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Updated: June 24, 2025
These were people who would not laugh at his terror of Scaw House, at his odd belief that his father was always trying to draw him back to Treliss.... As he entered the supper-room and saw Clare sitting at a distant table, he knew that his wife would never be an Explorer.
"Well, Mr. Peter, and 'ave you been to London in all these years? Or perhaps you 'ave forgotten that you ever wanted to go there?" No, Peter was still of the same mind but Treliss and a few miles up and down the road were as much of the world as he'd had the pleasure of seeing except for school in Devonshire "And you'd still go, my leetle friend?"
How far away now was Treliss with its cobbled street, and the Grey Hill with the Giant's Finger pointing solemnly to the sky. "I have no money," he said. "The Master has given me this for you," Herr Gottfried said, handing him two sovereigns, "he says it is in advance for the week." The meat-pies, beer and bread were ordered and then for a time they sat in silence.
Peter had had very little to eat during these last days and to-night, for the first time, things began to take an uncertain shape. As he stood on the kerb and looked, it seemed to him that the Strand was the sea-road at Treliss, that the roar of the traffic was the noise that the sea made, far below them.
The cab was faded, the wheels encrusted with ancient mud, the horse old and wheezy, but the cabman, standing now thinner than ever against the sky, was, in spite of a tattered top hat, filled with that cheerful optimism that belongs to the Cornishman who sees an opportunity of "doing" a foreigner. "I want to drive to Treliss," said Peter. They bargained.
He lived once more through that night on the farm perhaps at that moment he felt suddenly his loneliness, here in this huge and tempestuous London, here in this dark bookshop with so many people going in or out. He rubbed the sleeves of his blue serge suit because they made him feel like Treliss, and he sat, with eyes staring into the dark, thinking of Stephen.
It was a wonderful day and somewhere streams were flowing under dark protecting trees, and the grass was thick in cool hollows and the woods were so dense that no blue sky reached the moss, but only the softest twilight ... and old Aitchinson, the town's solicitor, with his nutcracker face, his snuffling nose, his false teeth and the tightly-closed office, the piles of paper, the ink, the silly view from the dusty windows of Treliss High Street and life always in the future to be like that until he died.
The little slap that the motion of the river gave to the stone embankment reminded him of the wooden jetty at Treliss the place was strangely sweet the roar of the Strand was far away and muffled. As he sat there listening there seemed to come up to him, straight out of the river, strange impersonal noises that had to do with no definite sounds.
It was a high jolting cab of the old-fashioned kind, a cab you might have sworn was Cornish had you seen it anywhere, a cab that smelt of beer and ancient leather and salt water, a cab that had once driven the fashion of Treliss to elegant dances and now must rattle the roads with very little to see, for all your trouble, at the end of it.
"Why, in heaven's name, did you ever get out of my sight so completely? I wrote to Treliss again and again but I don't suppose anything was forwarded." "They don't know where I am." "But why did you never write to me?" "Why should I? I wanted to do something first to show you-" "What rot! Is that friendship? I call that the most selfish thing I've ever known."
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