied stayed for three nights and spent his days on the alpsabove the firwoods.A party of four, including two women, was reported to havePage 126 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlbeen there for a night all ramifications of the rich family of Basle.Istudied the house from the lake, which should have been nicely swept intoicerinks, but from lack of visitors was a heap of blown snow.The high oldwalls of the back part were built straight from the water's edge.I remember Itried a short cut through the grounds to the highroad and was given 'Goodafternoon' by a smiling German manservant.One way and another I gathered there were a good many serving men about theplace too many for the infrequent guests.But beyond this I discoverednothing.Not that I was bored, for I had always Peter to turn to.He was thinking a lotabout South Africa, and the thing he liked best was to go over with me everydetail of our old expeditions.They belonged to a life which he could thinkabout without pain, whereas the war was too near and bitter for him.He likedto hobble outofdoors after the darkness came and look at his old friends, thestars.He called them by the words they use on the veld, and the first star ofmorning he called the _voorlooper the little boy who inspans the oxen a nameI had not heard for twenty years.Many a great yarn we spun in the longevenings, but I always went to bed with a sore heart.The longing in his eyeswas too urgent, longing not for old days or far countries, but for the healthand strength which had once been his pride.one night I told him about Mary.'She will be a happy _mysie,' he said, 'butyou will need to be very clever with her, for women are queer cattle and youand I don't know their ways.They tell me English women do not cook and makeclothes like our vrouws, so what will she find to do? I doubt an idle womanwill be like a mealiefed horse.'It was no good explaining to him the kind of girl Mary was, for that was aworld entirely beyond his ken.ButI could see that he felt lonelier than ever at my news.So I told him of thehouse I meant to have in England when the war was over an old house in agreen hilly country, with fields that would carry four head of cattle to theMorgan and furrows of clear water, and orchards of plums and apples.'And youwill stay with us all the time,' I said.'You will have your own rooms andyour own boy to look after you, and you will help me to farm, and we willcatch fish together, and shoot the wild ducks when they come up from the pansin the evening.I have found a better countryside than the Houtbosch, whereyou and I planned to have a farm.It is a blessed and happy place, England.'He shook his head.'You are a kind man, Dick, but your pretty _mysie won'twant an ugly old fellow like me hobbling about her house.I do not think Iwill go back to Africa, for I should be sad there in the sun.I willMr.StandfastMr.Standfast122find a little place in England, and some day I will visit you, old friend.'That night his stoicism seemed for the first time to fail him.He was silentfor a long time and went early to bed, where I can vouch for it he did notsleep.But he must have thought a lot in the night time, for in the morning hehad got himself in hand and was as cheerful as a sandboy.I watched his philosophy with amazement.It was far beyond anything I couldhave compassed myself.He was so frail and so poor, for he had never hadanything in the world but his bodily fitness, and he had lost that now [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]