Three Brothers Read Online Free PDF

Isn’t it astonishing?”
    “I wanted to ask you,” Harry said, hesitantly, “about the fires.” He glanced at the warder who was clenching and unclenching his hands.
    “About my fires? Goodness me, I don’t know. I don’t enquire into my reasons. I don’t like to pry, you see.”
    “Do you think there is some connection with the Blitz?”
    “I wouldn’t speculate on that. It might just be an amazing coincidence. Coincidences do happen. Your mother bought bacon from me. There’s one. And a fine one. Where is she now, by the way? Your mother?”
    “She’s dead,” Harry replied.
    “Is she? We used to talk about the terrible shortage of matches. And of flypaper, actually. There wasn’t much of it around. And, goodness me, there were plenty of flies.”
    So Harry wrote his profile of Simon Sim. He described his fever; he described his calm and melodious voice. He read it out to Hilda on one Sunday afternoon. They had decided to walk along the river at Chelsea. They liked to look into the windows of the houses there, and imagine occupying those large and opulent rooms. “Do you think we ever shall?” she asked him.
    “Oh yes. I should hope so.” And then he added, after a pause, “I intend it. And I will do it.”
    They sat down on a bench overlooking the Thames, and Harry took the article out of the pocket of his jacket. Hilda listened intently. When he had finished she put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. Someone was walking past them. When they had finished their embrace, Harry looked up. He seemed to recognise the figure. He was taking long strides, and his head was bowed. It was Sam. Harry was sure of it. He called out to him. But Sam—if indeed it was Sam—quickened his pace. Then he began to run. He did not look back.
    Harry was unsettled by the unexpected sighting of his younger brother. He had not visited his father. He had not heard from his father. Now he believed that Sam had avoided him out of anger, or disappointment, at his sudden departure. Still, Harry was of sanguine temperament. He rarely thought of his family. He put the matter out of his mind.
    After he had sent the profile of Simon Sim to the Morning Chronicle , he endured some weeks of suspense. He had told no one, at the Bugle , of his intentions. Tony, however, sensed something in the air. “You’re nervous, Harry,” he said, barely restraining a smile. “Anything up?”
    “Nothing at all.”
    “Just thought I’d ask.” Then Tony noticed that he read the Morning Chronicle every morning with unusual attention. “Are you thinking of leaving us, Harry?” he asked as soon as he saw that George had entered the room.
    “Of course not.”
    “As long as you’re sure.”
    “Well. I am sure. Thank you for asking, Tony.”
    Then on a Saturday morning, three weeks later, the Morning Chronicle printed his profile of Simon Sim. Harry had won the competition. He looked at his name in ten-point type. He could not bear to stand in the street, but walked into a café and ordered a cup of tea. He was nervous, and his hand shook as he held the cup. He thought that he had seen his future. He had tasted ambition. He received a letter the following week, asking him to collect the £25 cheque in person at the offices of the Chronicle . This was his opportunity.
    He decided that he would not take Hilda with him. She would laugh, or out of nervousness say something absurd. Harry knew that, to attain his goal of acquiring a job as a reporter on the Chronicle , he would need to remain calm and attentive. He would need to convey an air of seriousness and professionalism. Of course they all knew at the Bugle . GeorgeBradwell had shaken his hand, and expressed the wish that he would remain with them. Aldous had looked grave, and nodded. Tony had never mentioned the subject, and avoided Harry’s eye. Maureen had embraced him, and congratulated him, while her two young men stood up and clapped. The new messenger boy, Percy, had