That Which Hath Wings: A Novel of the DayDehan, Richard
General
That Which Hath Wings: A Novel of the Day
Dehan, Richard
World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
His eyes, in speaking, went to the bright-haired boy in Scout’s uniform
standing near them, but von Herrnung’s glance had not followed his. The
boy was staring wistfully at the round-faced clock on the front gable of
the café restaurant—ten minutes to the half-hour and no sign of the
Chief’s returning. Bawne’s courage began to ooze away at the ends of
his fingers and toes.
"Then," von Herrnung was beginning impatiently, when a sallow,
undersized young man, whose hollow chest and inky paper cuffs advertised
his clerical employment, came up, touched a pen sticking out from behind
his ear, and said as Sherbrand turned to him:
"Beg pardon, sir, but the telegraph-cabin is locked up proper, and Mr.
Macrombie ’as carried orf the key."
"Out of sorts to-day, is he?" Sherbrand asked meaningly, and the
telegraph-clerk answered:
"I’ve never seen ’im so bad before—in the middle of the month!"
As Fate would have it, Macrombie, ex-Petty Officer Telegraphist of the
R.N.—from whose sleeve the golden Crown and thunderbolt had been reft by
reason of his anti-teetotal habits, had received a visit that morning
from a friend who had repaid a debt. Hence the licensed operator of
Fanshaw’s experimental and educational Wireless-station had succumbed to
an attack of his intermittent complaint.
Hear Macrombie’s assistant continuing the recital:
"He’s left the aërial connected to the transmitter and gone out for
lemon-squashes four times since one o’clock grub. ’That’s the drink for
men who have souls to save, ye little fag-eater!’ he says to me;
’Salvation for soul and body, sucked through a straw! If thae deboshed
and hopeless drunkards at the Admiralty could be induced to swear off
their cursed alcohol and take to it, I wad no longer be deaved to the
point of steeping my tongue in profanity, by the kind o’ eediots’
gibberish that is yammering at my lugs!’"
"He’d been raking a lot of Admiralty strays in?" Sherbrand queried. Von
Herrnung, who had been grinding his heel into the turf and gnawing his
lip with ill-concealed impatience, turned his head sharply, and listened
to the colloquy with all his ears.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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