Bye-bye." The two men crawled under their
mosquito-nets and sank instantly into the easy sleep of those whose
lives are spent in the open.
Young Anerley stood with his back against a palm tree and his briar
between his lips, thinking over the advice which he had received.
After all, they were the heads of the profession, these men, and it was
not for him, the newcomer, to reform their methods. If they served
their papers in this fashion, then he must do the same. They had at
least been frank and generous in teaching him the rules of the game.
If it was good enough for them it was good enough for him.
It was a broiling afternoon, and those thin frills of foam round the
black, glistening necks of the Nile boulders looked delightfully cool
and alluring. But it would not be safe to bathe for some hours to come.
The air shimmered and vibrated over the baking stretch of sand and rock.
There was not a breath of wind, and the droning and piping of the
insects inclined one for sleep. Somewhere above a hoopoe was calling.
Anerley knocked out his ashes, and was turning towards his couch, when
his eye caught something moving in the desert to the south. It was a
horseman riding towards them as swiftly as the broken ground would
permit. A messenger from the army, thought Anerley; and then, as he
watched, the sun suddenly struck the man on the side of the head, and
his chin flamed into gold.
Pages:
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254