Читать книгу The Road - Warwick Deeping - Страница 22
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ОглавлениеBonthorn saw the American at the white gate in the holly hedge, and was moved to reflect upon the futility of labels, for to the newspaper mind Uncle Sam is Uncle Sam, strident and boastful, the dollar king, and Mr. Cripps was none of these things. He had a quiet voice and a quiet manner; a tall, thin, sallow man with gentle eyes. He did not speak English as England expected him to speak it. His opinions and his prejudices could be delicately shaded, and might appear as implications. If he foresaw those transfigurations which Mr. Shaw chuckles over in The Apple Cart he did not chuckle. It might be possible to divine that which the inward voice of him was saying about England. “You’ve got a lovely little country and you are trying to spoil it. And—after all—you can’t feed yourselves, and a great part of your crowd is living on the savings of previous generations. They beat the big drum and shout about downing capital, and but for the capital invested abroad—many of them would not be alive. Free bread and free games, Mr. Bonthorn. The decline and fall of the New Rome. The future is with us.”
He carried himself courteously and gently as in the presence of some very old servant who had many notable achievements to his credit, but whose white head was in the shadow of death. A venerable country, living on the illusion of some noise made by a number of irresponsible and playful children, a country that could not say no to itself or to other countries, a corner that might become the world’s garden. This green island set in the silver sea. Well, why not? Almost Mr. Cripps trod gently in the presence of the patriarch dreaming in his chair.
He did not hurry. He came up through the garden on leisurely long legs, pausing to look at things and to finger a label or a flower. To Bonthorn, appearing in the white porch he gave a smile, a slight bow and a lift of the hat.
“Glad to meet you again, Mr. Bonthorn.”
His dark eyes twinkled.
“No need to say pleased to be met. Dame Gloriana will be here at half-past four.”
He spoke the name as though it was Elizabethan, a beautiful and spacious word, not to be clipped even in these days of speed.
“I did not hear a car.”
Car—forsooth! As if England was not worth walking through in the green glory of the year! Mr. Cripps said so.
“Sure, sometime soon Hollywood will rediscover the world’s legs. Honeysuckle in your hedges—too. I had to stop and smell and look. Tell me, what’s the insect, Mr. Bonthorn?”
“For honeysuckle?”
“That long tube?”
“Yes. Some tongue is needed. Twenty-five mm. at least.”
“The Privet Hawk-moth. A night-flyer. Rare.”
“They set seed pretty seldom then.”
“That’s so.”
Mr. Cripps took off his hat and laid it on one of the seats of the white porch. His face looked all smoothed out and happy. He produced a cigar-case and offered it to Bonthorn.
“No? I agree. Pity to spoil the smell of things. Could I have a glass of water?”
It was brought and handed to him, and he drank.
“Well—you have something to show me? When are you coming to California?”
“When—a garden——”
“Exactly. If I hadn’t a partner—— But I’m greedy, Mr. Bonthorn; I want to see everything that is, and there’s so much. Spain calling you, and Kashmir. It’s in my mind to go camping in Tibet. Do you know a man named Ingram?”
“I’ve met him.”
“I want to meet that man. And Marion Cran.”
“You have only to go on into Kent and you’ll find both of them close together.”
“I’ll go. But you have things to show me. The great lady tells me your delphiniums——”
Bonthorn smiled strangely.
“I have been keeping my delphiniums just as they are—to show you. Come along.”
Two tall men together they walked pleasantly and at ease to the Yew End nursery. They passed through the wired gate, and past two rows of young sweet peas. And Bonthorn paused with his hands in his pockets, and made a movement of the head.
“There you are. Some sight, isn’t it?”
The American was silent. He looked with intelligent, soft eyes at all that ruin, and frowned slightly, and seemed puzzled. Flower lovers might play jests upon each other—but this! A mat of broken stems as though a tornado had passed, green pulp, confusion. He stared.
“I don’t quite get you. This——?”
“We found it like that this morning.”
“Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Bonthorn——?”
“Someone got busy in the night.”
The American looked shocked.
“God!”
He went a few steps forward and stood still.
“God! Who was the——?”
“I’m not sure—— I have a suspicion. Some gesture—that! I left them for you and Mrs. Gurney to see. The thing has a sort of significance. But come and look. The blackguard missed the prize pearl.”
He took the Californian along the derelict border and showed him that solitary spire lashed to its green mast.
“He missed that. The best of all my crosses. One ought to chuckle, I suppose?”
Mr. Cripps gazed.
“God! That’s gorgeous.”
