At the good supper that was set before him he picked with a meagre zest;
then fell asleep. Mahony took the opportunity to write a line to Polly
to tell of their safe arrival; and having sealed the letter, ran out to
post it. He was not away for more than three minutes, but when he came
back Johnny was gone. He hunted high and low for him, ransacked the
place without success: the boy had spoken to no one, nor had he been
seen to leave the coffee-room; and as the clock-hands were nearing
twelve, Mahony was obliged to give up the search and go back to the
hotel. It was impossible at that hour to let Ocock know of this fresh
piece of ill-luck. Besides, there was just a chance the young scamp
would turn up in the morning. Morning came, however, and no Johnny with
it. Outwitted and chagrined, Mahony set off for the court alone.
Day had broken dim and misty, and by the time breakfast was over a north
wind was raging--a furnace-like blast that bore off the sandy deserts
of the interior. The sun was a yellow blotch in a copper sky; the
thermometer had leapt to a hundred and ten in the shade. Blinding clouds
of coarse, gritty dust swept house-high through the streets:
half-suffocated, Mahony fought his way along, his veil lowered, his
handkerchief at his mouth. Outside those public-houses that advertised
ice, crowds stood waiting their turn of entry; while half-naked barmen,
their linen trousers drenched with sweat, worked like niggers to mix
drinks which should quench these bottomless thirsts.
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