himself.
Progress? Excellent. His mother was well? Dear woman. Such happy memories of earlier days. And his sisters?
George was glad of the opportunity this offered to remind Mr Robertson of how they, his mother and sisters, depended on him. Mr Robertson praised his sense of responsibility, he was gratified to see it in so young a man. They were going swimmingly, and moved on easily now to his future. Had he given it any thought? Did he have some idea of what he might do with himself?
Well he had, of course, and in the closeness that had been restored between them, and out of a natural frankness, George took Cousin Alisdair into his confidence in a way he had not originally intended. He put aside the little speech he had prepared and spoke of his feelings, his aspirations, he even ventured a stroke or two of wit; he allowed himself to show off a little, which was forgivable, surely, considering all that was at stake. In the end he made a full confession. Inspired by the usual Sunday school stories, but also by more serious reading among the explorers – and the example, of course, of their own Dr Livingstone – it had come to him, not hastily but after a proper search of his own soul and a great deal of quiet consideration, that his life, his real life, lay with the Dark Continent, with Africa. He wanted a life that was arduous; which would call on all his strength – he was physically very strong. He had no idea how Mr Robertsonmight feel about such things, and he was conscious, always, that he had his mother and sisters to consider and might, for the time being, have to devote himself to something more practical, to trade that is, to business – that was for his benefactor to decide, and of course if it came to that, he would knuckle under, he would be patient – but Africa was where his soul led him, he was certain of this. It was too powerful an idea to be destroyed by the years he might have to devote to moneymaking. He had no illusions about the hardships such a life might present. He was prepared for that. He looked forward to it in fact; work of a kind that would test and stretch and …
He was aware suddenly of another voice in the room. Mr Robertson had spoken; two or three syllables that had reached his ear but not as yet his understanding. Carried away by his own enthusiasm he had taken it for granted Mr Robertson would hear him out, and was astonished now to see his benefactor’s face, all rosy-cheeked and expectant, lit up by an expression of droll interest and mischievous – could it really be that? – amusement.
Australia . That was the word Mr Robertson had dropped into the room. The silence deepened around it, then spread. Had he, by any chance, Mr Robertson sweetly demanded, his eyes dancing behind circles of thin gold, considered Australia?
Well he had not. Never in his life. Not once. He grew breathless; he tried to keep the great smothering mass of it off.
Australia? He barely knew where it was. He had the uneasy feeling that it had just popped into his benefactor’s head. Out of one of those letters perhaps, that by some unhappy coincidence lay in a scatter at his elbow. The arbitrariness of it affected George with a kind of hilarity. The laughter that filled him, and threatened to break out and shatter every object in sight, echoed up from the other side of the world, as Cousin Alisdair, as if eloquent effusion was a family trait, shared even by fifth cousins, began to elaborate, all watered silk but with a glint of steel in his eye, the advantages of that other and rival graveyard – the one George had not aspiredto. Friends in Sydney … Opportunities out there of the highest order … Splendid seed-ground … Seven years. (George felt the whole grey mass of it come down upon him.) In the meantime he would see that George’s mother was provided for, that his sisters had means to marry, and would be pleased, always, to hear how he was doing …
He was doing badly. The seed-ground,
Progress? Excellent. His mother was well? Dear woman. Such happy memories of earlier days. And his sisters?
George was glad of the opportunity this offered to remind Mr Robertson of how they, his mother and sisters, depended on him. Mr Robertson praised his sense of responsibility, he was gratified to see it in so young a man. They were going swimmingly, and moved on easily now to his future. Had he given it any thought? Did he have some idea of what he might do with himself?
Well he had, of course, and in the closeness that had been restored between them, and out of a natural frankness, George took Cousin Alisdair into his confidence in a way he had not originally intended. He put aside the little speech he had prepared and spoke of his feelings, his aspirations, he even ventured a stroke or two of wit; he allowed himself to show off a little, which was forgivable, surely, considering all that was at stake. In the end he made a full confession. Inspired by the usual Sunday school stories, but also by more serious reading among the explorers – and the example, of course, of their own Dr Livingstone – it had come to him, not hastily but after a proper search of his own soul and a great deal of quiet consideration, that his life, his real life, lay with the Dark Continent, with Africa. He wanted a life that was arduous; which would call on all his strength – he was physically very strong. He had no idea how Mr Robertsonmight feel about such things, and he was conscious, always, that he had his mother and sisters to consider and might, for the time being, have to devote himself to something more practical, to trade that is, to business – that was for his benefactor to decide, and of course if it came to that, he would knuckle under, he would be patient – but Africa was where his soul led him, he was certain of this. It was too powerful an idea to be destroyed by the years he might have to devote to moneymaking. He had no illusions about the hardships such a life might present. He was prepared for that. He looked forward to it in fact; work of a kind that would test and stretch and …
He was aware suddenly of another voice in the room. Mr Robertson had spoken; two or three syllables that had reached his ear but not as yet his understanding. Carried away by his own enthusiasm he had taken it for granted Mr Robertson would hear him out, and was astonished now to see his benefactor’s face, all rosy-cheeked and expectant, lit up by an expression of droll interest and mischievous – could it really be that? – amusement.
Australia . That was the word Mr Robertson had dropped into the room. The silence deepened around it, then spread. Had he, by any chance, Mr Robertson sweetly demanded, his eyes dancing behind circles of thin gold, considered Australia?
Well he had not. Never in his life. Not once. He grew breathless; he tried to keep the great smothering mass of it off.
Australia? He barely knew where it was. He had the uneasy feeling that it had just popped into his benefactor’s head. Out of one of those letters perhaps, that by some unhappy coincidence lay in a scatter at his elbow. The arbitrariness of it affected George with a kind of hilarity. The laughter that filled him, and threatened to break out and shatter every object in sight, echoed up from the other side of the world, as Cousin Alisdair, as if eloquent effusion was a family trait, shared even by fifth cousins, began to elaborate, all watered silk but with a glint of steel in his eye, the advantages of that other and rival graveyard – the one George had not aspiredto. Friends in Sydney … Opportunities out there of the highest order … Splendid seed-ground … Seven years. (George felt the whole grey mass of it come down upon him.) In the meantime he would see that George’s mother was provided for, that his sisters had means to marry, and would be pleased, always, to hear how he was doing …
He was doing badly. The seed-ground,
Similar Books
