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use。 there were huge piles of sacks to lie on； and a sort of plastery smell mixed up with the smell of sainfoin； and bunches of cobwebs in all the corners； and just over the place where i used to lie there was a hole in the ceiling and a lath sticking out of the plaster。 i can feel the feeling of it now。 a winter day； just warm enough to lie still。 i’m lying on my belly with chums open in front of me。 a mouse runs up the side of a sack like a clockwork toy； then suddenly stops dead and watches me with his little eyes like tiny jet beads。 i’m twelve years old； but i’m donovan the dauntless。 two thousand miles up the amazon i’ve just pitched my tent； and the roots of the mysterious orchid that blooms once in a hundred years are safe in the tin box under my camp bed。 in the forests all round hopi…hopi indians； who paint their teeth scarlet and skin white men alive； are beating their war…drums。 i’m watching the mouse and the mouse is watching me； and i can smell the dust and sainfoin and the cool plastery smell； and i’m up the amazon； and it’s bliss； pure bliss。
。。
PART Ⅱ…7
～
that’s all； really。
i’ve tried to tell you something about the world before the war； the world i got a sniff of when i saw king zog’s name on the poster； and the chances are that i’ve told you nothing。 either you remember before the war and don’t need to be told about it； or you don’t remember； and it’s no use telling you。 so far i’ve only spoken about the things that happened to me before i was sixteen。 up to that time things had gone pretty well with the family。 it was a bit before my sixteenth birthday that i began to get glimpses of what people call ‘real life’； meaning unpleasantness。
about three days after i’d seen the big carp at binfield house； father came in to tea looking very worried and even more grey and mealy than usual。 he ate his way solemnly through his tea and didn’t talk much。 in those days he had a rather preoccupied way of eating； and his moustache used to work up and down with a sidelong movement； because he hadn’t many back teeth left。 i was just getting up from table when he called me back。
‘wait a minute； george； my boy。 i got suthing to say to you。 sit down jest a minute。 mother； you heard what i got to say last night。’
mother； behind the huge brown teapot； folded her hands in her lap and looked solemn。 father went on； speaking very seriously but rather spoiling the effect by trying to deal with a crumb that lodged somewhere in what was left of his back teeth：
‘george； my boy； i got suthing to say to you。 i been thinking it over； and it’s about time you left school。 ‘fraid you’ll have to get to work now and start earning a bit to bring home to your mother。 i wrote to mr wicksey last night and told him as i should have to take you away。’
of course this was quite according to precedent—his writing to mr wicksey before telling me； i mean。 parents in those days； as a matter of course； always arranged everything over their children’s heads。
father went on to make some rather mumbling and worried explanations。 he’d ‘had bad times lately’； things had ‘been a bit difficult’； and the upshot was that joe and i would have to start earning our living。 at that time i didn’t either know or greatly care whether the business was really in a bad way or not。 i hadn’t even enough mercial instinct to see the reason why things were ‘difficult’。 the fact was that father had been hit by petition。 sarazins’； the big retail seedsmen who had branches all over the home counties； had stuck a tentacle into lower binfield。 six months earlier they’d taken the lease of a shop in the market…place and dolled it up until what with bright green paint； gilt lettering； gardening tools painted red and green； and huge advertisements for sweet peas； it hit you in the eye at a hundred yards’ distance。 sarazins’； besides selling flower seeds； described themselves as ‘universal poultry and livestock providers’； and apart from wheat and oats and so forth they went in for patent poultry mixtures； bird…seed done up in fancy packets； dog…biscuits of all shapes and colours； medicines； embrocations； and conditioning powders； and branched off into such things as rat… traps； dog…chains； incubators； sanitary eggs； bird…nesting； bulbs； weed…killer； insecticide； and even； in some branches； into what they called a ‘livestock department’； meaning rabbits and day…old chicks。 father； with his dusty old shop and his refusal to stock new lines； couldn’t pete with that kind of thing and didn’t want to。 the tradesmen with their van…horses； and such of the farmers as dealt with the retail seedsmen； fought shy of sarazins’； but in six months they’d gathered in the petty gentry of the neighbourhood； who in those days had carriages or dogcarts and therefore horses。 this meant a big loss of trade for father and the other corn merchant； winkle。 i didn’t grasp any of this at the time。 i had a boy’s attitude towards it all。 i’d never taken any interest in the business。 i’d never or hardly ever served in the shop； and when； as occasionally happened； father wanted me to run an errand or give a hand with something； such as hoisting sacks of grain up to the loft or down again； i’d always dodged it whenever possible。 boys in our class aren’t such plete babies as public schoolboys； they know that work is work and sixpence is sixpence； but it seems natural for a boy to regard his father’s business as a bore。 up till that time fishing…rods； bicycles； fizzy lemonade； and so forth had seemed to me a good deal more real than anything that happened in the grown…up world。
father had already spoken to old grimmett； the grocer； who wanted a smart lad and was willing to take me into the shop immediately。 meanwhile father was going to get rid of the errand boy； and joe was to e home and help with the shop till he got a regular job。 joe had left school some time back and had been more or less loafing ever since。 father had sometimes talked of ‘getting him into’ the accounts department at the brewery； and earlier had even had thoughts of making him into an auctioneer。 both were pletely hopeless because joe； at seventeen； wrote a hand like a ploughboy and couldn’t repeat the multiplication table。 at present he was supposed to be ‘learning the trade’ at a big bicycle shop on the outskirts of walton。 tinkering with bicycles suited joe； who； like most half…wits； had a slight mechanical turn； but he was quite incapable of working steadily and spent all his time loafing about in greasy overalls； smoking woodbines； getting into fights； drinking （he’s started that already）； getting ‘talked of’ with one girl after another； and sticking father for money。 father was worried； puzzled； and vaguely resentful。 i can see him yet； with the meal on his bald head； and the bit of grey hair over his ears； and his spectacles and his grey moustache。 he couldn’t understand what was happening to him。 for years his profits had gone up； slowly and steadily； ten pounds this year； twenty pounds that year； and now suddenly they’d gone down with a bump。 he couldn’t understand it。 he’d inherited the business from his father； he’d done an honest tr