Scoop-Evelyn-Waugh [24]
Mr. Pappenhacker of the Twopence was playing with a toy train �a relic of College at Winchester, with which he invariably travelled. In his youth he had delighted to address it in Latin Alcaics and to derive Greek names for each part of the mechanism. Now it acted as a sedative to his restless mind. The Twopence did not encourage habits of expensive cabling. That day he had composed a long "turn-over" on Ishmaelite conditions and posted it in the confidence that, long before it arrived at London, conditions would be unrecognizable. Six other journalists of six nationalities were spending their day of leisure in this hotel. Time lay heavily on them. The mail train was due sometime that evening to relieve their tedium.
Fifty yards distant in the annex, secluded from the main block of the hotel by a water-logged garden, lay Sir Jocelyn Hitchcock, fast asleep. The room was in half-darkness; door and windows were barred. On the table, beside his typewriter, stood a primus stove. There was a small heap of tins and bottles in the corner. On the walls hung the official, wildly deceptive map of Ishmaelia; a little flag in the centre of Jacksonburg marked Hitchcock's present position. He slept gently; his lips under the fine, white moustache curved in a barely perceptible smile of satisfaction. For reasons of his own he was in retirement. And the granite sky wept.
In the rainy season it was impossible to say, within twelve hours or so, the time of the train's arrival. Today it had made a good journey. It was still light when the telephone rang in Mrs. Jackson's office to tell her that it had left the last station and would soon be there. Instantly the Hotel Liberty came to life. The hall-boy donned his peaked cap and set out with Mrs. Jackson to look for clients. Shumble, Whelper and Pigge left their game and put on their mackintoshes; the Frenchmen struggled into Spahi capes. The six other journalists emerged from their rooms and began shouting for taxis. Paleologue, Jakes's jackal, reported for duty and was despatched to observe arrivals. The greater and more forbidding part of the population of Jacksonburg was assembled on the platform to greet William's arrival. He and Corker had had a journey of constant annoyance. For three days they had been crawling up from the fierce heat of the coast into the bleak and sodden highlands. There were four first-class compartments on their train; one was reserved for a Swiss ticket collector. In the remaining three, in painful proximity, sat twenty-four Europeans, ten of whom were the advance party of the Excelsior Movie-Sound News of America. The others were journalists. They had lunched, dined and slept at the rest houses on the line. During the first day, when they were crossing the fiery coastal plain, there had been no ice; on the second night, in the bush, no mosquito nets; on the third night, in the mountains, no blankets. Only the little Swiss official enjoyed tolerable comfort. At every halt, fellow employees brought him refreshment � frosted beer, steaming coffee, baskets of fruit; at the restaurants there were special dishes for him and rocking-chairs in which to digest them; there were bedrooms with fine brass bedsteads and warm hip-baths. When Corker and his friends discovered that he was only the ticket collector they felt very badly about this. Some time during the second day's journey the luggage van came detached from the rest of the train. Its loss was discovered that evening when the passengers wanted their mosquito nets. "Here's where that little beaver can be useful," said Corker. He and William went to ask his help. He sat in his rocking-chair smoking a thin, mild cheroot, his hands folded over his firm little dome of stomach. They stood and told him of their troubles. He thanked them and said it was quite all right. "Such things often happen. I always travel with all my possessions in the compartment with me." "I shall write to the Director of the Line about it," said Corker. "Yes that is the best thing to do. It is always possible that the van will be traced." "I've got some very valuable curios in my luggage." "Unfortunate. I am afraid it is less likely to be recovered." "D'you know who we are?" "Yes," said the Swiss, with a little shudder. "Yes, I know." By the end of the journey Corker had come to hate this man. And his nettle-rash was on him again. He reached Jacksonburg in a bad humour.