Enough to Kill a Horse Read Free Page A

the cat off her lap, she got up, pocketed the envelope on which she had written down her requirements for the party and crossed to the door.
    Taking an old coat off a peg in the passage, she kicked off her slippers and stepped into a pair of gumboots, then went down the passage, through the shop and out into the street, releasing the catch of the shop door as she did so and turning a card that hung on the door, so that, seen from outside, it read, ‘Back presently’.
    There was, of course, no need for her to order immediately most of the things that she had written down on the envelope, but talking to Minnie, holding in half the things that she had really wanted to say, had left her restless. Besides, it would be a good idea to have a talk with Harris, the combined greengrocer and fishmonger, about a lobster.

CHAPTER TWO
    As Fanny reached the street, Tom Mordue, in the bar of The Waggoners, was saying in his high, harsh voice, which could always be heard over any other voices in the room, ‘You’re asking me what I think about it, Mr Davin? You want to know what I think ? Well then, I’ll tell you, but don’t blame me if you don’t like it, because I never bother to falsify my opinions. Life isn’t long enough for that. Sometimes I keep my opinions to myself, but when I give them, I give them like an honest man. And you asked me what I think. Well then, what I think is that you’re a gullible fool, Mr Davin. Just that. A gullible fool, like ninety-nine per cent of the people in this country – or any other country. Yes, a gullible fool, sir, on whom an education at the country’s expense has been completely wasted, since apparently it hasn’t taught you even the elements of clear thinking. Nearly all education is completely wasted, as no one knows better than I. If I had my way, I’d abolish it. All of it. Back to illiteracy, Mr Davin, since then at least people like yourself would be saved from exploitation by every fake and phoney who thinks up some pretentious formula which he can afford to have printed and with which he imposes on your credulity.’
    ‘Hold hard, Tom,’ Colin Gregory muttered in Tom Mordue’s ear. ‘If you go on like that, there’ll be trouble.’
    ‘Trouble?’ Tom Mordue said as loudly as before. ‘The man asked me for my opinion, didn’t he? I was sitting here quietly drinking my beer and he disturbed my thoughts to ask me my opinion about a ridiculous patent medicine which he claims relieved his lumbago. Well, what d’you expect me to reply? D’you think I should congratulate him and advise him to go on throwing his hard-earned money away on bottle after bottle of worthless coloured water? No, I’m not that sort, my boy. I never thrust my opinions on anybody – ’
    Someone in the bar drew in a derisive breath.
    ‘I never ,’ Tom Mordue repeated, ‘force my opinions on anybody, but when I’m asked for them, I give them openly, sincerely and without fear or favour.’
    ‘But with a bloody lot of unnecessary insults,’ Fred Davin growled, getting off his stool and walking to the door. He was an elderly, thick-set, slow-moving man, who kept the local ironmonger’s shop and was widely known for a curious and almost total inability to send out bills to his customers. Most of them being honest people, they would often almost implore him to be allowed to pay what they owed, but that for Fred Davin would have meant days and nights of struggle with ledgers and accounts and would greatly have interfered with the time he spent in The Waggoners.
    ‘That stuff did me good,’ he said. Turning in the doorway, he stared at Tom Mordue and made his declaration of faith. ‘It cured my lumbago in three days, and that’s more than ever happened with anything Dr McLean gave me, though I’ve got nothing against him, he’s a good man and he does his best. But that stuff cured my lumbago in three days.’
    He went out.
    ‘Shame on you, Mr Mordue,’ said Mrs Toles from behind the bar.