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Chapter 3

           “Man,I’veoftenthoughtthataninnkeeperwouldmakethebeststory-tellerintheworld.”

           “Notnow,”hesaideagerly.“Maybeintheolddayswhenyouhadpilgrimsandballad-makersandhighwaymenandmail-coachesontheroad.Butnotnow.Nothingcomesherebutmotor-carsfulloffatwomen,whostopforlunch,andafishermanortwointhespring,andtheshootingtenantsinAugust.Thereisnotmuchmaterialtobegotoutofthat.Iwanttoseelife,totraveltheworld,andwritethingslikeKiplingandConrad.ButthemostI’vedoneyetistogetsomeversesprintedinChambers’sJournal.”

           Ilookedattheinnstandinggoldeninthesunsetagainstthebrownhills.

           “I’veknockedabitabouttheworld,andIwouldn’tdespisesuchahermitage.D’youthinkthatadventureisfoundonlyinthetropicsoramonggentryinredshirts?Maybeyou’rerubbingshoulderswithitatthismoment.”

           “That’swhatKiplingsays,”hesaid,hiseyesbrightening,andhequotedsomeverseabout“Romancebringsupthe9.15.”

           “Here’satruetaleforyouthen,”Icried,“andamonthfromnowyoucanmakeanoveloutofit.”

           SittingonthebridgeinthesoftMaygloamingIpitchedhimalovelyyarn.Itwastrueinessentials,too,thoughIalteredtheminordetails.ImadeoutthatIwasaminingmagnatefromKimberley,whohadhadalotoftroublewithI.D.B.andhadshownupagang.Theyhadpursuedmeacrosstheocean,andhadkilledmybestfriend,andwerenowonmytracks.

           Itoldthestorywell,thoughIsayitwhoshouldn’t.

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