Read Valerie French (1923) for Free Online

himself be admired. Worth knows worth in an instant, smother it how you will. That which the mechanics reluctantly respected, Jonathan found inspiring. Whensoever a deep calls, the shallows tremble, but only a deep will respond.
    Jonathan saw in Plague a man born out of time. He saw a man made of the Conqueror's stuff, cast in the Norman mould, seized of that dukely 'drive,' in mind, as body, towering above his fellow-men— to his own hurt. He saw a giant stalking through pygmy-land, chafing for company and finding none— a giant whose lack of peers and vigorous mental fellowship had spoiled his temper, who had come to say in his haste, 'All men are fools.' Here was a lion, then— flaunting a lion's faults— cloaking a lion's virtues. All the time the lion's personality blazed...
    Jonathan's estimate was very sound.
    Sir Andrew Plague's nickname was 'The King of Beasts.'
    What Plague thought of Jonathan will presently appear. Suffice it that the deeps were in touch.
    "Hi!"
    The large red face was protruding from the limousine's window.
    Jonathan hurried to the car.
    The engine was running, and the chauffeur was in his seat.
    "What's your name?"
    The man who had lost his memory started. Then he lifted his eyes and stared at the dust-laden trees.
    "Wood," he said suddenly. "Wood. Jonathan Wood."
    "Mine's Plague," said the other roughly. "Andrew Plague. Want any help any time, I'm in the book. But don't telephone. Filthy instrument. Where's that brute of a dog?"
    Jonathan whistled, and Hamlet came running up.
    Sir Andrew blew through his nose. Then—
    "Does he eat sausage?" he asked.
    "He will— gratefully."
    "Ugly brute," said Sir Andrew. "Get rid of him." He turned to rave at his chauffeur. "Drive on, you fool, drive on. What the hell are you waiting for?" He flung himself back on the seat and closed his eyes.
    The chauffeur let in the clutch....
    Before the car was fifty paces away, something white came fluttering out of the window.
    Upon examination it proved to be a confectioner's paper bag containing a sausage-roll.

    TALL, GRAVE-FACED Jonah Mansel, of White Ladies, Hampshire, could tell a good tale. That which he told to his cousins, some five days after Hamlet had eaten the sausage-roll, was no exception. I will, if you please, set out his very own words.
    "I'd meant to lunch at Oxford, but by the time I'd got there it was a quarter to one, so I thought I'd better push on to Ruby Green. I found it easily enough. Nice little place, smacking of peace and plenty. Obviously old as the hills, and, happily, off the map. Stocks, pound, etc., and a church you could get inside a furniture-van. We must go there one day.... Well, I found out where the Justice Room was, and then I made for the inn.
    "To tell you the truth, I'd expected a royal welcome. You know. Genial host, scurrying maids, foaming tankards, venison pasty, raspberries and cream— and the rest. The place suggested it. I was never more mistaken. I got no welcome at all. The goods were there all right, but they weren't delivered. I couldn't get any attention. The host was— well, preoccupied and perspiring. The maids certainly scurried, but not for me. The tankard only foamed because I filled it myself. I actually had to force my way into the kitchen to get any food.... Anybody would have thought the devil was in the house. As a matter of fact, he was .
    "D'you remember, when Dumas' Musketeers honoured a tavern in an ill humour, how they made things hum? Well, there you are. Porthos was in the parlour and the deuce of a rage. Only one or other of that Big Four could possibly have raised such Cain— and got away with it. The house was bewitched ... terrorized. The one idea of every soul in that inn was to gratify 'his' desires the instant they were expressed— 'lest a worse thing befall.' Did 'he' want cream, there was a rush for the dairy. Did 'he' want pepper, the boots was hounded to the grocer's. Did 'he' want ale, the bar was stormed. And as 'he' was