Wakefield's Course [antikvár]

WAKEFIELD'S COURSE AT JALNA Renny Whiteoak had done well to provide himself against the weather, for, though it was now March, the wind was as icy as in winter and it needed his rubber boots to keep out the icy slush of the road. He had thrust his bare hands into his pockets, pulled a battered felt hat over his eyes, and drawn his chin into the shelter of his coat collar, so that the only parts of him exposed to the elements were his ears, which were somewhat pointed, and his bony, aquiline nose. The wind and the sleet did their worst to these so that his ears were whipped to a bright red. His nose, however, showed an invincible defiance and looked only a little more weatherbeaten than usual. He walked with bent head, in a state of almost ecstatic concentration, so that the time it took him to walk from his own stable to his brother Piers's house might be estimated as a few moments or half a lifetime. His mind was concentrated on one problem — should he respond to Wakefield's cablegram, and to another which he had received from his cousin Dermot Court, or should he not ? Common sense and a keen sense of duty told him no. But what were they compared to the wild clamour that shook his soul when the idea of acquiring a grand new horse possessed it ? If an observer watching his progress along the country road could have looked at the same time into his mind he would have seen there a strange conglomeration of shapes, a strange and antagonistic medley of shapes — the shape of a bankbook, the outline of a wife's accusing face, a steamship ploughing across the sea, innumerable hurdles and hedges over which flew, in hypnotic leapings, the shape of the unknown horse. He was so intent that he had overtaken two small boys before he saw them. They belonged to his brother Piers and