“Gentleman Joe!”
“Why, if it isn’t old Jimmy McGrath.”
Castle’s select Tour, represented by seven depressed- looking femalesand three perspiring1 males, looked on with considerable interest. Evid-ently their Mr. Cade had met an old friend. They all admired Mr. Cade somuch, his tall lean figure, his suntanned face, the lighthearted mannerwith which he settled disputes and cajoled them all into good temper. Thisfriend of his now—surely rather a peculiar-looking man. About the sameheight as Mr. Cade, but thickset and not nearly so good-looking. The sort ofman one read about in books, who probably kept a saloon. Interestingthough. After all, that was what one came abroad for—to see all these pe-culiar things one read about in books. Up to now they had been ratherbored with Bulawayo. The sun was unbearably2 hot, the hotel was uncom-fortable, there seemed to be nowhere particular to go until the momentshould arrive to motor to the Matoppos. Very fortunately, Mr. Cade hadsuggested picture postcards. There was an excellent supply of picture post-cards.
Anthony Cade and his friend had stepped a little apart.
“What the hell are you doing with this pack of females?” demanded Mc-Grath. “Starting a harem?”
“Not with this little lot,” grinned Anthony. “Have you taken a good lookat them?”
“I have that. Thought maybe you were losing your eyesight.”
“My eyesight’s as good as ever it was. No, this is a Castle’s select Tour.
I’m Castle—the local Castle, I mean.”
“What the hell made you take on a job like that?”
“A regrettable necessity for cash. I can assure you it doesn’t suit my tem-perament.”
Jimmy grinned.
“Never a hog3 for regular work, were you?”
Anthony ignored this aspersion4.
“However, something will turn up soon, I expect,” he remarked hope-fully. “It usually does.” Jimmy chuckled5.
“If there’s any trouble brewing6, Anthony Cade is sure to be in it sooneror later, I know that,” he said. “You’ve an absolute instinct for rows—andthe nine lives of a cat. When can we have a yarn7 together?”
Anthony sighed.
“I’ve got to take these cackling hens to see Rhodes’ grave.”
“That’s the stuff,” said Jimmy approvingly. “They’ll come back bumpedblack and blue with the ruts in the road, and clamouring for bed to restthe bruises8 on. Then you and I will have a spot or two and exchange thenews.”
“Right. So long, Jimmy.”
Anthony rejoined his flock of sheep. Miss Taylor, the youngest and mostskittish of the party, instantly attacked him.
“Oh, Mr. Cade, was that an old friend of yours?”
“It was, Miss Taylor. One of the friends of my blameless youth.”
Miss Taylor giggled9.
“I thought he was such an interesting-looking man.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
“Oh, Mr. Cade, how can you be so naughty! The very idea! What wasthat name he called you?”
“Gentleman Joe?”
“Yes. Is your name Joe?”
“I thought you knew it was Anthony, Miss Taylor.”
“Oh, go on with you!” cried Miss Taylor coquettishly.
Anthony had by now well mastered his duties. In addition to making thenecessary arrangements of travel, they included soothing10 down irritableold gentlemen when their dignity was ruffled11, seeing that elderly matronshad ample opportunities to buy picture postcards, and flirting12 witheverything under a catholic forty years of age. The last task was renderedeasier for him by the extreme readiness of the ladies in question to read atender meaning into his most innocent remarks.
Miss Taylor returned to the attack.
“Why does he call you Joe, then?”
“Oh, just because it isn’t my name.”
“And why Gentleman Joe?”
“The same kind of reason.”
“Oh, Mr. Cade,” protested Miss Taylor, much distressed13, “I’m sure youshouldn’t say that. Papa was only saying last night what gentlemanly man-ners you had.”
“Very kind of your father, I’m sure, Miss Taylor.”
“And we are all agreed that you are quite the gentleman.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“No, really, I mean it.”
“Kind hearts are more than coronets,” said Anthony vaguely14, without anotion of what he meant by the remark, and wishing fervently15 it waslunchtime.
“That’s such a beautiful poem, I always think. Do you know much po-etry, Mr. Cade?”
“I might recite ‘The boy stood on the burning deck’ at a pinch. ‘The boystood on the burning deck, whence all but he had fled.’ That’s all I know,but I can do that bit with action if you like. ‘The boy stood on the burningdeck’—whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—(the flames, you see) ‘Whence all buthe had fled’—for that bit I run to and fro like a dog.”
Miss Taylor screamed with laughter.
“Oh, do look at Mr. Cade! Isn’t he funny?”
“Time for morning tea,” said Anthony briskly. “Come this way. There isan excellent café in the next street.”
“I presume,” said Mrs. Caldicott in her deep voice, “that the expense isincluded in the Tour?”
“Morning tea, Mrs. Caldicott,” said Anthony, assuming his professionalmanner, “is an extra.”
“Disgraceful.”
“Life is full of trials, isn’t it?” said Anthony cheerfully.
Mrs. Caldicott’s eyes gleamed, and she remarked with the air of onespringing a mine:
“I suspected as much, and in anticipation16 I poured off some tea into ajug at breakfast this morning! I can heat that up on the spirit lamp. Come,Father.”
Mr. and Mrs. Caldicott sailed off triumphantly17 to the hotel, the lady’sback complacent18 with successful forethought.
“Oh, Lord,” muttered Anthony, “what a lot of funny people it does taketo make a world.”
He marshalled the rest of the party in the direction of the café. MissTaylor kept by his side, and resumed her catechism.
“Is it a long time since you saw your friend?”
“Just over seven years.”
“Was it in Africa you knew him?”
“Yes, not this part, though. The first time I ever saw Jimmy McGrath hewas all trussed up ready for the cooking pot. Some of the tribes in the in-terior are cannibals, you know. We got there just in time.”
“What happened?”
“Very nice little shindy. We potted some of the beggars, and the rest tookto their heels.”
“Oh, Mr. Cade, what an adventurous19 life you must have led.”
“Very peaceful, I assure you.”
But it was clear that the lady did not believe him.
It was about ten o’clock that night when Anthony Cade walked into thesmall room where Jimmy McGrath was busy manipulating various bottles.
“Make it strong, James,” he implored20. “I can tell you, I need it.”
“I should think you did, my boy. I wouldn’t take on that job of yours foranything.”
“Show me another, and I’ll jump out of it fast enough.”
McGrath poured out his own drink, tossed it off with a practised handand mixed a second one. Then he said slowly:
“Are you in earnest about that, old son?”
“About what?”
“Chucking this job of yours if you could get another?”
“Why? You don’t mean to say that you’ve got a job going begging? Whydon’t you grab it yourself?”
“I have grabbed it—but I don’t much fancy it, that’s why I’m trying topass it on to you.”
Anthony became suspicious.
“What’s wrong with it? They haven’t engaged you to teach in a Sundayschool, have they?”
“Do you think anyone would choose me to teach in a Sunday school?”
“Not if they knew you well, certainly.”
“It’s a perfectly21 good job—nothing wrong with it whatsoever22.”
“Not in South America by any lucky chance? I’ve rather got my eye onSouth America. There’s a very tidy little revolution coming off in one ofthose little republics soon.”
McGrath grinned.
“You always were keen on revolutions—anything to be mixed up in areally good row.”
“I feel my talents might be appreciated out there. I tell you, Jimmy, I canbe jolly useful in a revolution—to one side or the other. It’s better thanmaking an honest living any day.”
“I think I’ve heard that sentiment from you before, my son. No, the jobisn’t in South America—it’s in England.”
“England? Return of hero to his native land after many long years. Theycan’t dun you for bills after seven years, can they, Jimmy?”
“I don’t think so. Well, are you on for hearing more about it?”
“I’m on all right. The thing that worries me is why you’re not taking iton yourself.”
“I’ll tell you. I’m after gold, Anthony—far up in the interior.”
Anthony whistled and looked at him.
“You’ve always been after gold, Jimmy, ever since I knew you. It’s yourweak spot—your own particular little hobby. You’ve followed up morewildcat trails than anyone I know.”
“And in the end I’ll strike it. You’ll see.”
“Well, everyone his own hobby. Mine’s rows, yours is gold.”
“I’ll tell you the whole story. I suppose you know all about Herzoslov-akia?”
Anthony looked up sharply.
“Herzoslovakia?” he said, with a curious ring in his voice.
“Yes. Know anything about it?”
There was quite an appreciable23 pause before Anthony answered. Thenhe said slowly:
“Only what everyone knows. It’s one of the Balkan States, isn’t it? Prin-cipal rivers, unknown. Principal mountains, also unknown, but fairly nu-merous. Capital, Ekarest. Population, chiefly brigands24. Hobby, assassinat-ing kings and having revolutions. Last king, Nicholas IV, assassinatedabout seven years ago. Since then it’s been a republic. Altogether a verylikely spot. You might have mentioned before that Herzoslovakia cameinto it.”
“It doesn’t except indirectly26.”
Anthony gazed at him more in sorrow than in anger.
“You ought to do something about this, James,” he said. “Take a corres-pondence course, or something. If you’d told a story like this in the goodold Eastern days, you’d have been hung up by the heels and bastinadoedor something equally unpleasant.”
Jimmy pursued this course quite unmoved by these strictures.
“Ever heard of Count Stylptitch?”
“Now you’re talking,” said Anthony. “Many people who have neverheard of Herzoslovakia would brighten at the mention of Count Stylptitch.
The Grand Old Man of the Balkans. The Greatest Statesman of ModernTimes. The biggest villain27 unhung. The point of view all depends on whichnewspaper you take in. But be sure of this, Count Stylptitch will be re-membered long after you and I are dust and ashes, James. Every moveand countermove in the Near East for the last twenty years has had CountStylptitch at the bottom of it. He’s been a dictator and a patriot28 and astatesman—and nobody knows exactly what he has been, except that he’sbeen a perfect king of intrigue29. Well, what about him?”
“He was Prime Minister of Herzoslovakia—that’s why I mentioned itfirst.”
“You’ve no sense of proportion, Jimmy. Herzoslovakia is of no import-ance at all compared to Stylptitch. It just provided him with a birthplaceand a post in public affairs. But I thought he was dead?”
“So he is. He died in Paris about two months ago. What I’m telling youabout happened some years ago.”
“The question is,” said Anthony, “what are you telling me about?”
Jimmy accepted the rebuke30 and hastened on.
“It was like this. I was in Paris—just four years ago, to be exact. I waswalking along one night in rather a lonely part, when I saw half a dozenFrench toughs beating up a respectable-looking old gentleman. I hate aone- sided show, so I promptly31 butted32 in and proceeded to beat up thetoughs. I guess they’d never been hit really hard before. They melted likesnow!”
“Good for you, James,” said Anthony softly. “I’d like to have seen thatscrap.”
“Oh, it was nothing much,” said Jimmy modestly. “But the old boy wasno end grateful. He’d had a couple, no doubt about that, but he was soberenough to get my name and address out of me, and he came along andthanked me next day. Did the thing in style, too. It was then that I foundout it was Count Stylptitch I’d rescued. He’d got a house up by the Bois.”
Anthony nodded.
“Yes, Stylptitch went to live in Paris after the assassination33 of King Nich-olas. They wanted him to come back and be president later, but he wasn’ttaking any. He remained sound to his monarchical34 principles, though hewas reported to have his finger in all the backstairs pies that went on inthe Balkans. Very deep, the late Count Stylptitch.”
“Nicholas IV was the man who had a funny taste in wives, wasn’t he?”
said Jimmy suddenly.
“Yes,” said Anthony. “And it did for him, too, poor beggar. She was somelittle guttersnipe of a music hall artiste in Paris—not even suitable for amorganatic alliance. But Nicholas had a frightful35 crush on her, and shewas all out for being a queen. Sounds fantastic, but they managed it some-how. Called her the Countess Popoffsky, or something, and pretended shehad Romanoff blood in her veins36. Nicholas married her in the cathedral atEkarest with a couple of unwilling37 archbishops to do the job, and she wascrowned as Queen Varaga. Nicholas squared his ministers, and I supposehe thought that was all that mattered—but he forgot to reckon with thepopulace. They’re very aristocratic and reactionary38 in Herzoslovakia.
They like their kings and queens to be the genuine article. There weremutterings and discontent, and the usual ruthless suppressions, and the fi-nal uprising which stormed the palace, murdered the King and Queen,and proclaimed a republic. It’s been a republic ever since—but things stillmanage to be pretty lively there, so I’ve heard. They’ve assassinated25 apresident or two, just to keep their hand in. But revenons à nos moutons.
You had got to where Count Stylptitch was hailing you as his preserver.”
“Yes. Well, that was the end of that business. I came back to Africa andnever thought of it again until about two weeks ago I got a queer-lookingparcel which had been following me all over the place for the Lord knowshow long. I’d seen in a paper that Count Stylptitch had recently died inParis. Well, this parcel contained his memoirs39 — or reminiscences, orwhatever you call the things. There was a note enclosed to the effect that ifI delivered the manuscript at a certain firm of publishers in London on orbefore October 13th, they were instructed to hand me a thousandpounds.”
“A thousand pounds? Did you say a thousand pounds, Jimmy?”
“I did, my son. I hope to God it’s not a hoax40. Put not your trust in princesor politicians, as the saying goes. Well, there it is. Owing to the way themanuscript had been following me around, I had no time to lose. It was apity, all the same. I’d just fixed41 up this trip to the interior, and I’d set myheart on going. I shan’t get such a good chance again.”
“You’re incurable42, Jimmy. A thousand pounds in the hand is worth a lotof mythical43 gold.”
“And supposing it’s all a hoax? Anyway, here I am, passage booked andeverything, on the way to Cape44 Town—and then you blow along!”
Anthony got up and lit a cigarette.
“I begin to perceive your drift, James. You go gold hunting as planned,and I collect the thousand pounds for you. How much do I get out of it?”
“What do you say to a quarter?”
“Two hundred and fifty pounds free of income tax, as the saying goes?”
“That’s it.”
“Done, and just to make you gnash your teeth I’ll tell you that I wouldhave gone for a hundred! Let me tell you, James McGrath, you won’t die inyour bed counting up your bank balance.”
“Anyway, it’s a deal?”
“It’s a deal all right. I’m on. And confusion to Castle’s select Tours.”
They drank the toast solemnly.
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1
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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unbearably
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| adv.不能忍受地，无法容忍地；慌 | |
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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aspersion
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| n.诽谤，中伤 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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9
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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flirting
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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butted
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| 对接的 | |
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assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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reactionary
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| n.反动者，反动主义者；adj.反动的，反动主义的，反对改革的 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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