Part 17 (1/2)
”It's awfully good of you,” he said courteously. ”But I don't believe I'm up to much yet--and I'm rather keen on getting home. If you wouldn't mind going there direct.”
David Linton cast an appealing look at the nurse, who had accompanied her patient. She rose to the occasion promptly.
”Now, Major Hunt,” she protested. ”Doctor's orders! You promised to take all the exercise you could, and a run in the car would be the very thing for you.”
”Oh, very well.” Major Hunt's voice was resigned. David Linton leaned towards him.
”I'll make it as short as I can,” he said confidentially. They said good-bye, and emerged into Park Lane, where the big blue motor waited.
”Afraid you must think me horribly rude,” said the soldier, as they started. ”Fact is, I'm very anxious to see my youngsters: I don't know why, but Stella wouldn't bring them to the hospital to see me this last week. But it's certainly jolly to be out again.” He leaned back, enjoying the comfort of the swift car. ”I suppose--” he hesitated--”it would be altogether too much trouble to go round by the flat and pick up my wife and Geoff. They would love a run.”
”Oh! Ah! The flat--yes, the flat!” said David Linton, a little wildly. ”I'm afraid--that is, we should be too early. Mrs. Hunt would not expect us so soon, and she--er--she meant to be out, with all the children. Shopping. Fatted calf for the prodigal's return, don't you know. Awfully sorry.”
”Oh, it's quite all right,” said Major Hunt, looking rather amazed.
”Only she doesn't generally take them all out. But of course it doesn't matter.”
”I'll tell you what,” said his host, regaining his composure. ”We'll take all of you out to-morrow--Mrs. Hunt and the three youngsters as well as yourself. The car will hold all.”
Major Hunt thanked him, rather wearily. They sped on, leaving the outskirts of London behind them. Up and down long, suburban roads, beyond the trail of motor-'buses, until the open country gleamed before them. The soldier took a long breath of the sweet air.
”Gad, it's good to see fields again!” he said. Presently he glanced at the watch on his wrist.
”Nearly time to turn, don't you think?” he said. ”I don't want Stella to be waiting long.”
”Very soon,” said Mr. Linton. ”Just a little more country air. The chauffeur has his orders: I won't keep you much longer.”
He racked his brains anxiously for a moment, and then plunged into a story of Australia--a story in which bushrangers, blacks and bushfires mingled so amazingly that it was impossible not to listen to it.
Having once secured his hapless guest's attention, he managed to leave the agony of invention and to slide gracefully to cattle-mustering, about which it was not necessary to invent anything. Major Hunt became interested, and asked a few questions; and they were deep in a comparison of the ways of handling cattle on an Australian run and a Texan ranch, when the car suddenly turned in at a pair of big iron gates and whirled up a drive fringed with trees. Major Hunt broke off in the middle of a sentence.
”Hallo! Where are we going?”
”I have to stop at a house here for an instant,” said Mr. Linton.
”Just a moment; I won't keep you.”
Major Hunt frowned. He was tired; the car was wonderfully comfortable, but the rush through the keen air was wearying to a semi-invalid, and he was conscious of a feeling of suppressed irritation. He wanted to be home. The thought of the hard little sofa in the London flat suddenly became tempting--he could lie there and talk to the children, and watch Stella moving about. Now they were miles into the country--long miles that must be covered again before he was back in Bloomsbury. He bit his lips to restrain words that might not seem courteous.
”I should really be very grateful if----”
He stopped. The car had turned into a side-avenue--he caught a glimpse of a big, many-gabled house away to the right. Then they turned a corner, and the car came to a standstill with her bonnet almost poking into a great clump of rhododendrons. There was a thatched cottage beside them. And round the corner tore a small boy in a sailor suit, with his face alight with a very ecstasy of welcome.
”Daddy! Oh, Daddy!”
”Geoff!” said Major Hunt amazedly. ”But how?--I don't understand.”
There were other people coming round the corner: his wife, tall and slender, with her eyes s.h.i.+ning; behind her, Norah Linton, with Alison trotting beside her, and Michael perched on one shoulder. At sight of his father Michael drummed with his heels to Norah's great discomfort, and uttered shrill squeaks of joy.
”Come on,” said Geoffrey breathlessly, tugging at the door. ”Come on!
they're all here.”
”Come on, Hunt,” said David Linton, jumping out. ”Let me help you--mind your hand.”