can do.”
Mallinson flicked his cigarette ash with a gesture of forced nonchalance. “All right, then. Two months it is. And now let’s all shout hooray about it.”
Conway went on: “I don’t see why it should be much worse than two months in any other isolated part of the world. People in our jobs are used to being sent to odd places, I think I can say that of us all. Of course, it’s bad for those of us who have friends and relatives. Personally, I’m fortunate in that respect, I can’t think of any one who’ll worry over me acutely, and my work, whatever it might have been, can easily be done by somebody else.”
He turned to the others as if inviting them to state their own cases. Mallinson proffered no information, but Conway knew roughly how he was situated. He had parents and a girl in England; it made things hard.
Barnard, on the other hand, accepted the position with what Conway had learned to regard as an habitual good humor. “Well, I guess I’m pretty lucky, for that matter, two months in the penitentiary won’t kill me. As for the folks in my home town, they won’t bat an eye. I’ve always been a bad letter writer.”
“You forget that our names will be in the papers,” Conway reminded him. “We shall all be posted missing, and people will naturally assume the worst.”
Barnard looked startled for the moment; then he replied, with a slight grin: “Oh, yes, that’s true, but it don’t affect me, I assure you.”
Conway was glad it didn’t, though the matter remained a little puzzling. He turned to Miss Brinklow who till then had been remarkably silent; she had not offered any opinion during the interview with Chang. He imagined that she too might have comparatively few personal worries. She said brightly: “As Mr. Barnard says, two months here is nothing to make a fuss about. It’s all the same, wherever one is, when one’s in the Lord’s service. Providence has sent me here. I regard it as a call.”
Conway thought the attitude a very convenient one, in the circumstances. “I’m sure,” he said encouragingly, “you’ll find your mission society pleased with you when you do return. You’ll be able to give much useful information. We’ll all of us have had an experience, for that matter. That should be a small consolation.”
The talk then became general. Conway was rather surprised at the ease with which Barnard and Miss Brinklow had accommodated themselves to the new prospect. He was relieved, however, as well; it left him with only one disgruntled person to deal with. Yet even Mallinson, after the strain of all the arguing, was experiencing a reaction; he was still perturbed, but more willing to look at the brighter side of things. “Heaven knows what we shall find to do with ourselves,” he exclaimed, but the mere fact of making such a remark showed that he was trying to reconcile himself.
“The first rule must be to avoid getting on each others nerves,” replied Conway. “Happily, the place seems big enough, and by no means overpopulated. Except for servants, we’ve only seen one of its inhabitants so far.”
Barnard could find another reason for optimism. “We won’t starve, at any fate, if our meals up to now are a fair sample. You know, Conway, this place isn’t run without plenty of hard cash. Those baths, for instance, they cost real money. And I can’t see that anybody earns anything here, unless those chaps in the valley have jobs, and even then, they wouldn’t produce enough for export. I’d like to know if they work any minerals.”
“The whole place is a confounded mystery,” responded Mallinson. “I dare say they’ve got pots of money hidden away, like the Jesuits. As for the baths, probably some millionaire supporter presented them. Anyhow, it won’t worry me, once I get away. I must say, though, the view is rather good, in its way. Fine winter sport center if it were in the right spot. I wonder if one could get any skiing on some of
Mallinson flicked his cigarette ash with a gesture of forced nonchalance. “All right, then. Two months it is. And now let’s all shout hooray about it.”
Conway went on: “I don’t see why it should be much worse than two months in any other isolated part of the world. People in our jobs are used to being sent to odd places, I think I can say that of us all. Of course, it’s bad for those of us who have friends and relatives. Personally, I’m fortunate in that respect, I can’t think of any one who’ll worry over me acutely, and my work, whatever it might have been, can easily be done by somebody else.”
He turned to the others as if inviting them to state their own cases. Mallinson proffered no information, but Conway knew roughly how he was situated. He had parents and a girl in England; it made things hard.
Barnard, on the other hand, accepted the position with what Conway had learned to regard as an habitual good humor. “Well, I guess I’m pretty lucky, for that matter, two months in the penitentiary won’t kill me. As for the folks in my home town, they won’t bat an eye. I’ve always been a bad letter writer.”
“You forget that our names will be in the papers,” Conway reminded him. “We shall all be posted missing, and people will naturally assume the worst.”
Barnard looked startled for the moment; then he replied, with a slight grin: “Oh, yes, that’s true, but it don’t affect me, I assure you.”
Conway was glad it didn’t, though the matter remained a little puzzling. He turned to Miss Brinklow who till then had been remarkably silent; she had not offered any opinion during the interview with Chang. He imagined that she too might have comparatively few personal worries. She said brightly: “As Mr. Barnard says, two months here is nothing to make a fuss about. It’s all the same, wherever one is, when one’s in the Lord’s service. Providence has sent me here. I regard it as a call.”
Conway thought the attitude a very convenient one, in the circumstances. “I’m sure,” he said encouragingly, “you’ll find your mission society pleased with you when you do return. You’ll be able to give much useful information. We’ll all of us have had an experience, for that matter. That should be a small consolation.”
The talk then became general. Conway was rather surprised at the ease with which Barnard and Miss Brinklow had accommodated themselves to the new prospect. He was relieved, however, as well; it left him with only one disgruntled person to deal with. Yet even Mallinson, after the strain of all the arguing, was experiencing a reaction; he was still perturbed, but more willing to look at the brighter side of things. “Heaven knows what we shall find to do with ourselves,” he exclaimed, but the mere fact of making such a remark showed that he was trying to reconcile himself.
“The first rule must be to avoid getting on each others nerves,” replied Conway. “Happily, the place seems big enough, and by no means overpopulated. Except for servants, we’ve only seen one of its inhabitants so far.”
Barnard could find another reason for optimism. “We won’t starve, at any fate, if our meals up to now are a fair sample. You know, Conway, this place isn’t run without plenty of hard cash. Those baths, for instance, they cost real money. And I can’t see that anybody earns anything here, unless those chaps in the valley have jobs, and even then, they wouldn’t produce enough for export. I’d like to know if they work any minerals.”
“The whole place is a confounded mystery,” responded Mallinson. “I dare say they’ve got pots of money hidden away, like the Jesuits. As for the baths, probably some millionaire supporter presented them. Anyhow, it won’t worry me, once I get away. I must say, though, the view is rather good, in its way. Fine winter sport center if it were in the right spot. I wonder if one could get any skiing on some of
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