Читать книгу Some Do Not... онлайн

97 страница из 107

What a pity! Macmaster thought.

He ought to have been sitting...It would have been pleasant and right to be sitting with the pleasant Minister. In the ordinary course he, Macmaster, would have been. The best golfer in the place was usually set to play with distinguished visitors, and there was next to no one in the south of England who ordinarily could beat him. He had begun at four, playing with a miniature cleek and a found shilling ball over the municipal links. Going to the poor school every morning and back to dinner; and back to school and back to bed! Over the cold, rushy, sandy links, beside the grey sea. Both shoes full of sand. The found shilling ball had lasted him three years...

Macmaster exclaimed: 'Good God.' He had just gathered from the telegram that Tietjens meant to go to Germany on Tuesday. As if at Macmaster's ejaculation, Tietjens said:

'Yes. It is unbearable. If you don't stop those swine, General, I shall.'

The General sibilated low, between his teeth:

'Wait a minute...Wait a minute...Perhaps that other fellow will.'