"Bit lonely here," I said.
"Rumble's Moor on a wet Friday's busy to it," he said emphatically. "Is
it reet the War's over?"
"Yes."
He puffed his pipe for a few minutes while the information soaked in.
"Who won?"
"The Peace Conference haven't decided yet."
Conversation languished until I remembered the guide-book.
"According to tradition," I said, "it was at this identical spot that
ROLLO, first Duke of Normandy, hung his golden chain on a sign-post for
a whole year without having it stolen."
"Tha-at ud be afore we brought our Chinese Labour gang felling timber,"
he said firmly; "I wudden give it five minutes now."
"I understand, too, that there is a historic ruin hereabouts."
"Theer was," he said; "but he's in hospital."
"What do you mean?"
"Ratty Beslow; my owd colleague an' sparring pardner. It's 'im you weer
talking of, ain't it?"
"It wasn't; but I'm interested in him," I said, sitting down on a pile
of logs. "How did he get to hospital?"
"Through a mistake in Nacheral 'Istory. You see, me an' Ratty had been
in th' War a goodish time an' ha-ad lost our o-riginal ferociousness. So
they put us to this Chink Labour gang for a rest-cure. Likewise Ratty
'ad got too fa-amous as a timber-scrounger oop th' line, and it was
thought that if 'e was left in th' middle of a forest, wheer it didn't
matter a dang if he scrounged wood fra' revally to tattoo, it might
reform him.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25