Lost trumpet

56 THE LOST TRUMPET
borne like a beacon of revolt. I had listened in some
considerable amusement, Marrot with acid con¬
tempt. Huebsch turned his immense head and neck
to follow the young man’s progress with kindly
commiseration.
“Well, well, your Cairo’s interesting right enough,
Colonel. What was the boy ? Scotch ?”
“English, I think.”
“Thought he might have been from the Northern
half and couldn’t touch anyone for a spot of the
home-brewed when he was over the Pond. Reminds
me. . . . More beer. Colonel ?”
“Please.”
He ordered more beer for me and had the glasses
of Marrot and himself recharged with a horrid mess
of bubbling, coloured waters. I drew my list towards
me again. It had grown intensely light, awaiting the
sunset.
“We had not settled about the cook. But if there
are no dietetic drawbacks, I think I might be able to
engage one here.”
“From this cafe ?”
I nodded and called to the little Simon. He came
in an ingratiating hurry to our table and his eyes
lighted at my request.
“If your cousin Georgios is still with you, will
you bring him here ? I might find him work for a
short time.”
“The job !” He threw up his hands. “Now Mary
Mother but grant him sense and discretion. I will
fetch him at once.”