Prev | Current Page 106 | Next

Buchan, John, 1875-1940

"The Thirty-Nine Steps"

I
calculated I must be about eighteen miles distant, and that meant I
could not get there before morning. So I must lie up a day somewhere,
for I was too outrageous a figure to be seen in the sunlight.
I had neither coat, waistcoat, collar, nor hat, my trousers were
badly torn, and my face and hands were black with the explosion. I
daresay I had other beauties, for my eyes felt as if they were
furiously bloodshot. Altogether I was no spectacle for God-fearing
citizens to see on a highroad.
Very soon after daybreak I made an attempt to clean myself in a
hill burn, and then approached a herd's cottage, for I was feeling
the need of food. The herd was away from home, and his wife was
alone, with no neighbour for five miles. She was a decent old body,
and a plucky one, for though she got a fright when she saw me, she
had an axe handy, and would have used it on any evil-doer. I told
her that I had had a fall--I didn't say how--and she saw by my
looks that I was pretty sick. Like a true Samaritan she asked no
questions, but gave me a bowl of milk with a dash of whisky in it,
and let me sit for a little by her kitchen fire. She would have bathed
my shoulder, but it ached so badly that I would not let her touch it.
I don't know what she took me for--a repentant burglar,
perhaps; for when I wanted to pay her for the milk and tendered a
sovereign which was the smallest coin I had, she shook her head
and said something about 'giving it to them that had a right to it'.


Pages:
94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118