The Antipope Read Online Free PDF Page B

cold and undrunk. He looked at his watch; Mickey’s head nodded to and fro as it always had. It was nearing five-thirty p.m. An hour had passed since he had entered the Plume.
    “Where did the tramp go?” asked Norman.
    “I don’t know anything about any tramp,” said Lily. “All I know is you buy two cups of coffee then fall asleep and let them go cold. Reckon if you want to sleep it off you can do it as well in your own bed as here, so bugger off home, will you Norman?”
    Norman rose shakily from his seat. “I think I shall go round to the Flying Swan instead,” he said. “For still waters run deep, you know.”
    “And it never rains but it bloody buckets down,” Lily called facetiously after the receding figure.
     
    Neville the part-time barman drew the bolts upon the saloon bar door and swung it open. Nervously he stuck his head out and sniffed the early evening air; it smelt pretty much as it always did. He sniffed it a few more times for good measure. Neville believed strongly that a lot more went on in the air than was generally understood by man. “Dogs have the way of it,” he had often said. “Dogs and a few gifted men. It is more than just pee on a post,” he had told Omally. “Dogs sense with their noses rather than simply smell with them.”
    This line of conversation was a bit out of Omally’s range, but he thought he recalled a joke about a dog with no nose. “A dog is a wise animal, that much I know,” said the Irishman. “Back in the old country few men would venture out of doors of a night without a dog at their heels. The faithful fellow would sit at his master’s elbow the evening, and if in the course of conversation the master felt the need for a bit of support he would nudge his dog and the animal, who would have been following every word, would assist him.”
    It was always remarkable to Neville that at times when Omally was stuck for something to say he would simply resort to the first thing that came into his head no matter how thoroughly absurd it might be. “You are saying that the dog would advise his master, then?” said the long-suffering part-time barman.
    “Heavens no,” said Omally. “The dear creature would simply go for the other fellow’s throat thus cutting short any chance of his master losing the argument.”
    As Neville stood in the pub doorway, sniffing the air and thinking to discern the possibility of snow, his eyes were treated to a spectacle which spelt dread.
    Norman was stumbling towards the Flying Swan crossing himself wildly and reciting the rosary.
    “Oh no,” groaned the part-time barman. He dropped the notice that he had painted that very afternoon, fled behind the counter and lunged at the whisky optic. Norman entered the Flying Swan at a trot and tripped immediately upon a newly painted notice which read NO TRAMPS. Picking this up in the trembling fingers he too said, “Oh no!”
    Neville anticipated the shopman’s request and thrust another glass beneath the optic. “Evening Norman,” he said in a restrained voice, “how are things with you?”
    “Did you paint this sign, Neville!” Norman demanded. Neville nodded. “Give me a…” Neville pushed the glass across the counter. “Oh yes, that’s the one.”
    Norman drained the glass with one gulp. Pausing to feel the life-giving liquid flowing down and about his insides Norman said slowly, “You know, don’t you?”
    “Know?” said Neville with some degree of hesitation.
    “About the tramp, you’ve seen him too, haven’t you?” Neville nodded again. “Thank God,” Norman said, “I thought I was going mad.”
    The part-time barman drew off two more scotches and the two men drank in silence, one either side of the bar. “I was up on the canal bridge,” said Norman and began to relate his story. Neville listened carefully as the tale unfolded, only nodding thoughtfully here and there and making the occasional remark such as “The King’s Shilling, eh?” and “Strange