第67章 (第2/3页)
ike to think of a man you've known and admired flung stripped and dangling across a pony like a dead animal.' 'One wouldn't like to think of even an enemy so. But sensibility is not a quality that one would look for among the Henry-Morton crowd.'
'Huh. Morton!' said Brent, spitting out the word as if it were a bad taste. 'No one, was "heavy" when Morton died, believe me. Know what the Chronicler wrote of him? The London one, I mean. He wrote: "In our time was no man like to be compared with him in all things; albeit that he lived not without the great disdain and hatred of the Commons of this land."'
Grant turned to look at the portrait which had kept him company through so many days and nights.
'You know,' he said, 'for all his success and his Cardinal's hat I think Morton was the loser in that fight with Richard III. In spite of his defeat and his long traducing, Richard came off the better of these two. He was loved in his day.'
'That's no bad epitaph,' the boy said soberly.
'No. Not at all a bad epitaph,' Grant said, shutting Oliphant for the last time. 'Not many men would ask for a better.' He handed over the book to its owner. 'Few men have earned so much,' he said.
When Carradine had gone Grant, began to sort out the things on his table, preparatory to his home going on the morrow. The unread fashionable novels could go to the hospital library to gladden other hearts than his. But he would keep the book with the mountain pictures. And he must remember to give The Amazon back her two history books. He looked them out so that he could give them to her when she brought in his supper. And he read again, for the first time since he began his search for the truth about Richard, the schoolbook tale of his villainy. There it was, in unequivocable black and white, the infamous story. Without a perhaps or a peradventure. Without a qualification or a question.
As he was about to shut the senior of the two educat
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