“Quite. I mean it. These people really do know. You see, for the last fifty years they have had nothing but the best. They have a tradition and stick to it.”
He sat up with a start of surprise, and moved a little nearer to her. "But, good Lord; why?" he asked in a voice that sufficiently expressed the depth of his incomprehension.
Though I used frequently to go to Liverpool to hear Bantock conduct, I did not do so because I regarded him as a great artist with the baton. Of his ability in this direction, there is no doubt; but that he is an interpretative genius no qualified critic would assert. No: it was the personality of the man himself, and the new, modern works he used to include in his programmes that drew me to Liverpool. Bantock, at that period, was almost passionately modern. I remember with amusement how pettish he used sometimes to pretend to be when, perhaps in deference to public opinion (but perhaps he was overruled by a Committee?), he felt compelled to include a Beethoven symphony in one of his concerts.
"Don't worry about Georges. He's a realist, like you. He's prepared to deal in facts. Hard facts, in this case."
The bearded man's face grew purple.
"It is disillusioning, I know," Retief said. "Still, of such little surprises is history made. Sign here." He held the parchment out and offered a pen. "A nice clear signature, please. We wouldn't want any quibbling about the legality of the treaty, after conducting the negotiation with such scrupulous regard for the niceties."
She seemed so disappoynted that for a moment she joost stared at the auld gintleman. Then she ses gintly:
A chance came then for a brief time at school, and this was “made the most of.” Folks said the boy “grew like a weed.” When he was twelve it was said one “could al-most see him grow.” At half a score and five years old he was six feet and four in-ches high. He was well, strong, and kind. He had to work hard. He did most of the work his fa-ther should have done. But in the midst of it all he found time to read. He kept a scrap-book, too, and put in it verse, prose, bits from his-to-ry, “sums,” and all print and writ-ing he wished to keep. At night he would lie flat on the floor and read and “fig-ure” by fire light.
The next morning we parted from him, embracing him like any private gentleman, as he wished to keep his incognito absolute; so he took his way into Flanders, and we to Dunkirk, there to join some twenty-five officers, all volunteers for Prince Charles. We found our vessel ready for sea, and before sunset were safely on board, meeting old friends and making new ones.
“Well, then, what’s he been doing since he married?”
“‘It ain’t me chargin’, Captain,’ shouted poor Sam, as he pulled away with all his might to keep out of certain death—‘it ain’t me. I ain’t such a fool as that. It’s this damned old mule! Whoa, Baalam, whoa!’详情 ➢
Copyright © 2020