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Don Maxwell - Oct 22,2011
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Cigars had burned low, and we were beginning to sample the disillusionment that usually afflicts old school friends who have met again as men and found themselves with less in common than they had believed they had. Rutherford wrote novels; Wyland was one of the Embassy secretaries; he had just given us dinner at Tempelhof--not very cheerfully, I fancied, but with the equanimity which a diplomat must always keep on tap for such occasions. It seemed likely that nothing but the fact of being three celibate Englishmen in a foreign capital could have brought us together, and I had already reached the conclusion that the slight touch of priggishness which I remembered in Wyland Tertius had not diminished with years and an M.V.O. Rutherford I liked more; he had ripened well out of the skinny, precocious infant whom I had once alternately bullied and patronized. The probability that he was making much more money and having a more interesting life than either of us gave Wyland and me our one mutual emotion--a touch of envy.<br /><br />The evening, however, was far from dull. We had a good view of the big Lufthansa machines as they arrived at the aerodrome from all parts of Central Europe, and towards dusk, when arc flares were lighted, the scene took on a rich, theatrical brilliance. One of the planes was English, and its pilot, in full flying kit, strolled past our table and saluted Wyland, who did not at first recognize him. When he did so there were introductions all around, and the stranger was invited to join us. He was a pleasant, jolly youth named Sanders. Wyland made some apologetic remark about the difficulty of identifying people when they were all dressed up in Sibleys and flying helmets; at which Sanders laughed and answered: 'Oh, rather, I know that well enough. Don't forget I was at Baskul.' Wyland laughed also, but less spontaneously, and the conversation then took other directions.<br /><br />Sanders made an attractive addition to our small company, and we all drank a great deal of beer together. About ten o'clock Wyland left us for a moment to speak to someone at a table nearby, and Rutherford, into the sudden hiatus of talk, remarked: 'Oh, by the way, you mentioned Baskul just now. I know the place slightly. What was it you were referring to that happened there?'<br /><br />Sanders smiled rather shyly. 'Oh, just a bit of excitement we had once when I was in the Service.' But he was a youth who could not long refrain from being confidential. 'Fact is, an Afghan or an Afridi or somebody ran off with one of our buses, and there was the very devil to pay afterwards, as you can imagine. Most impudent thing I ever heard of. The blighter waylaid the pilot, knocked him out, pinched his kit, and climbed into the cockpit without a soul spotting him. Gave the mechanics the proper signals, too, and was up and away in fine style. The trouble was, he never came back.'<br /><br />Rutherford looked interested. 'When did this happen?'<br /><br />'Oh--must have been about a year ago. May, 'thirty-one. We were evacuating civilians from Baskul to Peshawar owing to the revolution--perhaps you remember the business. The place was in a bit of an upset, or I don't suppose the thing could have happened. Still, it did happen--and it goes some way to show that clothes make the man, doesn't it?'<br /><br />Rutherford was still interested. 'I should have thought you'd have had more than one fellow in charge of a plane on an occasion like that?'<br /><br />'We did, on all the ordinary troop carriers, but this machine was a special one, built for some maharajah originally--quite a stunt kind of outfit. The Indian Survey people had been using it for high-altitude flights in Kashmir.'<br /><br />'And you say it never reached Peshawar?'<br /><br />'Never reached there, and never came down anywhere else, so far as we could discover. That was the queer part about it. Of course, if the fellow was a tribesman he might have made for the hills, thinking to hold the passengers for ransom. I suppose they all got killed, somehow. There are heaps of places on the frontier where you might crash and not be heard of afterwards.'<br /><br />'Yes, I know the sort of country. How many passengers were there?'<br /><br />'Four, I think. Three men and some woman missionary.'<br /><br />'Was one of the men, by any chance, named Conway?'<br /><br />Sanders looked surprised. 'Why, yes, as a matter of fact. 'Glory' Conway--did you know him?'<br /><br />'He and I were at the same school,' said Rutherford a little self-consciously, for it was true enough, yet a remark which he was aware did not suit him.<br /><br />'He was a jolly fine chap, by all accounts of what he did at Baskul,' went on Sanders.<br /><br />Rutherford nodded. 'Yes, undoubtedly . . . but how extraordinary . . . extraordinary . . .' He appeared to collect himself after a spell of mind-wandering. Then he said: 'It was never in the papers, or I think I should have read about it. How was that?'<br /><br />Sanders looked suddenly rather uncomfortable, and even, I imagined, was on the point of blushing. 'To tell you the truth,' he replied, 'I seem to have let out more than I should have. Or perhaps it doesn't matter now--it must be stale news in every mess, let alone in the bazaars. It was hushed up, you see--I mean, about the way the thing happened. Wouldn't have sounded well. The government people merely gave out that one of their machines was missing, and mentioned the names. Sort of thing that didn't attract an awful lot of attention among outsiders.'<br /><br />At this point Wyland rejoined us, and Sanders turned to him half-apologetically. 'I say, Wyland, these chaps have been talking about 'Glory' Conway. I'm afraid I spilled the Baskul yarn--I hope you don't think it matters?'<br /><br />Wyland was severely silent for a moment. It was plain that he was reconciling the claims of compatriot courtesy and official rectitude. 'I can't help feeling,' he said at length, 'that it's a pity to make a mere anecdote of it. . . . <br /><br />
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Dan Nickens - Oct 22,2011
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Though I don't think I'm going to like him, I do agree with Wyland. It would be a pity to leave the matter a brief anecdote.
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Dave Edward - Oct 23,2011
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Do you ever know how to set the hook Don !! Where can I buy the book ??
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Don Maxwell - Oct 23,2011
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Aw, Dave, you can read it for free here: <a href="http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks05/0500141h.html">http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks05/0500141h.html</a><br />
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Russ Garner - Oct 23,2011
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To save a lit cigar to be smoked later, simply let the cigar sit in the ashtray and it will slowly burn out by itself. Do not stamp or rub the cigar out in the ashtray as this will cause the cigar to have harsh/bitter residual flavors and aromas.
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