Only Gaveston and David lingered a little longer over the last glowing embers. The two friends were speechless with emotion. The wind had fallen. The tide was out. The silence was intense around the gneiss walls.
Suddenly Gav rose, crossed the room, and drew open the curtain of the tiny window. There was a dull glow in the dark skies.
“See, David,” he said very softly, “the dawn is breaking over Ploumenar’ch-lez-Quémouk.”
It was.
CHAPTER XI
SPATE
David was deputed to go up to Oxford a few days before Michaelmas term began, to make all necessary arrangements with printers, street vendors, bill-posters and the local representatives of Labour and Jacobite organizations. He went. His honest admixture of generous enthusiasm and British common sense favourably impressed these humble proletarians, and practical details were soon settled.
Gaveston of course had that sure instinct for flairing the right man for the right job which marks the leaders of the twentieth century, and when he stepped from his comfortable first-class carriage on to the Oxford platform, it was no surprise to find that the city bore the imprint of David’s devoted labours. Every available inch of advertising space was covered.
OUT ON MONDAY.
No. 1 of
THE MONGOOSE,
edited by
GAVESTON FFOULIS.