Lost trumpet
(71)
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THE LOST TRUMPET
71
“She has been gone these last nine months.”
“Well, well, that’s a pity. But it can’t be helped.
She might have given us permission to dig over her
land as well, in case Hanna’s doesn’t cover the com¬
plete area we’ll have to excavate. Still, if she’s away
and the place locked up ”
“We’ll do the digging without asking,” said
Marrot, turning his pale, cold eyes on me question-
ingly. I shrugged again.
“I cannot imagine that she would object,” I
said. Nor could I. A picture of her, in that poise of
amused, indifferent insolence, arose before me and I
stared at it wearily, and through the bright stillness
of the day by the ’Ain ford-bank heard again
the .chirping of the grasshopper. . . . Huebsch’s
voice :
“Well, well. Then we’ll try her house for drink¬
ing water anyway, and camp over about here”—his
pencil came to smudgy halt in the midst of a little
field about a quarter of a mile from the Gault house
—“if it’s at all suitable. To-morrow you and the
Colonel can push out with the theodolite and make
preliminary surveys, Marrot. I’ll set the labourers
to digging up our camp.”
“Will that be necessary ?” I inquired.
“Absolutely. Once knew a young man up near
Damascus who prospected a site for close on five
months and then had a fine Roman pavement found
him by his cook—while the latter was baking a
chicken in the earth.” He looked over his shoulder
towards Georgios with massive affability. “And we
71
“She has been gone these last nine months.”
“Well, well, that’s a pity. But it can’t be helped.
She might have given us permission to dig over her
land as well, in case Hanna’s doesn’t cover the com¬
plete area we’ll have to excavate. Still, if she’s away
and the place locked up ”
“We’ll do the digging without asking,” said
Marrot, turning his pale, cold eyes on me question-
ingly. I shrugged again.
“I cannot imagine that she would object,” I
said. Nor could I. A picture of her, in that poise of
amused, indifferent insolence, arose before me and I
stared at it wearily, and through the bright stillness
of the day by the ’Ain ford-bank heard again
the .chirping of the grasshopper. . . . Huebsch’s
voice :
“Well, well. Then we’ll try her house for drink¬
ing water anyway, and camp over about here”—his
pencil came to smudgy halt in the midst of a little
field about a quarter of a mile from the Gault house
—“if it’s at all suitable. To-morrow you and the
Colonel can push out with the theodolite and make
preliminary surveys, Marrot. I’ll set the labourers
to digging up our camp.”
“Will that be necessary ?” I inquired.
“Absolutely. Once knew a young man up near
Damascus who prospected a site for close on five
months and then had a fine Roman pavement found
him by his cook—while the latter was baking a
chicken in the earth.” He looked over his shoulder
towards Georgios with massive affability. “And we
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (71) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205190400 |
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| Description | J. Leslie Mitchell. |
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| Shelfmark | Vts.143.j.8 |
| Attribution and copyright: |
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More information
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| Description | Sixteen books written by Lewis Grassic Gibbon (1901-1935), regarded as the most important Scottish prose writer of the early 20th century. All were published in the last seven years of his life, mostly under his real name, James Leslie Mitchell. They include two works of science fiction, non-fiction works on exploration, short stories set in Egypt, a novel about Spartacus, and the classic 'Scots Quair' trilogy which includes 'Sunset Song'. Mitchell's first book 'Hanno, or the future of exploration' (1928) is rare and has never been republished. |
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