The Master by T.H. (Terence Hanbury) White

Author:T.H. (Terence Hanbury) White
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, fantasy
Publisher: Distributed Proofreaders Canada
Published: 1957-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Freedom of Choice

Mr. Frinton had begun to look exhausted and impatient as they talked. The strain of having worked himself up to do what he had been going to do, the danger and frustration of it, and now the effort to explain so many things to children, these had been working on his nerves in spite of his courtesy. A furtive, resentful, unfriendly expression began to dodge in his brown eyes—not because he was angry with them, but because he was angry with himself. He did not want to be unkind, but feared that he was going to be. He had no idea that the twins could be of any use—in fact, they were a crashing nuisance—and the quick change from assassin to nursery-maid had been another straw for the camel’s back. His blue jowls began to have a hanging look and the balding head shone jaundiced in the electric light.

There was so much to explain, and it needed an effort.

He was a kind man with a conscience. Few people would have bothered with Nicky and Judy at a time like this, or been helpful about their puzzles. He had gone to kill the Master for reasons of his own, a mission of peril because of the powers involved, and he had realized that these powers must not be provoked while the children were there. He had been willing to risk his own life, but not theirs. They were a stumbling-block, in affairs much more important than those of kids, and he resented it. He was trying to remember that he must resent the situation, not them.

But I can’t do anything tonight, he told himself. Poor little devils, they must be worried to death.

As a matter of fact, they were enthralled.

“Why does he want to do that?”

“Look, Nicky, I can’t go into the whole thing. I’m tired. All that is . . .”

He flashed one of his apologetic smiles with an effort and ended, “Well, it’s a question of faith and morals.”

Judy was brooding on the main feature.

“I don’t see how anybody can be 157.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Nicky. “He’s only about fifty years older than that French revue actress.”

“Which one?”

“The one Daddy talks about.”

“Oh.”

Pause.

“Do you suppose she could talk to him without speaking?”

“It would be pretty frightful,” said Nicky earnestly, “wouldn’t it?”

Mr. Frinton laughed out loud, saying, “Yes, all about how La Goulue stole one of her songs to sing to King Edward the Seventh when he was Prince of Wales. The Marseillaise, I dare say.”

He stopped laughing and added sombrely, “Do you realize that the Marseillaise really was a new song when he was born?”

“Are you sure it is true?”

“You only have to look at him.”

“People were pretty old in the Bible.”

“Not only in the Bible. Old Parr was supposed to be 152, but you can’t verify it because there were no birth certificates in those days. Another chap called Henry Jenkins claimed to be 169. There was a Countess of Desmond who was said to

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