‘Mr Fisher.’
‘Hello!’
‘Ask your friend MacGinnis to be good enough to step into the light of that lamp and drop his gun.’
There was a muttered conversation. I heard Buck’s voice rumbling like a train going under a bridge. The request did not appear to find favour with him. Then came an interlude of soothing speech from Mr Fisher. I could not distinguish the words, but I gathered that he was pointing out to him that, on this occasion only, the visit being for the purposes of parley and not of attack, pistols might be looked on as non-essentials. Whatever his arguments, they were successful, for, finally, humped as to the back and muttering, Buck moved into the light.
‘Good evening, Mr MacGinnis,’ I said. ‘I’m glad to see your leg is all right again. I won’t detain you a moment. Just feel in your pockets and shed a few of your guns, and then you can come in out of the rain. To prevent any misunderstanding, I may say I have a gun of my own. It is trained on you now.’
‘I ain’t got no gun.’
‘Come along. This is no time for airy persiflage. Out with them.’
A moment’s hesitation, and a small black pistol fell to the ground.
‘No more?’
‘Think I’m a regiment?’
‘I don’t know what you are. Well, I’ll take your word for it. You will come in one by one, with your hands up.’
I went down and opened the door, holding my pistol in readiness against the unexpected.
II
Sam came first. His raised hands gave him a vaguely pontifical air (Bishop Blessing Pilgrims), and the kindly smile he wore heightened the illusion. Mr MacGinnis, who followed, suggested no such idea. He was muttering moodily to himself, and he eyed me askance.
I showed them into the classroom and switched on the light. The air was full of many odours. Disuse seems to bring out the inky-chalky, appley-deal-boardy bouquet of a classroom as the night brings out the scent of flowers. During the term I had never known this classroom smell so exactly like a classroom. I made use of my free hand to secure and light a cigarette.
Sam rose to a point of order.
‘Young man,’ he said. I should like to remind you that we are here, as it were, under a flag of truce. To pull a gun on us and keep us holding our hands up this way is raw work. I feel sure I speak for my friend Mr MacGinnis.’
He cocked an eye at his friend Mr MacGinnis, who seconded the motion by expectorating into the fireplace. I had observed at a previous interview his peculiar gift for laying bare his soul by this means of mode of expression. A man of silent habit, judged by the more conventional standard of words, he was almost an orator in expectoration.
‘Mr MacGinnis agrees with me,’ said Sam cheerfully. ‘Do we take them down? Have we your permission to assume Position Two of these Swedish exercises? All we came for was a little friendly chat among gentlemen, and we can talk just as well–speaking for myself, better–in a less strained attitude. A little rest, Mr Burns! A little folding of the hands? Thank you.’
He did not wait for permission, nor was it necessary. Sam and the melodramatic atmosphere was as oil and water. It was impossible to blend them. I laid the pistol on the table and sat down. Buck, after one wistful glance at the weapon, did the same. Sam was already seated, and was looking so cosy and at home that I almost felt it remiss of me not to have provided sherry and cake for this pleasant gathering.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘what can I do for you?’
‘Let me explain,’ said Sam. ‘As you have, no doubt, gathered, Mr MacGinnis and I have gone into partnership. The Little Nugget Combine!’
‘I gathered that–well?’
‘Judicious partnerships are the soul of business. Mr MacGinnis and I have been rivals in the past, but we both saw that the moment had come for the genial smile, the hearty handshake, in fact, for an alliance. We form a strong team, sonny. My partner’s speciality is action. I supply the strategy. Say, can’t you see you’re up against it? Why be foolish?’