Cluny Brown by Margery Sharp

do some work,” corrected Mr. Belinski. “I am an artist, not a political figure. That is the trouble in Poland: there are not enough distinguished Poles to go round; every one must do double duty. Look at Paderewski—the greatest musician in the world, we had to make him President as well. If you win a motor race, you are made Secretary to the Board of Trade. I have a success with my writings, so I must become a lecturer. Thank heaven they did not give me the Police Force. So I get into a fight, and soon I can do no work at all.” He flung out his hand; for the first time they noticed that the wrist was crooked, as though it had been broken and badly set. “I do not wish to be anything but what I am, and that is my determination. Also, it appears that I bring trouble. Even if I would lecture again, I would not go to one of your universities, and perhaps bring trouble there.”
    â€œIn fact,” said Betty, with great interest, “you’re hot.”
    But Belinski’s knowledge of English evidently did not extend to American colloquialisms. He looked blank.
    â€œShe means,” translated Andrew, “she quite understands—we all understand—why you have to lie low. But it’s pretty damnable.”
    He looked across at John Frewen, and at that moment, in the minds of both, the great plan was born. It hardly needed communicating; in a few words, under Betty’s chatter, everything of importance was practically decided. “Horsham?” murmured John—referring to his home. “Better my place in Devon. Right off the map,” murmured Andrew. J OHN : What about your people? A NDREW : All right, I think. Ask him now? J OHN : No, later. To-morrow. Show we’ve slept on it.…
    But when it came to the point they were both afraid that once they parted Belinski might disappear again before they could save him; so while John took Betty home Andrew walked with Mr. Belinski to Paddington, on the plea—for his company was at first refused—of having to meet a train. With complete gravity the Pole in turn insisted on accompanying Andrew into the station, but the latter, who had thitherto been unable to get their conversation off an abstract plane, was long past feeling foolish. The opportunity was nearly gone, and he was determined not to miss it.
    â€œMr. Belinski,” said Andrew.
    â€œYes? Cannot you find the train?”
    Andrew discovered that he had been staring up at the indicator, and flushed.
    â€œMr. Belinski, would you care to come and stay with my people in Devonshire?”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œAt my home in the country. Very quiet, and all that. You could certainly work there, because there’s nothing else to do.”
    Belinski regarded him with amusement.
    â€œIs it another party? This time for the week-end?”
    â€œOh, no,” said Andrew, “I thought you might stay a few years.”
    Just then they were jostled by a porter (actually Cluny’s Uncle Trumper) who also wished to look at the indicator. Andrew stepped one way, Belinski the other; and during the moment of separation the latter’s mind must have worked with great speed, for when he joined Andrew again he looked no longer astonished, but simply pleased.
    â€œMy dear young friend,” he said warmly, “I cannot say how much I appreciate such generosity. It is magnificent!”
    â€œOh, rot,” said Andrew. “When will you come?”
    â€œBut of course, I cannot accept,” said Mr. Belinski hastily.
    Andrew immediately asked why not. Mr. Belinski hesitated. He had what he considered a perfectly adequate reason, but he did not think it would appear adequate to his new young friend. He therefore selected another.
    â€œI am not a suitable guest.”
    â€œNonsense,” said Andrew cheerfully. “I’ve taken home much rummer chaps than you.” The adjective slipped out before he could retrieve it,