He indicated
my simple tasks, and without more ado set off at an amble bedwards.
Bed may have been his chief object, but I think there was
also something left in the foot of a bottle. I prayed that he might be
safe under cover before my friends arrived on the scene.
Then I set to work to dress for the part. I opened the collar of
my shirt--it was a vulgar blue-and-white check such as ploughmen
wear--and revealed a neck as brown as any tinker's. I rolled up my
sleeves, and there was a forearm which might have been a blacksmith's,
sunburnt and rough with old scars. I got my boots and trouser-legs
all white from the dust of the road, and hitched up my trousers,
tying them with string below the knee. Then I set to work on my face.
With a handful of dust I made a water-mark round my neck, the place
where Mr Turnbull's Sunday ablutions might be expected to stop.
I rubbed a good deal of dirt also into the sunburn of my cheeks.
A roadman's eyes would no doubt be a little inflamed, so I contrived
to get some dust in both of mine, and by dint of vigorous rubbing
produced a bleary effect.
The sandwiches Sir Harry had given me had gone off with my
coat, but the roadman's lunch, tied up in a red handkerchief, was at
my disposal. I ate with great relish several of the thick slabs of
scone and cheese and drank a little of the cold tea.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86