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Updated: June 24, 2025
There were two other youths, articled like Peter, stupid sons of honest Treliss householders, with high collars, faces that shone with soap and hair that glistened with oil, languid voices and a perpetual fund of small talk about the ladies of the town, moral and otherwise. Peter did not like them and they did not like Peter.
And then I began to be frightened. It was very lonely here for a girl who had had a gay time, and he usen't to like my going to Truro and at last he even stopped my seeing people in Treliss. And then I began to be really frightened and used to wake in the night and see him standing by the door watching me.
Elsewhere there were people waiting, eating buns out of paper bags, and here in the shop the sun lighted the backs of rows of second-hand novels and down in Treliss the water was, very gently, lapping the little wooden jetty. Oh! the silly jumbling of things in this silly jumbling world! And then he began to look more closely into it as it concerned himself. He saw with amazing clearness.
Do you remember we met at Treliss and now I must rush back this very minute. We are dining at seven before the Opera, and father wants that music you promised him the Brahms thing. Oh! is it upstairs? Well, if you don't mind...." Alice Galleon left them together. Peter could say nothing at all. He stood there, shifting from foot to foot, white, absolutely tongue-tied.
His father would welcome him after so long an absence. The whisky and soda was brought to him and as he drank it they crossed the border and were in Cornwall. They were at Trewth, that little station where you must change for Treliss.
Treliss sparkled and glittered the stones of the market-place held the heat of the sun as though it had been midsummer and the Grey Tower lifted its old head proudly to the blue sky the sea was so warm that bathing was possible and in the heart of the brown fields there was a whisper of early spring. But all of this touched Scaw House not at all.
Peter knew nothing about fighting at all, but Comber had long subsisted on an easy reputation and he was a coward at heart. There swung into Peter's brain the picture of The Bending Mule, the crowding faces, the swinging lamp, Stephen with the sledge-hammer blow...it was the first time for weeks that he had thought of Treliss.
He saw Stephen the great head, the flowing beard, the huge body and then the inn with the thunder coming over the hill, and then, beyond that Treliss gleaming with its tiers of lights, above the breast of the sea. And from here, from this wide Embankment, down to that sea, there stretched, riding over hills, bending into valleys, always white and hard and stony, the road....
Bannister always managed his bills so delicately that you expected to find a poem by Suckling or Lovelace on the back of them. When Peter had been last in Treliss The Man at Arms had scarcely existed, but he was now utterly unconscious of it, and stood in the dim square hall talking to Mr. Bannister like a man in a dream.
But dear boy, if you find you can give me just a word on paper sayin' that hear there is no course for worryin' about your health, then I'm happy because, dear boy, you'm always in my thoughts and I love you fine and wish to God I could have made everything easier up along in thiccy Bucket Lane. I go from hear by road to Cornwall and Treliss. I'm expecting to find work there.
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