The Princess Passes Volume 56, Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson [primary phonics txt] 📗

The

Central Place There Were Crowding Shops, Bright With Colour, And

Lights Were Beginning To Shine Out From The Windows Of The Hotels.

 

I Was To Meet The Winstons At The Hôtel Couronne; And As I Ventured To

Show My Travel-Stained Person In The Hall, I Was Greeted By A Vision:

Molly In White Muslin, Dressed For Dinner.

 

"What, You Already!" She Exclaimed. "You Must Have Come Over The Pass

By Steam Or Electricity. We Didn't Expect You For An Hour. We've Lots

To Tell You, And Oh, I've Bought You A Sweet Revolver, Which You Are

Always To Have About You, On Your Walking Trip, Though Jack Laughed At

Me For Doing It. But Now, For Your Adventures."

 

In A Few Words I Sketched Them, And Learned That The Motor Had Again

Pulled Wool Over The Eyes Of The Law; Then Molly Must Have Seen In

Mine That There Was A Question Which I Wished, But Hesitated, To Ask.

If A Man May Have A Beam In His Eye, Why Not A Mule?

 

"We've Been Interviewing Animals Of Various Sorts For You All Day,"

She Said. "I've Had A Kind Of Employment Agency For Mules, And Have

Taken Their Characters And Capacities. But----"

 

"There's A 'But,' Is There?" I Cut Into Her Ominous Pause.

 

"Well, The Nicest Beasts Are All Engaged For Days Ahead, Or Else Their

Owners Can't Spare Them For A Long Trip; Or Else They're Too Young; Or

Else They're Too Old; Or Else They're _Hideous_. At Least, There's One

Who's Hideous, And I'm Sorry To Say He's The Only One You Can Have."

 

"'Twas Ever Thus, From Childhood's Hour.'"

 

"But The Landlord Says There Are Dozens Of Mules At Martigny."

 

"A Mere Mirage."

 

"No, He Has Telephoned. But You'll Look At The One Here, I Suppose, If

Only As A Matter Of Form? I Think He's Outside Now."

 

"Let Him Be Brought Before Me," I Said, With The Air Of A Tyrant In A

Melodrama; And, By The Way, I Have Always Thought It Would Be Very

Pleasant Being A Tyrant By Profession, Like Him Of Syracuse, For

Instance. You Could Do All The Things You Wanted To Do, Without

Consulting The Convenience Of Anybody Else, Or Having It On Your

Conscience That You Hadn't.

 

At This Moment Jack Appeared. It Seemed That He Had Been Putting The

Mule (The One Available Mule) Through His Paces, And The Wretched

Fellow Was Laughing. "It's Not Funny, At All," Said I, Thinking It Was

The Situation Which Amused Him. But Jack Explained That It Wasn't

That. "It's The Brute's Tail," Said He. "When You See It, You'll Know

Chapter 7 (At Last) Pg 53

What I Mean."

 

I Did Know, At Sight. The Organ--If A Mule's Tail Can Be Called An

Organ--Had Mean Proportions And A Hideous Activity Which Expressed To

My Mind A Base And Depraved Nature. Had There Been No Other Of His

Kind On Earth, I Would Still Have Refused To Take This Beast As My

Companion; And After A Few Moments' Feverish Discussion, It Was

Arranged That After All We Must Go Through The Rhone Valley To-Morrow

To Martigny.

 

But The Rhone Valley, Radiant In Morning Light, Heaped Coals Of Fire

Upon My Head. I Had Maligned Perfection. There Was All The Difference

Between The Country Between Brig And Martigny Seen From A

Railway-Carriage Window, And Seen From A Motor Car, That There Is

Between The Back Of A Woman's Head When She Is Giving You The Cut

Direct, And Her Face When She Is Smiling On You.

 

The Rhone Valley Tame! The Rhone Valley Monotonous! It Was Poetry

Ready For The Pen Of Shelley, And A Scene For The Brush Of Turner. The

Little Towns Sleeping On The Shoulders Of The Mountains, Or Rising

Turreted From Hardy Rocks Bathed By The Golden River; The Peeps Up

Cool Lateral Valleys To Blue Glaciers; The Near Green Slopes And

Distant, Waving Seas Of Snowy Splendour Left A Series Of Pictures In

The Mind; And Best Of All Was Martigny's Tower Pointing A Slender

Finger Skyward From Its High Hill.

 

Late In The Afternoon, As The Car Whirled Us Into The Garden Of The

Hôtel Mont Blanc, We Came Face To Face With Two Mules. They Had

Brought Back A Man And A Girl From Some Excursion. The Landlord Was At

The Door To Receive His Guests. Jack, Molly, And I Flung The Same

Question At His Head, At The Same Moment. Was The Situation As It Had

Been When He Telephoned? Could I Hire A Mule And A Man, Not For A Day

Or Two, But For A Long Journey--A Journey Half Across The World If I

Liked?

 

The Answer Was That I Might Have Five Mules And Five Men For A

Journey All Across The World If It Were My Pleasure.

 

It Sounded Like A Problem In Mental Arithmetic, But I Thanked My Stars

That There Seemed No Further Need For Me To Struggle Over Its

Solution.

 

Chapter 8 (The Making Of A Mystery) Pg 54

    "There Was The Secret . . .

       Hid In . . . Grey, Young Eyes."

                    --Alice Meynell.

 

    "Henceforth I Whimper No More, Postpone No More."

                                       --Walt Whitman.

 

 

In My Opinion It Is A Sign Of Strength Rather Than Of Weakness, To

Change One's Mind With A Good Grace. For My Part, I Find Pleasure In

The Experience, Feeling Refreshed By It, As If I Had Had A Bath, And

Got Into Clean Linen After A Hot Walk. Changing The Mind Gives Also

Somewhat The Same Sensation As Waking In The Morning With The

Consciousness That No One On Earth Has Ever Seen This Day Before; Or

The Satisfaction One Has On Breaking An Egg, The Inside Of Which No

Human Eye Has Beheld Until That Moment. A Change Of Mind Bestows On

One For The Time Being A New Ego; Therefore I Did Not Grudge Myself My

Delight In The Once Despised Rhone Valley. Nevertheless, I Was Glad

That The Mule Of Brig Had Been One With Which I Could Conscientiously

Decline To Associate. My Resolve Not To Take A Pack-Mule There Had

Become So Fixed, That To Have Uprooted It Would Have Seemed A

Confession Of Failure. Besides, The Need To Go On To Martigny Had

Given An Excuse For Another Day With Jack, Molly, And Mercédès.

 

I Had Been As Happy As A Man Whose Duty It Is To Be Broken-Hearted,

May Dare To Be. But The Next Morning Came At Martigny, And With My

Bath The News That The Five Promised Men With Their Five Mules Awaited

My Choice.

 

I Had Secretly Hoped That The Day Might Be Mule-Less Till Evening, For

In That Case Jack And Molly Would Probably Stay On, And I Should Not

Be Left Alone In The World Until To-Morrow.

 

However, It Was Not To Be. I Gave Myself The Satisfaction Of Keeping

The Mules Waiting, On The Principle Of Always Doing Unto Others What

They Have Done Unto You; And After A Leisurely Toilet, I Went Down To

Hold The Review.

 

Four Men, With Four Mules, Started Forward Eagerly, Jostling Each

Other, At Sight Of Me Accompanied By The Landlord. But One Held Back A

Little, With A Modest Dignity, As If He Were Too Proud To Push Himself

Into Notice, Or Too Generous To Exalt Himself At The Expense Of

Others. He Was A Slim, Dark Man Of Middle Height, Past Thirty In Age,

Perhaps, With A Look Of The Soldier In The Bearing Of His Shoulders

And Head. He Had Very Short Black Hair; High Cheekbones, Where The

Rich Brown Of His Skin Was Touched With Russet; Deep-Set, Thoughtful

Eyes, And A Melancholy Droop Of The Moustache. His Collar Was

Incredibly Tall And Shiny, With Turn-Down Points; He Wore A Red Tie;

His Thick Brown Clothes Might Have Been Bought Ready Made In The

Edgeware Road; Evidently He Had Honoured The Occasion With His Sunday

Best. While His Comrades Jabbered Together, In Patois Which Flung In A

French Word Now And Then, Like A Sop To Cerberus, He Spoke Not A Word;

Yet I Saw His Lips Tighten, As He Laid His Arm Over The Neck Of A

Small But Well-Built Mule Of A Colour Which Matched Its Master's

Clothing. The Animal Rubbed A Brown Velvet Head Against The Brown

Chapter 8 (The Making Of A Mystery) Pg 55

Waistcoat Which, Perhaps, Covered A Fast-Beating Heart. From That

Instant I Knew That This Was My Man, And This My Mule, As Certainly As

If They Had Been Tattooed With My Family Crest And Truculent Motto:

"What I Will, I Take."

 

"You've Been A Soldier, Haven't You?" I Asked The Muleteer In French.

 

He Saluted As He Replied That He Had, And That For Several Years He

Had Served A French General, As Orderly. His Name Was Joseph Marcoz,

And--He Added--He Was A Protestant.

 

"And Your Mule?" I Asked.

 

"Finois, Monsieur."

 

"Ah, But His Persuasion? He Is Protestant, Too?" If Joseph Had Looked

Puzzled, I Should Have Been Disappointed, But A Spark Of Humour Lit

The Gloom Of His Sombre Eye. "Finois Is Pantheist, I Think You Call

It, Monsieur. I Am Persuaded That He Has A Soul, For Which There Will

Be A Place In The Beyond; And If He Goes There First, I Hope That He

Will Be Looking Out For Me."

 

It Seemed A Sudden Drop, After This Preface, To Turn To Bargaining.

The Landlord Made The Break For Me, However, When He Saw That I Had

Set My Mind Upon Marcoz And His Finois. It Then Appeared That Joseph

Was Not His Own Master, But Worked For The Real Owner Of Finois And

Other Mules. The Price He Would Have To Ask For Such A Journey As I

Proposed Was Twenty-Five Francs A Day. This Would Include The Services

Of Man And Mule, Food For The One, And Fodder For The Other. Without

Any Beating Down, I Accepted The Terms Proposed, And The Only Part Of

The Arrangement Left In Doubt Was The Time Of Starting. It Was Not

Eight O'clock, Yet Already The Diligences And Private Carriages Going

Over The Grand St. Bernard Had Departed With A Jingling Of Bells And

Sharp Cracking Of Whips Which Had First Informed Me That It Was Day.

With Me, It Was Different, However. Speed Was No Longer My Aim. I

Would Not Be In A Hurry About Arriving Anywhere, And When I Learned

That There Were A Couple Of Small Towns On The Pass, At Either Of

Which I Could Lie For A Night, There Seemed No Fair Excuse For Keeping

Jack And