Buchan, John, 1875-1940 / 2008-09-23 00:00:00

And then a thought came to him which made him
discard the grey-striped trousers, sit down on the edge of his bed,
and muse.
Since Saturday the shop was a thing of the past. On Saturday at
half-past eleven, to the accompaniment of a glass of dubious sherry,
he had completed the arrangements by which the provision shop in
Mearns Street, which had borne so long the legend of D. McCunn,
together with the branches in Crossmyloof and the Shaws, became the
property of a company, yclept the United Supply Stores, Limited.
He had received in payment cash, debentures and preference shares,
and his lawyers and his own acumen had acclaimed the bargain.
But all the week-end he had been a little sad. It was the end of so
old a song, and he knew no other tune to sing. He was comfortably
off, healthy, free from any particular cares in life, but free too
from any particular duties. "Will I be going to turn into a useless
old man?" he asked himself.
But he had woke up this Monday to the sound of the blackbird, and
the world, which had seemed rather empty twelve hours before, was
now brisk and alluring.
Read more


Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19