Greenmantle | Page 9

John Buchan
and
terribly far away. I was very angry with Bullivant, till I remembered how fair he had been.
My fate was my own choosing.
When I was hunting the Black Stone the interest of the problem had helped to keep me
going. But now I could see no problem. My mind had nothing to work on but three words
of gibberish on a sheet of paper and a mystery of which Sir Walter had been convinced,

but to which he couldn't give a name. It was like the story I had read of Saint Teresa
setting off at the age of ten with her small brother to convert the Moors. I sat huddled in
the taxi with my chin on my breast, wishing that I had lost a leg at Loos and been
comfortably tucked away for the rest of the war.
Sure enough I found my man in the Grill Room. There he was, feeding solemnly, with a
napkin tucked under his chin. He was a big fellow with a fat, sallow, clean-shaven face. I
disregarded the hovering waiter and pulled up a chair beside the American at the little
table. He turned on me a pair of full sleepy eyes, like a ruminating ox.
'Mr Blenkiron?' I asked.
'You have my name, Sir,' he said. 'Mr John Scantlebury Blenkiron. I would wish you
good morning if I saw anything good in this darned British weather.'
'I come from Sir Walter Bullivant,' I said, speaking low.
'So?' said he. 'Sir Walter is a very good friend of mine. Pleased to meet you, Mr - or I
guess it's Colonel -'
'Hannay,' I said; 'Major Hannay.' I was wondering what this sleepy Yankee could do to
help me.
'Allow me to offer you luncheon, Major. Here, waiter, bring the carte. I regret that I
cannot join you in sampling the efforts of the management of this ho-tel. I suffer, Sir,
from dyspepsia - duo-denal dyspepsia. It gets me two hours after a meal and gives me
hell just below the breast-bone. So I am obliged to adopt a diet. My nourishment is fish,
Sir, and boiled milk and a little dry toast. It's a melancholy descent from the days when I
could do justice to a lunch at Sherry's and sup off oyster-crabs and devilled bones.' He
sighed from the depths of his capacious frame.
I ordered an omelette and a chop, and took another look at him. The large eyes seemed to
be gazing steadily at me without seeing me. They were as vacant as an abstracted child's;
but I had an uncomfortable feeling that they saw more than mine.
'You have been fighting, Major? The Battle of Loos? Well, I guess that must have been
some battle. We in America respect the fighting of the British soldier, but we don't quite
catch on to the de-vices of the British Generals. We opine that there is more bellicosity
than science among your highbrows. That is so? My father fought at Chattanooga, but
these eyes have seen nothing gorier than a Presidential election. Say, is there any way I
could be let into a scene of real bloodshed?'
His serious tone made me laugh. 'There are plenty of your countrymen in the present
show,' I said. 'The French Foreign Legion is full of young Americans, and so is our Army
Service Corps. Half the chauffeurs you strike in France seem to come from the States.'
He sighed. 'I did think of some belligerent stunt a year back. But I reflected that the good
God had not given John S. Blenkiron the kind of martial figure that would do credit to the

tented field. Also I recollected that we Americans were nootrals - benevolent nootrals -
and that it did not become me to be butting into the struggles of the effete monarchies of
Europe. So I stopped at home. It was a big renunciation, Major, for I was lying sick
during the Philippines business, and I have never seen the lawless passions of men let
loose on a battlefield. And, as a stoodent of humanity, I hankered for the experience.'
'What have you been doing?' I asked. The calm gentleman had begun to interest me.
'Waal,' he said, 'I just waited. The Lord has blessed me with money to burn, so I didn't
need to go scrambling like a wild cat for war con tracts. But I reckoned I would get let
into the game somehow, and I was. Being a nootral, I was in an advantageous position to
take a hand. I had a pretty hectic time for a while, and then I reckoned I would leave
God's country and see what was doing in Europe. I have counted myself out of the
bloodshed business, but, as your poet sings, peace
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