The Pit-Prop Syndicate Read Free Page B

cycling to Bordeaux and has run out of petrol. He asked me if there was any to be had hereabouts, so I told him you could give him some.”
    The newcomer honored Merriman with a rapid though searching and suspicious glance, but he replied politely, and in a cultured voice:
    â€œQuite right, my dear.” He turned to Merriman and spoke in French. “I shall be very pleased to supply you, monsieur. How much do you want?”
    â€œThanks awfully, sir,” Merriman answered in his own language. “I’m English. It’s very good of you, I’m sure, and I’m sorry to be giving so much trouble. A liter should run me to Bordeaux, or say a little more in case of accidents.”
    â€œI’ll give you two liters. It’s no trouble at all.” He turned and spoke in rapid French to the driver.
    â€œOui, monsieur,” the man replied, and then, stepping up to his chief, he said something in a low voice. The other started slightly, for a moment looked concerned, then instantly recovering himself, advanced to Merriman.
    â€œHenri, here, will send a man with a two-liter can to where you have left your machine,” he said, then continued with a suave smile:
    â€œAnd so, sir, you’re English? It is not often that we have the pleasure of meeting a fellow-countryman in these wilds.”
    â€œI suppose not, sir, but I can assure you your pleasure and surprise is as nothing to mine. You are not only a fellow-countryman but a friend in need as well.”
    â€œMy dear sir, I know what it is to run out of spirit. And I suppose there is no place in the whole of France where you might go farther without finding any than this very district. You are on pleasure bent, I presume?”
    Merriman shook his head.
    â€œUnfortunately, no,” he replied. “I’m travelling for my firm, Edwards & Merriman, Wine Merchants of London. I’m Merriman, Seymour Merriman, and I’m going round the exporters with whom we deal.”
    â€œA pleasant way to do it, Mr. Merriman. My name is Coburn. You see I am trying to change the face of the country here?”
    â€œYes, Miss”—Merriman hesitated for a moment and looked at the girl—“Miss Coburn told me what you were doing. A splendid notion, I think.”
    â€œYes, I think we are going to make it pay very well. I suppose you’re not making a long stay?”
    â€œTwo days in Bordeaux, sir, then I’m off east to Avignon.”
    â€œDo you know, I rather envy you. One gets tired of these tree trunks and the noise of the saws. Ah, there is your petrol.” A workman had appeared with a red can of Shell. “Well, Mr. Merriman, a pleasant journey to you. You will excuse my not going farther with you, but I am really supposed to be busy.” He turned to his daughter with a smile. “You, Madeleine, can see Mr. Merriman to the road?”
    He shook hands, declined Merriman’s request to be allowed to pay for the petrol and, cutting short the other’s thanks with a wave of his arm, turned back to the shed.
    The two young people strolled slowly back across the clearing, the girl evidently disposed to make the most of the unwonted companionship, and Merriman no less ready to prolong so delightful an interview. But in spite of the pleasure of their conversation, he could not banish from his mind the little incident which had taken place, and he determined to ask a discreet question or two about it.
    â€œI say,” he said, during a pause in their talk, “I’m afraid I upset your lorry man somehow. Did you notice the way he looked at me?”
    The girl’s manner, which up to this had been easy and careless, changed suddenly, becoming constrained and a trifle self-conscious. But she answered readily enough.
    â€œYes, I saw it. But you must not mind Henri. He was badly shell-shocked, you know, and he has never been the same since.”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry,” Merriman