Everyman's Land

								

there's a look too long between us. "I wish my brother were here to
explain his pictures!" I cry; though I don't wish it at all. It is only
that I must break the silence.
This brings us back to the business in hand. He says, "May I really buy
one of these sketches?"
"Are you sure you want to?" I laugh.
"Sure!" he answers. And I never heard that word sound so nice, even in
my own dear Ireland.
He chooses the cathedral--which he hasn't visited yet. Do I know the
price my brother has decided on? With that question I discover that he
has Madame Mounet's version of our name. Brian and I have laughed dozens
of laughs at her way of pronouncing O'Malley. "Ommalee" we are for
her, and "Mees Ommalee" she has made me for her millionaire. For fun,
I don't correct him. Let him find out for himself who we really are! I
say that my brother hasn't fixed a price; but would six hundred francs
seem very high? The man considers it ridiculously low. He refuses to
pay less than twice that sum. Even so, he argues he will be cheating us,
and getting me into hot water when my brother comes. We almost quarrel,
and at last the hero has his way. He strikes me as one who is used to
that!
When the matter is settled, an odd look passes over his face. I wonder
if he has changed his mind, and doesn't know how to tell me his trouble.
Something is worrying him; that is clear. Just as I'm ready to make
things easy, with a question, he laughs.
"I'm going to take you into my confidence," he says, "and tell you a
story--about myself. In Paris, before I started on this tour, a friend
of mine gave a man's dinner for me. He and the other chaps were chaffing
because--oh, because of a silly argument we got into about--life in
general, and mine in particular. On the strength of it my chum bet me a
thing he knew I wanted, that I couldn't go through my trip under an
assumed name. I bet I could, and would. I bet a thing I want to keep.
That's the silly situation. I hate not telling you my real name, and
signing a cheque for your brother. But I've stuck it out for four weeks,
and the bet has only two more to run. I'm calling myself Jim Wyndham.
It's only my surname I've dropped for the bet. The rest is mine. May I
pay for the picture in cash--and may I come back here, or wherever you
are on the fifteenth day from now, and introduce myself properly?
Or--you've only to speak the word, and I'll throw over the whole
footling business this minute, and----"
I cut in, to say that I won't speak the word, and he mustn't throw the
business over. It is quite amusing I tell him, and I hope he'll win his
bet. As for the picture--he may pay as he chooses. But about the proper
introduction--Heaven knows where I shall be in a fortnight. My brother
loves to make up his mind the night beforehand, where to go next. We
are a pair of tramps.
"You don't do your tramping on foot?"
"Indeed we do! We haven't seen a railway station since our first day out