Тридцать девять ступеней
Chapter 3
AboutsixintheeveningIcameoutofthemoorlandtoawhiteribbonofroadwhichwoundupthenarrowvaleofalowlandstream.AsIfollowedit,fieldsgaveplacetobent,theglenbecameaplateau,andpresentlyIhadreachedakindofpasswhereasolitaryhousesmokedinthetwilight.Theroadswungoverabridge,andleaningontheparapetwasayoungman.
Hewassmokingalongclaypipeandstudyingthewaterwithspectacledeyes.Inhislefthandwasasmallbookwithafingermarkingtheplace.Slowlyherepeated—
AswhenaGryphonthroughthewilderness
Withwingèdstep,o’erhillandmoorydale
PursuestheArimaspian.
Hejumpedroundasmysteprungonthekeystone,andIsawapleasantsunburntboyishface.
“Goodeveningtoyou,”hesaidgravely.“It’safinenightfortheroad.”
Thesmellofpeatsmokeandofsomesavouryroastfloatedtomefromthehouse.
“Isthatplaceaninn?”Iasked.
“Atyourservice,”hesaidpolitely.“Iamthelandlord,sir,andIhopeyouwillstaythenight,fortotellyouthetruthIhavehadnocompanyforaweek.”
Ipulledmyselfupontheparapetofthebridgeandfilledmypipe.Ibegantodetectanally.
“You’reyoungtobeaninnkeeper,”Isaid.
“Myfatherdiedayearagoandleftmethebusiness.Ilivetherewithmygrandmother.It’saslowjobforayoungman,anditwasn’tmychoiceofprofession.”
“Whichwas?”
Heactuallyblushed.“Iwanttowritebooks,”hesaid.
“Andwhatbetterchancecouldyouask?”Icried.
