Paths of Glory

George smiled when he saw Finch approaching the counter, his arms laden with goods.

“We at Ede and Ravenscroft,” ventured Mr. Pink, “believe that it matters how a gentleman looks when he attains the summit of any mountain.”

“I can’t imagine why,” said Finch, as he placed his purchases on the counter. “There won’t be any girls up there waiting for us.”

“Will there be anything else, Mr. Finch?” asked the manager, trying not to show his disapproval.

“Not at these prices, there won’t,” George said after checking his bill.

Mr. Pink bowed politely and began to wrap up his customer’s purchases.

“I’m glad we bumped into each other, Finch,” said George. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve seen the light,” said Finch, “and are at last considering the use of oxygen.”

“Perhaps,” said George. “But I still need to be convinced.”

“Then I need at least a couple of hours of your time, as well as the proper equipment to hand, so I can demonstrate why oxygen will make all the difference.”

“Let’s discuss it while we’re on the boat to Bombay, when you’ll have more than enough time to convince me.”

“That’s assuming I’ll be on the boat.”

“But you’ve already been selected for the team.”

“Only thanks to your intervention,” said Finch, scowling. “And I’m grateful because I suspect the nearest that Hinks has been to a mountain is a Christmas card.”

“That will be thirty-three pounds and eleven shillings, Mr. Finch,” said Mr. Pink. “May I inquire how you intend to settle your bill on this occasion?”

“Just put it on my account,” said Finch, trying to imitate Mr. Pink’s “for customers” accent.

The manager hesitated for a moment before giving Finch a slight bow.

“See you on board then,” said Finch before picking up his brown paper bag and leaving the shop.

“Your bill comes to forty-one pounds, four shillings, and six pence, Mr. Mallory,” said Mr. Pink.

George wrote out a check for the full amount.

“Thank you, sir. And may I say on behalf of all of us here at Ede and Ravenscroft that we hope you will be the first man to reach the summit of Everest, and not…”

Mr. Pink did not finish the sentence. Both men looked out of the window and watched Finch as he strode off down the road.

BOOK FIVE

Walking Off the Map

1922

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

THURSDAY, MARCH 2ND, 1922

GEORGE KNEW THE moment he stepped on board the SS Caledonia at Tilbury that he was embarking on a journey for which he had been preparing all his life.

The climbing team spent the five-week sea voyage to Bombay getting better acquainted, improving their fitness, and learning how to work together as a unit. Every morning for an hour before breakfast they would run circuits around the deck, with Finch always setting the pace. Occasionally George’s ankle would play up a little, but he didn’t admit it, even to himself. After breakfast he would lie out on the deck reading John Maynard Keynes’s The Economic Consequences of the Peace, but not until he’d written his daily letter to Ruth.

Finch gave a couple of lectures on the use of oxygen at high altitudes. The team dutifully disassembled and reassembled the thirty-two-pound oxygen sets, strapped them on each other’s backs, and adjusted the valves that regulated the amount of gas released. Few of them seemed enthusiastic. George watched intently. There wasn’t any doubt that Finch knew what he was talking about, although most of the team disapproved of the idea of using oxygen on principle. Norton said that the sheer weight of the cylinders would surely nullify any advantage their contents might have to offer.