Run! Read Free Page A

to the hayloft, she could walk to the car. He said so in a firm, dogmatic voice.
    There was another of those mournful sighs.
    â€œAnd leave my crocodiles—and my bicycle? I’ve got a much better plan than that.”
    â€œWell?” He wasn’t going to commit himself, but you don’t commit yourself very far by saying “Well?”
    She echoed the word brightly. Girls always thought themselves whales at making plans.
    â€œWell, suppose you were in a house doing something that you oughtn’t to be doing, and someone came along and found you doing it, and you shot at them, and they got away—how long do you think you would stay in the house?”
    â€œI wouldn’t,” said James.
    â€œNor should I. Nor would they. They’ll hunt round for us, and then they’ll go away. And then we’ll rescue the crocodiles and my bicycle. And then we’ll go away. It’s a much better plan.”
    It was. But that wasn’t to say that it offered no grounds for criticism. James proceeded to criticize.
    â€œSuppose they don’t go away.”
    â€œThey will.”
    â€œIf the fellow who did the shooting is a lunatic—”
    â€œHe isn’t.”
    â€œWho is he?” said James in a rage.
    He heard her sigh again.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    He thought she did. He very nearly said so. He went on criticizing instead.
    â€œIf they’ve gone, they’ll have shut the door. You don’t imagine they’ll leave it open, do you? And then how do we get in?”
    â€œKind sir, I’ve got a key.
    James had a sense of being played with and laughed at. There is nothing more calculated to set a match to the temper, and his was alight already. Yet, strangely and unaccountably, instead of flaring now it sobered down. He said seriously and without heat,
    â€œSo you’ve got a key. Very well, we’ll wait. I suppose you know what it’s all about. I don’t, and I don’t want to. We’ll give them half an hour.”
    He shot his wrist-watch out of his cuff and took a look at the luminous dial. The hands stood at six o’clock. There was just a chance that the fog might clear as the temperature fell. These afternoon fogs did clear off sometimes after sunset. They either did that or they got worse. If it was going to get any worse, he was stuck anyhow.
    The girl leaned over to see the time. He felt her quite near for a moment. Then the hay rustled as she settled herself again.
    â€œHalf an hour—that’s a long time in the dark. Shall we say the multiplication table, or the Kings of England? You wouldn’t have the story of my life. I did offer it to you. What about yours? Are you just ‘Hi, you there!’ or have you got a name?”
    â€œMy name’s Elliot—James Elliot.”
    â€œHow nice and ordinary. Mine is Aspidistra Aspinall.”
    If she had been one of his cousins, James would have said “Liar!” He very nearly said it anyhow. She needn’t suppose he had the slightest desire to know her name. He said nothing.
    The hay rustled.
    â€œIt’s not my fault, it’s my misfortune.” The voice wobbled for a moment, and then went on in a bright, sweet monotone. “I was born an orphan, and my ruthless relations—”
    â€œYou can’t be born an orphan!” said James.
    â€œOh, but I was. Truly. Absolutely. Because my father was killed in the war and my mother died when I was born. If that isn’t being born an orphan, I don’t know what is.” This with some earnestness. Then, resuming the monotone, “Ruthless relations brought me up. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children prosecuted the god-mother who had had me christened Aspidistra. But what was the good of sending her to penal servitude for seven years—I’d got the name for life. It isn’t even as if you could shorten it. Assy! Dissy! I’d rather be a whole