Courts of Idleness Read Online Free Page A

heard—”
    “One moment,” said Fairie wildly. “Don’t say the other was All Night.”
    “That’s right,” said his brother-in-law. “But—”
    “‘Peterill, All Night, Long,’” quoted Fairie, his voice broken with emotion. “What have I done to deserve this? Who am I, to be singled out to be the sport of—”
    “What on earth’s the matter with you?” said Marlowe.
    “Go,” said the other, covering his eyes with his hand. “Go, fat-head. Leave me alone. Pay for the drinks and go. I have been mocked, cozened, bewrayed.”
    “Drugged, you mean,” said Marlowe coolly.
    Fairie sat up and looked at him. Then:
    “No,” he said. “Not drugged, bewitched.” Here he took a deep breath. “Yes,” he added gravely, “bewitched. What you have just witnessed, brother, was a brain-storm. The air, however, is now clear again. Allow me to congratulate you upon your ill-gotten gains, and – oblige me by never referring to them again.”
    “The man’s mad,” said Marlowe. “This Rih stunt has deranged what little—”
    “Listen,” said Fairie. “I’m going to tell you a story, a good story, a true story. But, mark you, it’s my tale – my own. Will you promise to respect my ownership, and never to tell it yourself?”
    “All right,” said Marlowe. “Go on.”
    “Thank you,” said Fairie. “You see, I’ve bought the copyright. It cost me a hundred and thirty-five pounds.”
    Then he told him.

2:  A Sister Ship
    “Of course, this is silly,” said Fairie.
    “What is?” said his wife.
    “This mail stunt. They’ve been slinging correspondence into the hold for the last three quarters of an hour, and now another mail train’s arrived.”
    “And we’re late now.”
    “I know. We shall miss the ebb if we’re not careful. Besides, paper’s notoriously heavy. Where’s Robin?”
    “Gone to find Fay. I wish they’d buck up. I want my tea awfully.”
    Mr and Mrs Fairie were standing upon the promenade-deck of the good ship Castle Rising , due to sail from Southampton that same afternoon. Southwards, too, over the high seas, out of the grey March weather into the warm sunshine, and so, presently, to fair waters, where the air is dry and gentle and there is no edge to the wind’s blowing. As Fairie had predicted, the Brokes, brother and sister, were also aboard. At Rih the liner, herself bound for Cape Town, was to break her voyage. Except at this chosen island she would call nowhere.
    There was only one gangway left now, and the crowd upon the quay had been roped back and to one side. Only the business of getting the mails aboard was progressing steadily. The stream of canvas bags seemed to be never-ending. On the fringe of the press of people a little photographer was exhorting those on board to avail themselves of the opportunity his camera held out to them. One or two took his advice and then bellowed addresses across the twelve feet of sea. No money passing, it seemed clear that he was a speculator. All things considered, so were his patrons. Despite a searching east wind and more than a tang of rain in the air, the crowd seemed in a good humour. One poor girl was crying a little, but by no means bitterly; now and again she smiled through her tears. There was no real distress anywhere. Odd messages and injunctions were shouted and heavy jokes cracked, but, for the most part, connected conversation being out of the question, friends and relatives upon the quay contented themselves with nods and becks and wreathed smiles without number. In the background one or two friends of first-class passengers lingered somewhat uncertainly.
    It was not an exhilarating picture – very dull, really, and commonplace. Yet Bill Fairie and Betty, his wife, leaned comfortably on the broad rail, watching it all, a strange feeling of satisfaction in their hearts. The knowledge that they were for fresh fields and pleasant places, blue sky and shores dressed all with sunshine, invested the grey scene with a