Lost trumpet
(272)
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THE LOST TRUMPET
272
“It is very well, M’sieu’.”
Georgios retired, puzzledly. Marrot wheeled on
the rest of us. “Why the devil didn’t you try to stop
me ?”
“Stop you ?” I echoed.
“Of course. Oh, a damned dirty trick. Trying to
amuse ourselves at the expense of one we consider
a social inferior.” He glowered at Pelagueya. “Y0#,
anyway, might have told me it was a scoundrelly
thing.”
Pelagueya nodded. “It was. But I was like your¬
self, Mr. Marrot—a scoundrel who didn’t think.
Now you’ve made me. Thank you ”
“Well, well, it was a mistake,” said Huebsch,
pacifyingly. “And since Georgios is out of the
running I might as well try it myself.”
And so saying, he picked up the Trumpet, caressed
it for a moment, then set the worn gold band to his lips.
I looked away from him. My eyes were towards
the window. And suddenly, on the horizon, I saw
the flicker of sheet lightning, and realized the near¬
ness of a sand-storm because of that sudden oppres¬
sion in my head. Almost instantly the oppression
lifted. I turned back. Huebsch had lowered the
Trumpet and was looking at it queerly. Marrot was
wiping his forehead. On Pelagueya’s temples I saw
stand beads of perspiration. Quaritch prowled to
the window.
“Storm coming up. Anyone else see that lightning
flash ?”
“I’ve a headache,” Pelagueya said. “Unless ”
272
“It is very well, M’sieu’.”
Georgios retired, puzzledly. Marrot wheeled on
the rest of us. “Why the devil didn’t you try to stop
me ?”
“Stop you ?” I echoed.
“Of course. Oh, a damned dirty trick. Trying to
amuse ourselves at the expense of one we consider
a social inferior.” He glowered at Pelagueya. “Y0#,
anyway, might have told me it was a scoundrelly
thing.”
Pelagueya nodded. “It was. But I was like your¬
self, Mr. Marrot—a scoundrel who didn’t think.
Now you’ve made me. Thank you ”
“Well, well, it was a mistake,” said Huebsch,
pacifyingly. “And since Georgios is out of the
running I might as well try it myself.”
And so saying, he picked up the Trumpet, caressed
it for a moment, then set the worn gold band to his lips.
I looked away from him. My eyes were towards
the window. And suddenly, on the horizon, I saw
the flicker of sheet lightning, and realized the near¬
ness of a sand-storm because of that sudden oppres¬
sion in my head. Almost instantly the oppression
lifted. I turned back. Huebsch had lowered the
Trumpet and was looking at it queerly. Marrot was
wiping his forehead. On Pelagueya’s temples I saw
stand beads of perspiration. Quaritch prowled to
the window.
“Storm coming up. Anyone else see that lightning
flash ?”
“I’ve a headache,” Pelagueya said. “Unless ”
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| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (272) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205193013 |
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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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