31st Of February Read Online Free Page A

little opposition perhaps. He said, with the right mixture of protest and conciliation: “But other shaving devices have been sold on humour, VV. We don’t need to talk about tossing our razors over the windmill, but surely there’s a case for being lighthearted. After all, it’s an occasion for celebration.”
    VV’s fine hands fluttered in the air, his voice beat like an incantation, his eyes stared straight ahead of him, like the eyes of a man in a trance. “This is the way I see it, boys. Shaving is one of the acts which bind us to a world of ritual, the world that each of us secretly detests. The alarm clock, the toothbrush, the razor, the railway timetable – they’re all part of the pattern that makes up the mechanical life of modern man. Take a thousand jigsaw pieces, fit them together every day and our lives are the result. But what we are doing is to take away one of those pieces. There’s a hole in the jigsaw, the pattern’s not complete. Through that hole modern man can catch a glimpse of freedom. It may be a small thing in itself, but my word, it’s a wonderful symbol.
    “Now, I want you to think in those terms, boys. Forget that you’re advertising men and remember that you’re human beings. We don’t want humour here; we want humanity. I can see one headline that says just FREEDOM FROM SHAVING. That’s the essential, simple human story.” VV’s voice had dropped to a low, reverent note. “The whole day’s changed – no more family quarrels now Dad’s in a good temper every morning. I can see another heading that says I THREW AWAY MY RAZOR – and the story there is the symbolism of it; that it’s the finest thing he ever did. I can see a sweet little girlie writing in her diary HAPPY DAYS BEGAN LAST FRIDAY. I can see a little boy saying DADDY HAS TIME TO SAY ‘GOOD MORNING’ NOW.
    VV’s voice changed again. Reverence disappeared, and an easy conversational tone took it’s place. “I’m just thinking aloud, you know. This is general direction, nothing more. I don’t want to interfere with you boys. Think it out for yourselves. There’s always another way of doing it. But don’t miss the wood for the trees. There’s a great human story here. Don’t miss it through trying to be clever or scientific or funny. And don’t get bogged in detail. The great thing is the tone. Once we’ve got that the details will arrange themselves.” He had talked himself into a good temper. He stood up and beamed at Wyvern. “And don’t try to find out about the tgojumba tree, JW, so that you can draw it. Look for the secrets of the human heart instead. Go to it boys.”
    The audience was over.
    Outside the door Wyvern said: “Now we know it all. God has spoken. I need a drink at lunch. You?” Anderson nodded. “See you in the Stag,” Wyvern said and shambled away down the corridor. His gait was equally unsteady, whether he was sober or (as was often the case) drunk. Anderson started to walk after him and then turned back and re-entered the room he had just left. The effect of his entrance seemed to him extraordinary. Reverton was bending over VV’s desk, the heads of two men were close together, almost touching. As he came in they almost sprang – it seemed to Anderson – apart. More than that, it was Anderson’s impression that the two heads close together had worn expressions that were perfectly serious, and even sombre; but now, when they looked up, Reverton’s face was set in his characteristic self-deprecatory grin, and VV looked eagerly amiable. Was the change, then, nothing more than a trick of light, or had their expressions been adjusted deliberately to receive him? He stood for a moment, while both men looked at him inquiringly.
    “It’s about Greatorex.” VV looked mystified. Anderson said with a kind of exaggerated self-conscious humour: “The nephew of Sir Malcolm Buntz, you know.”
    Reverton’s mouth had clamped hard on his pipe. He took it out to say: “Lad who