Читать книгу Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters - Daniel Stashower, Исмаил Шихлы - Страница 91

I wish to answer Doctor Waller’s kind letter, which it was an unexpected pleasure for me to receive. Dr Waller’s handwriting is sometimes remarkably like Mr Cassidy’s, as you will find on referring to a very ancient ‘catholic’s manual’ at home, in which Mr C—wrote something.

I was indeed surprised and sorry to hear that papa is leaving the office; has he been unwell? or is there any other particular reason for it? He ought now to be able to finish the skating picture soon at any rate.

I am sure you will think me very changeable, but I really think I would prefer to return by rail over Switzerland and France, to carrying out my original idea of the long voyage. I want to see some more of the fortified frontier between France and Germany, and I could easily choose another route to my former one. It would be cheaper too, for I could travel from here to Paris sumptuously alone on £5. And then perhaps, if you have no particular wish that I pass through London, I could set a direct passage from Havre or Ostende to Leith, which would be very jolly wouldn’t it?

You must excuse my scribble; I am sure you will approve of my answering Dr W as quickly as possible, to show that I duly appreciate his kindness. Love and kisses to all.

The end of Charles Doyle’s position in the Office of Works, where he had designed such important projects as the fountain at the Queen’s Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh, came as a surprise to his son, now nearly seventeen. When the head of the Office retired, and it was reorganized, the authorities took the opportunity to pension off the artist at the age of only forty-four, which suggests that his performance had declined considerably.

His father left the office for good in June. Meantime Conan Doyle continued the life of an English student in a foreign land, and, because of his more than average stature, found himself in the school’s marching band playing an unfamiliar tuba-like instrument. ‘The Bombardon,’ he said, ‘only comes in on a measured rhythm with an.occasional run, which sounds like a hippopotamus doing a step-dance. So big was the instrument that I remember the other bandsmen putting my sheets and blankets inside it and my surprise when I could not get out a note.’