Читать книгу The Berry Scene - Cecil William Mercer - Страница 3

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The day was Midsummer Day—and fairly deserved its name.

Breakfast had been served upon the terrace, for all the winds were still; and the meal refreshed the spirit as well as the flesh. This was natural. The cool, sweet air was laced with the scent of flowers: still overlaid with dew, the lawn was quick with magic—a sparkling acre of velvet that filled the eye: full-dressed, the peerage of timber stood still as statuary: and the great sun was in his dominion, arraying all foliage with splendour, gilding clipped yew and warming chiselled stone, and lending the lovely distance the delicate shimmer of heat.

As I watched, the spell was broken. A woodpecker fluttered to the lawn, and the boughs of a chestnut dipped to the swing of a squirrel at play.

My sister tilted her head and raised her voice.

“Do hurry up, darling. There’s a letter for you from Jonah. We want to see what it says.”

Berry’s voice floated down from the bedroom above.

“I know. So do I. I am devoured by curiosity. But I’m going to tread it under. Instead, I’m going to concentrate upon the suspension of my half-hose. Two confections confront me—one in smouldering amber and one in reseda green. Now, if my trousers come down——”

“If you don’t come down in two minutes ...”

The protasis went unanswered; but fifty seconds later Berry appeared upon the terrace, perfectly groomed.

“Do be quick,” said Daphne.

Her husband frowned.

“The empty stomach,” he said, “must always take pride of place. Once the pangs of hunger have been assuaged——”

“By your leave,” said I....

I gave the letter to Daphne, who opened and read it aloud.

23rd June, 1907.

Dear Berry,

I’ve arranged for a car, with a chauffeur, for us to try. Hired the two for one month. If the vehicle suits us, we order a similar car. If it doesn’t, we don’t.

We shall, of course, be unpopular. Sir Anthony will denounce our decision and will declare that we are letting the neighbourhood down. But he’ll have a car himself in two years’ time. You see. Speed has a convenience which nobody can deny: and cars don’t ‘have to be cared for,’ as horses have. Of course they are going to kill the romance of the road, rather as gunpowder killed the romance of the battlefield. But that is the price of progress.

Well, there we are. I feel at once ashamed and excited. It is going to be a remarkable experience—taking familiar roads at forty-five miles an hour.

Expect me, then, on Monday, complete with car. I shall hope to arrive for lunch, but we may be delayed.

Yours ever,

Jonah.

There was a guilty silence.

Then—

“There you are,” said Berry. “What did I say? That long-nosed viper left here on the strict understanding that he was surreptitiously to investigate the possibilities of good and evil which might result from our acquisition of an automobile. He was then to return to this mansion and submit his report. Does he observe those crystal-clear instructions? No. And now we’re all in the swill-tub up to the waist.”

“I feel quite frightened,” said Daphne. “What ever will everyone say?”

Berry continued his complaint.

“ ‘Forty-five miles an hour!’ And the day before yesterday I subscribed to the imposition of substantial fines upon no less than five motorists for covering a measured mile in less than three minutes of time.”

(Berry had lately been appointed a Justice of the Peace.)

“That’s all right,” said my sister. “You can ask where the traps are, and we can give them a miss.”

“And supposing we’re caught outside our area?”

“You won’t be summoned,” said I. “Unless you propose to drive.”

“Oh, nor I shall,” said Berry. “Then that’s all right. And if they take my name, I shall say I was being abducted. All the same, it’s going to be awkward. On the Bench, I mean, as soon as the news gets round. The Colonel’s nose will increase in crimson and purpure. He may even foam at the ears—I mean, the mouth.”

“Let him,” said Daphne boldly. “Why shouldn’t we have a car?”

“Oh, I know that bit,” said Berry. “But you haven’t got to consort with the bigoted fool. He says it’s a breach of one’s duty towards one’s neighbour. And when you remember the dust, I’m not sure he isn’t right.”

There was another silence.

“We must use the thing early,” said Daphne. “Before other people are up. It’s light at five now.”

Berry pushed away his plate and covered his eyes.

“I wish you wouldn’t say these things,” he said. “I know it’s just thoughtlessness, but idle words like those are bad for my heart. Fancy rising at four in the morning for the privilege of raving about a cheerless countryside, through lifeless villages, past promising pubs that are straitly shut and barred, with a herd of indignant milch-cows round every bend. Oh, no. We’ve done it now—or, rather, Jonah has. We shall have to brazen it out.”

“We can’t tell the Dean,” said I. “He’d turn us out of the house.”

Always, on Midsummer Day, we lunched at the Deanery, Brooch—a very pleasant engagement, which we were happy to keep. The Dean was a human prelate and, though very much older, a distant cousin of ours. He was also intensely conservative.

Berry addressed his wife.

“Which reminds me, if you must have the mail-phaeton, then Boy can drive. I’ve split three new pairs of gloves, holding those greys. And my arms were half out of their sockets on Monday night. I’ll take the dog-cart—Rainbow was properly mouthed.”

“The greys,” said I, “are short of exercise.”

“Well, I’m not,” said Berry, passing his cup. “And when I am, I’ll take it—in some conventional way. Bowls, for instance. But I won’t be dismembered.” Daphne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Yes, you may laugh, you siren. You just sit still and radiate sex-appeal: but I have to hold the swine.”

“I’m s-sorry, darling,” wailed Daphne. “But, Boy, if you could hear him. He talks to the greys just as if they were naughty children, and on the way home he told them a fairy-tale.”

“I was seeking to divert them,” said Berry: “in the hope of saving our lives. They’ve only got one idea—that is to outstrip the phaeton. And they did seem to listen—till Order noticed a haystack a couple of fields away. Oh, and who called them Law and Order. If he’d called them Battle and Murder, he’d have been nearer the mark. Any way. I’ve got to see Merton. So I’ll go by Dimity Green and be there as soon as you.”

My sister regarded her wrist-watch.

“I should like,” she said, “to leave here at half-past ten. I want to give an order at Wilson’s before we drive to the Close.”

“Make it eleven,” said I. “We’re bound to be there in less than an hour and a half.”

“Half-past ten,” said Daphne. “I love having time to spare.”

Berry was right about the greys. Before eleven o’clock I had split my left-hand glove. I was glad when we came to the foot of Hunchback Hill. Here was a long ascent, and, as we approached its head, I saw a brewer’s dray at rest by the side of the road. The driver was breathing his cattle after the climb.

As I turned my head, to give the fellow good day—

“It’s Curly,” shrieked Daphne. “Stop, Boy, stop. Curly, Curly, how good to see you again!”

I pulled the greys in to the hedgerow, and William, sitting behind us, slipped down and ran to their heads. I gave the reins to my sister and left my seat. As I gained the road, the mighty drayman came forward, cap in hand.

“It’s my day out, Master Boy.”

“And ours, Curly.” I shook his enormous fist. “Come and—meet Mrs. Pleydell.”

The fine old waggoner stepped to the side of the phaeton, touched his forelock and made my sister a bow.

“Your servant, ma’am.”

“How dare you, Curly? Shake hands and call me ‘Miss Daphne’, just as you always have. How many times have you put me up on Yorick? But what does this mean? You’ve not come back to the road?”

“For two months only. Miss Daphne. Two of our drivers are sick, an’ I was glad of a chance to help the firm. They’ve been very good to me; and in summertime, you know, I’m as good as I was.”

For five or six minutes we spoke of bygone days, for Curly Jordan was one of our childhood’s friends. Then the three of us went to make much of his ‘unicorn’. Three fine shire horses they were, with bells on their collars and plaited manes and tails. The leader was outstanding—a benevolent giant that blew upon Daphne’s face and then stood on his dignity.

“They do you great credit. Curly.”

“One does one’s best. Miss Daphne. An’ now that I’m back, you know, I feel I want to go on.”

“I’m sure you do. So should I. But I hope you won’t. The winter weather. Curly, would bring you down.”

“Maybe you’re right, Miss Daphne. I’m rising seventy-four.”

Then we all strolled back to the phaeton, and Curly stood beside it, while I put Daphne up and then climbed back to my seat.

He was smiling gravely as he stood there, still a magnificent figure, his humble apron of sackcloth about his waist. But as my eyes met his, I read their long farewell, and I knew I was looking my last upon a great-hearted man. And Curly knew it, too.

My sister leaned forward.

“Come round to my side, Curly.”

When the waggoner did her bidding, she put out her hand for his.

“D’you remember you used to say that I was the light of your eyes?”

Curly bent his gray head.

“Ay, Miss Daphne,” he said. “I used to make that bold.”

“I’m so proud to remember it. Curly. I always shall be proud that such a famous waggoner said such a thing of me.”

She stooped and kissed his rough cheek.

As Curly stood back, glowing, I nodded my head to William, whose eyes were upon my face.

He sprang aside and I touched the greys with the whip....

Two miles had bowled by before Daphne lifted her voice.

Then—

“We’re going down, Boy,” she said. “We don’t breed men like Curly Jordan to-day.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” said I. “Now, don’t be silly, Law—that’s only a five-barred gate.”

The way from White Ladies to Brooch is still a lovely way, but now there is much more traffic, and pretty roads that were crooked have been made straight. And the tarmac has swallowed verges, and time-honoured trees have been felled. But on that midsummer morning the way was as it had been before my father was born.

Three miles I well remember as being the fairest of all. Here Nature and Husbandry seemed to go hand in hand: wild rose and honeysuckle tricked out the wayside hedge, elms guarded lovers’ stiles, and oak and ash and chestnut held up a ragged canopy for passers-by. Now and again an aged, five-barred gate hung like a window-sill, to offer such a landscape as Thomson sang and Constable loved to paint, and once the road curled down to a little ford, where the stream ran clear upon gravel, murmuring out of a thicket and into a meadow’s arms, and turning sweetness to fragrance down all its length.

There I pulled up the greys that morning, for the day was hot and the water was good for their legs, and the spot was one which from childhood my sister and I had loved.

So we rested for five or six minutes....

As we were leaving the water, a gig came slowly towards us, drawn by a strawberry roan.

“Mary Anne,” said Daphne.

Mary Anne was the roan.

I checked the greys, and the farmer driving pulled up and took off his hat.

“Good morning, Mr. Ightham.”

“The sweet of the morning to you, ma’am.” His eye ran over the greys. “You’ve a handful there, Mas’r Boy.”

I laughed.

“My arms’ll be stiff to-morrow. Mrs. Ightham quite well?”

“In wonderful trim, sir, thank you.”

“And Bridget?” said my sister. “I thought she was coming to me.”

“So she hopes, ma’am. She wrote her letter last night. But don’t you spoil her, Miss Daphne. Her mother came out of White Ladies, and Bridget’s going to you to learn how to make a good wife.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, Mr. Ightham. Her mother’s name is still a household word.”

“Like mistress, like maid. Miss Daphne. An’ Mas’r Berry? I hope he’s keeping well.”

“In splendid form, Mr. Ightham. You know he’s a magistrate now?”

“That’s as it should be. Miss Daphne. I reckon he’ll put them motor-cars where they belong.”

“He’ll, er, do his best, Mr. Ightham. Give Mrs. Ightham my love.”

“Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

We bade him goodbye and drove on.

As the phaeton swung up the hill—

“ ‘Them motor-cars,’ ” breathed my sister. “We’re going to lose half our friends.”

“For the time being only,” said I. “I quite agree with Jonah—that very soon our neighbours will follow suit.”

I saw a car in the distance, as we were entering Brooch. Before Law and Order had seen it, I turned to the left. It was no good asking for trouble. But when I had fetched a compass, to enter the square of St. Giles, there was another car fuming some fifteen paces away.

Happily the square was not crowded, for the greys, with one consent, proposed to mount the pavement, if not to enter some shop.

I spoke over my shoulder to William.

“Ask the chauffeur to stop his engine. Be very polite.”

With the tail of my eye I saw my orders obeyed, but the chauffeur only laughed and let in his clutch.

There was only one thing to be done.

As the car moved forward towards us, I stood up, lashed Law and Order and let them go. Oblivious of all but the pain, the greys leaped forward, flung past the moving car and down the length of the square.

To this day I do not know how we entered Bellman Lane, but I managed to pull them up before we had reached its end.

William came running, white-faced.

“All’s well,” I said, “but stand to their heads a minute.”

When he was there, I gave the reins to Daphne and went to their heads myself. I did my best to repair the wrong I had done them, soothing and making much of the handsome pair.

Then I turned to the groom, who clearly had news to tell.

“Yes, William. What do you know?”

“It was just beginning, sir. Joe Chinnock had got the chauffeur, and Mr. Bertram was there.”

“Then we’ll hear all about it later. They’re all right now, I think; so we’ll get along.”

But I felt better already. Joe Chinnock came out of our village and plied a blacksmith’s trade.

Half an hour had gone by, and we were in the Deanery garden, taking a glass of sherry before we sat down to lunch.

“Act Two,” said Berry, “was most enjoyable. Let me say at once that I shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much, if I had had the faintest idea that you and my only wife had been on in Act One. But the phaeton was out of sight when I drove into the square.

“The first thing I saw was Joe Chinnock holding a wallah up by the scruff of his neck. Then he swung him into the horse-trough and let him lie.

“Now there was no constable present, and I felt that, if worse was coming, it might be my bounden duty to interfere. Not physically, of course. A dirty look, or something—you know what I mean.

“In some uneasiness, therefore, I trotted up to the scene.

“By the time I was there, the car, deprived of its helmsman, had ravaged a barrow of strawberries and butted the nearest lamp-post, which it had snapped in two. The top, complete with lantern, had fallen into the front or driver’s seat; but the bottom had held the car, whose engine had stopped.

“You never saw such a mess. Cast iron sticking out of the wind-screen, glass all over the cushions, and the whole of the car’s off forehand plastered with the succulent mush to which the slightest pressure reduces our scarlet fruit.

“The chauffeur had emerged from the horse-trough and was standing, streaming with water and trying in vain to unbutton his uniform: and a man, not unlike a gorilla, had erupted from the back of the car and, using most regrettable language, was declining the hawker’s invitation to view what had once been a barrow, but now bore no resemblance to that commodity.

“I had just told George to take Rainbow, when Constable Rowe appeared. This, of course, absolved me; so, as I had a good seat, I sat still where I was.

“Now Rowe never saw the chauffeur. But he saw the gorilla and the hawker, engaged in mutual abuse; he saw the strawberries and the lamp-post, clearly the prey of the car; and he jumped to the natural conclusion that the gorilla had been driving the car and had done first the barrow and then the lamp-post in.

“So the stage was set for confusion.

“After the opening chorus, which was taken very fast by the gorilla and the hawker and was consequently not so much incoherent as distracting, Rowe cursed the two into silence and took out his book. Then he turned to the gorilla.

“ ‘Well, if you wasn’t drivin’, who was?’

“ ‘Nobody was,’ cries Gorilla. ‘I tell you——’

“ ‘Then that’s ’ow it ’appened,’ says Rowe, beginning to write and reading his entry aloud. ’Car left unattended.’

“ ‘It wasn’t unattended,’ yells Gorilla. ‘My chauffeur——’

“ ‘If no one was drivin’——’

“ ‘I was drivin’,’ says the chauffeur, who had come up unobserved.

“ ‘No, you weren’t,’ screams Gorilla. ‘Nobody was.’

“ ‘Well, I should ’ave been,’ says the chauffeur, ‘if——’

“ ‘Ah,’ says Rowe, staring upon him. ‘You should ’ave been, but you weren’t.’

“ ‘No, no, NO,’ screams Gorilla. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. The man was dragged out of his seat.’

“ ‘Just as well,’ says Rowe, regarding the front of the car. ‘ ’Ooever done it probably saved his life.’

“’Saved his life?’ howls Gorilla. ‘He damned near killed us all.’

“ ‘Then he was drivin’,’ says Rowe. ‘Why couldn’t you say so at first?’

“ ‘Of course the man was driving, until he was dragged from the car.’

“Rowe makes another entry.

“ ‘Chauffeur was driving—damned near killed us all.’

“Till now, to my mind, the crowd had been very restrained; but, before this new rise of the tide of misunderstanding, all within earshot broke down. Pent-up emotion, so to speak, burst its banks. There was a roar of laughter to which even the hawker subscribed, and when, with a scream of rage, the gorilla seized Rowe’s note-book and flung it down upon the ground and then launched himself at the hawker, so that the two fell together into the billow of fruit, I frankly confess that the tears ran down my cheeks.

“And there I left the scene—for the police-station, where I saw the Inspector on duty and asked him to send a sergeant to help Rowe out.

“I imagine action will be taken; but if Joe Chinnock is summoned, by Heaven, I’ll see him through. If only I had been there ...”

“I’m so thankful you weren’t,” said Daphne.

“That’s almost unkind,” said Berry.

The Dean put in his oar.

“The relish with which you have reported the discomfiture of the wicked convinces us that, had you witnessed Act One, your reluctance to interfere would have been less marked.”

“D’you blame me, sir?”

“Not in the least. I hope you’d have sent for me to bail you out. But I do share Daphne’s relief.”

Berry regarded his wife.

“I expect you’re right,” he said. “But she’s still as good as new, and I don’t want her bent.”

Two hours and a half had gone by, and we were about to be gone.

Daphne was taking her leave of Mrs. Dean, but the Dean, who was still a fine whip, came out and into the Close, to have a look at the greys.

His inspection over, he motioned to Berry and me and strolled across to the sward.

As we fell in beside him—

“You’ll have to give them up,” he said quietly. “Next time whoever is driving mayn’t be so fortunate.”

“We can’t amble about, sir,” said I, “behind a couple of slugs.”

“No,” said the Dean, “you can’t. Youth must be served. Still, I value your lives. So I think you had better consider acquiring an automobile.”

As we drove back to White Ladies, my feelings were mixed.

The Dean’s approval apart, we now had a perfect excuse for acquiring a car: but I could not lose sight of the fact that sentence had been passed upon our stable and that its execution was now but a matter of time. And the horse was part of our lives. The pleasant smell of stabling, the rhythm of hooves upon the road, the creak of leather, the brush of a velvet nose—these things were familiar to us as the gurgle of the rain in the down-pipes and the afternoon sunshine that badged the library shelves. And now the end of that chapter was drawing near. Never again could we take the greys to Brooch. To Merry Down—yes: for a while we could use them to cover the countryside. But not for long. If, instead of a gig that morning, a car had come down to the ford ... And the equipage would be superseded. Who, if he had a car, would take a carriage and pair to drive twelve miles to a dance—and twelve miles back ... at three o’clock of a bitter winter morning? And what of the staff? Of Peters and George and William, sitting behind me now?

I thrust the nightmare away and pointed to a kingdom of barley, rippling under the touch of some zephyr we could not feel.

“You used to love that, darling.”

“I know,” said Daphne gravely. “I love it still. I think it beats falling water. It’s really a miracle—a rustle that you can see. What did Berry say about this business?”

“Summonses are to be issued. Joe Chinnock is to be summoned—of course for assault. The gorilla, whose name is Slober, is to be summoned twice—once for assaulting the hawker and once for obstructing the police. The cases will probably be heard on Monday week. Berry has instructed Mason on Joe’s behalf.”

“What will happen?”

“I’ve no idea. They’ll probably be taken together, and if Mr. Slober is wise, he won’t press the case against Joe. I mean, if they send Joe down, they’re not going to let Slober off.”

“Will you have to give evidence?”

“I don’t know. But William will.”

My sister raised her voice.

“Do you hear that, William? You’ll have to go to Court and bear witness for Joe.”

“I’ll be happy to do that, ma’am. He only done his duty.”

“I entirely agree,” said I. “And so, I hope, will the Bench. Hullo, who’s this coming? First time I have seen that pair.”

“It’s Mrs. de Lisle, sir,” said William. “She’s sold the bays.”

The landau approached us slowly. As we were drawing abreast, I checked the greys.

My sister leaned forward.

“How d’you do, Mrs. de Lisle?”

“Good evening, my dear. Boy, where’s your button-hole?”

With a glance at my empty lapel—

“I’m afraid I forgot it,” said I.

Mrs. de Lisle frowned.

“When driving a lady, you should be properly dressed. Never mind, you’re both in the country—which most young things of your age now seem to abhor. Did you lunch in Barchester?”

“Yes—with the Dean,” said Daphne. “We always do, you know, on Midsummer Day.”

“A pretty habit, my dear. And the Dean is the best of the bunch. The Close is well named. Most of their minds are as narrow as their hats are high. Because a man takes orders, he shouldn’t let orders take him. But the Dean is aware of the strangers without his gates.”

“And Mrs. Dean’s very charming.”

“So she is. I was her bridesmaid a good many years ago. And a dashing young lady she was. But the odour of sanctity’s drugged her. The charm is there, but the mettle has disappeared. Never mind. Come to lunch on Tuesday and tell me the news. Withyham may be there—but I hope he won’t.”

“Oh, dear,” said Daphne.

(Lord Withyham was our bête noir).

Mrs. de Lisle smiled.

“Very well. Come on Friday instead. And Berry, of course. And I quite agree with you—Withyham doesn’t go with weather like this.”

“We’ll love to.”

“I’m not so sure: but I’m selfish. And you and Berry and Boy will do me good.” The lady raised her voice. “Drive on, Weston.”

We cried our farewells, as the carriage moved leisurely on, and the greys, impatient for their stable, snatched at their bits.

One more encounter we had that Midsummer Day, and that was with General Stukely—a man among men.

The four-wheeled dog-cart was still, drawn up by a gap in the hedgerow on Steeple Ridge. From his seat beside his coachman, the General was viewing the acres which had stood in the name of Stukely for more than three hundred years. And soon another would claim them, for he was ninety-two and the last of his line.

It was not a great estate—less than a hundred acres, when all was in: but love and pride had made it a specimen piece. There was the rose-red manor, neighboured by timber so lovely it seemed unreal. Horses were grazing in a paddock, and cows were standing, musing, under a parcel of elms. The purest woodland embraced the pretty picture—oak and beech and chestnut, in splendid heart: and here, in the foreground, a magnificent crop of oats was spreading an apron of promise, to fill a farmer’s eye.

As we drew alongside the dog-cart—

“Good evening, General,” cried Daphne.

“Good evening, my dear. You look so fresh and so eager, you might be going to market, instead of coming back.”

“You always say nice things to me, General.”

“An old man’s privilege. Daphne—one of the many we have. Boy, you’ve your father’s style—and there’s a compliment.”

“Thank you, sir.” I pointed with my whip to the oats.

“You maintain the standard, General, which the Manor has always set.”

“They look very well, don’t they? The soil is good, you know, and I do my best.” He returned to my sister. “And how is Berry, my dear?”

“Very well, thank you. He took the dog-cart to-day. We’ve been to the Deanery to lunch.”

“You keep good company, Daphne. The Dean and his lady adorn the office he holds. Will you come and take tea at the Manor one of these days?”

“May we come next Friday, General?”

“It will give me great pleasure, my dear. Whom may I ask to meet you?”

“Mayn’t we come alone?” said my sister. “And then we can overeat and I can pour out the tea.”

The General smiled.

“You give the right answers, Daphne. You always did. And your lady mother before you, bless her soul. And now I’ll delay you no longer. White Ladies should have its mistress before the sun goes down. Goodbye, my dear. My kind regards to Berry. And I shall look for your coming on Friday next.”

We left him there, by the edge of his fair demesne, and five minutes later we crossed the verge of the forest to which White Ladies belongs.

Here Nature came into her own.

The sun was low and was lacing the beauty about us with golden light. Majestic oaks rose from a quilt of bracken that might have been cloth of gold: birches laid heads together, so that their lovely tresses made up one golden shower: a watch of firs became a gleaming cohort: and a glorious company of beeches, their shapely boles flood-lit with golden magic—an order of pillars holding the shadows up, spoke to enchanted forests and all the lovely lore of fairy-tales.

So, for the last four miles, our progress was royal—the dark-blue phaeton skimming the yellow roads, and the constant flicker of the sunshine caparisoning the equipage, now badging Order’s shoulder, now making the panels flash, now leaping up from the splash-board, to magnify the beauty for which my sister was known.

Ears pricked to catch a whisper, obedient to some presence we could not feel, the greys sped through the forest—a model pair. When a gypsy rose out of some bushes, to brandish a broom, they took no notice at all: the two might have been bewitched—I think they were.

So we came back to White Ladies in the evening of Midsummer Day.

Three hours had gone by, and a precious silence reigned in the library.

Daphne was reading a novel, Berry was at his table and I was nodding over The Morning Post.

“How are your arms?” said Berry.

“Not too good,” said I.

“You wait till to-morrow,” said Berry. “You won’t be able to dress.”

Daphne put out a hand and touched my hair.

“I don’t think I thanked you, darling, for saving my neck.”

“Don’t put it too high,” I said. “I chose the lesser evil and brought it off. If Bellman Lane had been blocked ...”

“D’you mind not discussing it?” said Berry. “It sends the b-blood to my head. Oh, and what do you do with these pens? Clean your nose—nails with them?”

“You filthy brute,” said his wife.

“Well, the nibs are done in,” said Berry: “and that, as the obvious result of having been used for some purpose other than that for which they were bought and sold. Where’s your typewriter?”

“No, you don’t,” said I. “That cost me twenty-five pounds. Where’s your fountain-pen?”

Berry made no reply.

After a moment Daphne raised her voice.

“Why don’t you use it, darling? The new one you had sent down and that wrote so well?”

Berry swung round.

“Look here,” he said. “I don’t want that pen mentioned. I don’t want any reference, direct or indirect, veiled or manifest, made in my hearing to what are called fountain-pens. ‘Fountain-pens.’ Sounds so romantic, doesn’t it? Suggestive of nymphs and groves and shepherds’ pipes. No one, of course, would buy them, if they were called pocket-skunks.”

“What ever d’you mean?” said his wife.

Berry expired. Then—

“Deluded,” he said, “by a pictorial advertisement, as, of course, I was meant to be—as have been thousands of other innocent lieges of His Majesty, I wrote for a fountain-pen, enclosing a cheque in favour of a firm which, I have every reason to hope and, indeed, expect, will shortly be eaten of worms. According to the prospectus, the implement was superfine. It could neither leak nor blot: it could be replenished in the dark: it liked being dropped and carried upside down: I’m not sure it couldn’t spell—according to the prospectus. Best of all, it was ‘of vest-pocket size’.” He paused to cover his eyes. “When I think that I filled the swine—with the finest blue-black ink.... Oh, it wrote all right. The words slid out of its mouth. I wrote three letters in triumph. Then I put it into my pocket and lay down upon the sofa, to take a short nap. That was on Sunday last, at three o’clock.”

“My God,” said Daphne. “Not your new, gray suit?”

“My new, gray suit,” said Berry, between his teeth. “The tares were sown, while I slept. Waistcoat, coat and shirt utterly and completely destroyed. Soaked, steeped and saturated with the finest blue-black ink.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The thing was undoubtedly capacious—the stain on the coat must be quite six inches by four. And I never knew it, till I saw myself in a glass. Went to wash my hands, and, as I was turning away, I saw this—this devastation outlined upon my trunk. In shape, it was not unlike the Iberian Peninsular.

“At first I thought it was a shadow—I couldn’t believe it was true. As in a dream, I touched it.... And then, in one hideous flash, I saw the pit that had been digged, into which I had paid to jump. Those filthy, black-gutted lepers had sworn that it couldn’t leak. But they never swore it couldn’t break. ... Screaming with agony, I plucked first one half and then the other out of the sodden pouch which, half an hour before, had been an elegant pocket in a gentleman’s vest.

“Well, there you are. Adding things up, the, er, souvenir has proved expensive. The pen was twelve shillings, and the suit——”

“You must have lain on it,” said Daphne.

“I never lay on it,” screamed Berry. “I never subjected it to any strain, stress, tax, pressure or other kind of violence. The swine had no shadow of excuse. I put it into my pocket, as I was incited to do. It had every comfort and convenience—and every opportunity to do its filthy work. I tell you, it was a snare—a treacherous snare, set by verminous blackguards for honest men. And now what about a restorative? Or would that be out of place?”

“I’m dreadfully sorry, darling. Besides, I liked that suit. By the way, have you written to Jonah?”

“I have. I’ve told him to cancel the car and leave the country.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Daphne. “We’ve got to have the thing now. Besides, I’m all excited.”

As Berry passed the sofa, he laid his manuscript in my sister’s lap.

“Let the blots,” he said, “speak to my emotion. Few could compose such periods: fewer still could cover two pages with a nib which resembled a miniature grappling-iron. Not that your brother is not to dredge his no-nails; but what’s his hoofpick done?”

I read the letter over my sister’s shoulder.

Dear Brother,

Your letter caused me much pain. Indeed, for some hours after its perusal I was afflicted, with griping of the guts, a malady which, if we may believe the ancient registers, was prevalent in the seventeenth century. But, then, look at their habits.

It was, of course, distinctly understood that you were to take no action beyond the spending of certain moneys upon the intoxication of some of your less reputable friends. You were then to worm out of them the secrets of the motor-car trade: I think you called it ‘spilling the beans’—a coarse and vulgar metaphor, the origin of which I am glad to find obscure. Instead, if I read your letter aright, you have gone so far as to engage or hire a self-propelled vehicle, together with its conductor, for the space of one calendar month.

As I read those last words again, a host of unanswerable questions, like bulls of Bashan, gape upon me with their mouths. Where is the swine to be put? Don’t say ‘In a coach-house’, for the greys might hear you. I mean, they’re not mad about cars. And what about liability? Supposing some poultry misjudge their distance, or an assertive heifer decides to sit on her horns to spite her base. Oh, and what do we do if one of the tires is punctured? Suck the wound?

It is within your knowledge that inconsideration is my portion and disregard my cross. It might have been thought that, in these circumstances, a near relative would have hesitated further to offend one whose qualities are so clearly enumerated by the Beatitudes. But of such is my present incarnation. Oh, for the good old days when I was Artaxerxes’ favourite wife! The fun we used to have in the sherbert slimming-pool! And how our husband laughed when we put a scorpion into the Chamberlain’s slacks. Jujube, he used to call me. Ah, well ...

Till Monday, then.

I yearn upon you with my large intestine.

Berry.

“You might,” said Daphne, “have told him what the Dean said.”

“My sweet,” said Berry, “if he does these things in the green-room, what will he do in the flies? If he knew what the Dean had said, he’d order a portable garage and two more cars.”

Monday came at last, and my cousin with it.

Precisely at a quarter to one, a long, low, open car came to rest in the drive. At least, it seemed low then. It was blue and was built to take seven—and so it did. The back seat was extremely comfortable. The tonneau was very roomy. This was as well, for my cousin had brought twelve tires and fifteen tubes—on sale or return. The chauffeur was a pleasant-faced man, whose name was Fitch.

While Jonah expounded its virtues, we moved about the vehicle, marking its points.

“It’s very nice-looking,” said Daphne. “How fast can it go?”

“Just over fifty,” said Jonah. “But thirty-five is her pace: she’s smoothest then.”

“What about twenty?” said Berry.

“She won’t do twenty in top. At twenty-two or three you have to change down.”

“Forgive my ignorance,” said Berry, “but which of the gears do you most often employ?”

Jonah shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, the great idea,” he said, “is to keep her in top. If you see a hill coming, you rush it—if you possibly can.”

“I see,” said Berry. “In other words, one’s main object is to maintain an unlawful speed—to do anything rather than sink to the level prescribed by law.”

“That’s what it amounts to,” said Jonah. “But twenty-five is nothing. After a mile or two you seem to be crawling along.”

“I see,” said Berry thoughtfully. “Well, before we go out, we’d better inquire which way the Colonel’s gone. My learned brother. Colonel Buckshot. I mean, I’m sitting on Thursday: and if on Wednesday we met him, when we were rushing a hill ...”

“He’s got to get used to it,” said Jonah.

“Yes, I wasn’t thinking of him,” said Berry. “If I’m to violate the law one day and administer it the next. I’d just as soon not ram this elegant inconsistency down the Colonel’s throat. It’s just possible it might stick in his gullet. Oh, and talk about not letting your right hand know what your left hand doeth ...”

We handed Fitch over to Peters and went to lunch.

Two days later we put the car to the test. In a word, we went out for the day—to Sacradown and back. This was a great adventure, for Sacradown was seventy miles away.

The day was brilliant, and distance faded into a haze of heat. Fleeting the well-known ways was an enchanting exercise. Jonah was driving, with Fitch in the seat by his side. Behind them, Daphne, Berry and I sat in excited silence, tasting the joy of speed.

It was not quite ten o’clock and we were twelve miles from White Ladies, when one of the hind tires burst.

Jonah steadied the car and brought her, going short, to the side of the road.

For a moment nobody spoke.

Then—

“I suppose the thing’s broken,” said Berry. “I thought it was too good to be true. Oh, and where’s the Red Cross outfit? I’ve slipped my spinal cord.”

The chauffeur left his seat and my sister opened her eyes.

“Does it often do this?” she said.

Jonah spoke over his shoulder.

“The day is hot,” he said, “and although you won’t believe it, we were doing fifty-one. Under such conditions tires sometimes lose their temper.”

“The wages of sin,” said Berry. He looked round comfortably. “At least, it’s a pleasant spot, and I’m ripe for a nap. I didn’t have a good night. Daphne had eaten something, and——”

“You wicked liar,” said his wife.

“D’you mean to say I dreamed it? It was remarkably vivid. Never mind. Can repairs be effected? Or must you walk back to Cleric and hire an equipage? I shouldn’t call at the Grange. Its occupant might be unresponsive.”

(Colonel Buckshot lived at the Grange.)

“Nothing doing,” said Jonah, alighting. “In the first place, the tools we need are beneath your seat; in the second, your services will be required.”

“In what way?” said Berry, staring.

“As a relief,” said I. “Changing a tire is exhausting.”

Berry moistened his lips.

“I’d better not,” he said. “I—I might break something.”

“We’ll risk that,” said Jonah. “And I don’t think you’ll break the pump.”

With an awful look, Berry followed my sister out of the car, to take his seat on the bank by the side of the road....

The wheels were not detachable, and the jack was much less efficient than those of to-day. To place the jack was very difficult: to upset it, when placed, was very easy: to operate it was just possible. And tires could be most refractory. By the time the new cover was on, Jonah and Fitch and I were ready to rest.

Jonah looked at Berry and wrung the sweat from his brow.

“You shall inflate it,” he said. “That’ll give us a chance to cool down.”

With that, he and I sat down by my sister’s side.

Fitch attached the pump, showed Berry the action required and then moved round the car, to open the bonnet upon the opposite side.

With starting eyes, Berry took off his coat and laid hold of the pump....

After two minutes, he took off his collar and tie.

After five minutes he felt the tire, laid the pump carefully down, took his seat on the step and closed his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” said Jonah.

“The pump’s not working,” said Berry. “I’m damned near killing myself, but inflation is not taking place.”

“Yes, it is,” said Jonah. “Another quarter of an hour and you’ll see what I mean.”

“From on high, perhaps,” said Berry. “I shan’t be alive. No man born of woman——”

Here Fitch reappeared, to pick up the pump.

After five more minutes, Berry again took charge.

“You see?” said Jonah.

Berry looked round.

“If I told you what I saw,” he said, “you’d be afraid to die.”

After fifty strokes, he once again felt the tire.

“I’d better not do it any more,” he said. “We don’t want to burst this one.”

“Another hundred,” said I, “and then I’ll go on.”

In a loud voice, Berry began to count....

He had reached ‘Seventy-nine’, when I saw a dog-cart approaching, taking the way we had come. But Berry’s back was towards it. Besides, he was occupied.

When the dog-cart was fifty yards off, I recognized the shape of Colonel Buckshot’s gray hat.

“Ninety-four,” raved Berry: and then, with a frightful effort, “Ninety-five.”

Daphne, sitting beside me, began to shake with laughter....

The dog-cart was very near, and the Colonel’s eyes were fast upon Berry’s back, when the latter screeched “One hundred”, dropped the pump, staggered up to the step and sat himself down with a violence that shook the car.

Then he looked up, to meet the Colonel’s glare.

For a moment the two regarded one another.

Then—

“The price of devotion,” said Berry, and wiped his throat.

At the third attempt—

“The price of what, sir?” snapped the Colonel, whose face was red.

“Devotion to duty,” said Berry. “I’d meant to keep it a secret; but now you’ve found out.”

“What the devil d’you mean, sir?”

“Observe my state,” said Berry. “D’you think I’m enjoying myself?”

The Colonel started, and Berry went quietly on.

“For some time now, it has been apparent to me that the hand of the Riding Hood Bench would be immensely strengthened, if one of its members knew something of motoring. Week after week, we have to listen to excuses by motorists which we believe to be lies, but which we cannot ignore, because we lack the experience which motorists have. I, therefore, decided that, as the youngest of the Justices, it was my duty to acquire a degree of expert knowledge which none of us have. I’ve already found out a great deal. In the first place, twenty miles an hour is excessive. Fifteen is quite enough. Then, again——”

“I’ve always said so,” cried the Colonel. “But those blasted fools of politicians——”

“Exactly,” said Berry. “And why? Because, when that limit was fixed, not two per cent. of the House had cars of their own.”

“I’ve no doubt you’re right, sir,” said the Colonel. He smiled a grim smile. “And something else you’ve found out—that the stinking machines break down.”

“And this is nothing,” said Berry. “A common occurrence, I’m told. The chauffeur’s worn out, and so I’ve been lending a hand. I don’t like to ask my cousins, because it’s really my fault.”

Here the Colonel turned and saw us and raised his hat.

“How d’you do, Mrs. Pleydell. How d’you do, you two.” His brows drew into a frown. “Nothing to do with me, but I should have thought that Pleydell had done enough.” He returned to Berry. “I can’t send you help, can I?”

“No, thank you, Colonel. Another half-hour, and we shall be under way. Experience is always costly: but after a week or so, I think I ought to be able to be of some help.”

“Very public-spirited of you, Pleydell. I’m sure the Chairman will think so. He’s dining with me to-night.” Again he raised his hat. “Goodbye, Mrs. Pleydell. Don’t let him wear himself out.”

Ignoring Jonah and me, he touched the grey with his whip....

As the dog-cart swung round a bend. Berry crossed the road and lay down on his back.

“You heard what he said,” he said unctuously.

Ten minutes later, we all re-entered the car....

As my cousin let in the clutch—

“Now for God’s sake be careful,” said Berry. “The moment you see the dog-cart, slow down and turn off. I’ve sown the zephyr, but I’m not reaping any whirlwinds. After two miles of our dust, he might revise his opinion of my self-sacrifice.”

“And if there’s no turning,” said Jonah, changing gear.

“Then we must wait,” said Berry. “Once we’re past the old fool, cry Havoc! and let her rip. But I will not have my winnings cast into the draught.”

Here a sinister jarring declared that a tire was flat—the tire we had just put on.

“You needn’t worry,” said Jonah. “By the time we’ve done it again, he’ll be out of the way.”

With that, once again he brought the car to rest.

As Fitch left his seat—

“ ‘Done it again?’ ” screamed Berry. “Oh, give me strength. And what’s the matter with the swine? We’ve only gone half a mile.”

“It’s a puncture,” said I. “Not a burst. We shan’t have to change the tire.”

“Shall we have to inflate it?”

“Of course. The air you put in has escaped.”

Berry covered his face.

“Come on,” said Daphne. “They want to get at the tools.”

As Berry left the car—

“This, I may say,” said Jonah, “is pure misfortune.”

“Is it, indeed?” said Berry. “Well, if this is pure, I hope we shan’t meet some obscene.”

“What I mean is that it’s unusual. When we came down on Monday we had no trouble at all.”

Berry sat down in the grass and took off his hat.

“Must be the weight,” he said. Here Fitch began to take out the tools. “Oh, there’s the pump. How nice to see it again. I’d almost forgotten what it looked like. It must be nearly ten minutes since we put it away.”

“We’ll ring the changes,” said I. “This time you shall jack her up.”

“I will—next time,” said Berry. “I’d like to. But I think if I watched you once more——”

“Take your choice,” said I. “It’s the pump or the jack.”

In a pregnant silence, Berry began to disrobe....

I showed him where the jack must be placed.

After a long look—

“Of course,” he said, “if I was eight inches high and my arms were six feet long, it would be quite easy, wouldn’t it?”

“It would simplify matters,” said I.

“Quite so. I do hope I shan’t hurt the nether parts of the car.”

“I hope not,” said I. “Go on.”

The next three minutes were crowded.

In that short space of time, Berry thrice placed and thrice overturned the jack, split his shirt, hit his head upon a joint which was discharging heavy oil, screamed, called “St. Scum and all slow-bellies” to witness that he was “without spot or blemish in a naughty world”, protruded his tongue farther than I would have believed possible and was with difficulty prevented from hurling the jack-lever into the middle distance.

Needless to say, Daphne, Jonah and I could hardly stand up, and tears of mirth were running on Fitch’s cheeks.

Gravely Berry regarded us.

Then—

“In the last few moments,” he said, “the shortest era on record has come to a violent end. Never again will I defile my body or prostitute my brain by subscribing to the maintenance of any self-propelled vehicle. I won’t seek to raise it from the ground, I won’t introduce God’s air into its filthy wheels, I won’t add petrol to its maw or oil to its intestines. I’ll bruise its seat, but I’m damned if it shall bruise my soul.”

With that, he smoothed his hair, inspected his palm, laughed like a maniac, threw himself down on the bank and tore the grass with his teeth.

It was Daphne who cleaned his head with petrol, while Jonah and Fitch and I made good the damage which a two-inch nail had caused.

We had no further trouble, the roads were not too bad, and the way was a handsome way. Sacradown was won at a quarter to two. By the time we had sighted its chimneys, old rose against powder blue, we remembered no more our misfortunes for our joy in the fifty-eight miles which we had covered at twenty-three to the hour.

“Splendid,” cried the old squire, from the head of the steps. “If it means we shall see our friends, I accept the automobile. It’ll be a mixed blessing, of course. But omelets or eggs, you know. You can’t have them both. And to think that you’ll dine at White Ladies this very night!”

“That’s right,” said Berry. “We may be a few hours late, but dinner will eventually be served.”

“Rot,” said Daphne. “And I think we came awfully well.”

“We didn’t fare badly,” said Jonah: “and that’s the truth. If we do as well going back ...”

We did not do as well going back.

We had one burst and three punctures: and then, ten miles from White Ladies, the petrol-pipe became choked. Still, we sat down at half-past nine—after a memorable day. Breakdowns or no, the car was a great success. Not even Berry denied it. The exhilaration of speed, the swoop at a sudden valley and the lift at the hill to come, above all, the reduction of distance and the breaking of ground that was new—these things had taken us by storm. When I say ‘new ground’, I mean it. Twice we had passed through Poke Abbas that afternoon. Poke Abbas is a famous beauty, a washpot of History, over which Tradition has cast out her shoe. But, because it lay sixty miles off and was served by another line, till that day we had never seen it, except from the train.

To say that the proceedings against Joe Chinnock and Mr. Slober assumed the proportions of a cause célèbre would be to understate the case.

There was a full Bench and the police-court at Brooch was crammed, while a crowd, quite a hundred strong, was gathered without the doors.

Geoffrey Mason, Solicitor, appeared on behalf of the smith. Mr. Slober had engaged Counsel—an unattractive man, rude and overbearing, contemptuous of the Court. How fine was his practice in London, I do not know; but he made it clear at once that, while, as a matter of form, the Justices sat upon the Bench, their function was that of a jury, but his was that of a Judge.

The summonses were taken together—this, by consent.

The first witness was Constable Rowe: and, as might have been expected, Counsel ‘knocked him about’. But this the Bench did not like, for Rowe was an honest man.

The chauffeur followed Rowe, and was carefully led by Mason to put his case too high.

“You say you did not understand the groom’s request?”

“That’s right.”

“You recognized him as a groom?”

“Yes.”

“As the groom belonging to the phaeton?”

“I—might ’ave.”

“What request did you think he was making?”

“I’d no idea.”

“You knew he was making a request?”

“I can’t say I did.”

“Why did you think he was addressing you?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Did you care?”

“I ’ad to get on.”

“You saw the greys were frightened?”

“I saw there was somethin’ goin’ on.”

“You didn’t associate their fright with the presence of your car?”

“Never entered my head.”

“Not even when their groom addressed you?”

“No.”

“You know that horses are frightened by cars?”

“I’ve heard so.”

Amid an indignant murmur, Mason sat down.

William followed and really did very well. Counsel attacked him fiercely, but William hit back. He described how the greys had bolted.

“But that was due to the driver’s thrashing them?”

“If he hadn’t o’ done it, the mistress would ’ave been killed.”

“How d’you make that out?”

William leaned forward.

“The car was movin’. Another six feet, an’ the greys would of swung round an’ bolted ... on to the pavement ... tryin’ to scrape their way by. An’ the phaeton crushed to matchwood against the wall. An’ the mistress was on the near side.”

“That’s so much fancy. In this Court we deal with facts—at least, I hope we do.”

“More like a nightmare,” said William.

“Wasn’t the bolting a nightmare? The bolting your master caused?”

“It was—but not ’alf such a bad one. You see, he’s a lovely whip, an’ it give him a chance.”

“A lovely whip, is he? Wouldn’t a lovely whip have turned his horses round?”

“What, across the bows o’ the car? Oh, good night, Nurse.”

There was a roar of laughter, and Counsel sat angrily down.

William was followed by the hawker, who was not particularly helpful, but made us all laugh very much.

It was natural that Berry, who followed, should give his evidence well. What is more to the point, he was the only witness who had observed what was happening, but taken no part. Such testimony is of value. Counsel saw this as clearly as did the Court. And something else he saw. That was that, unless he could ‘crack’ Berry, his cake was dough.

He rose to cross-examine, with a menacing air.

“I believe you’re a Magistrate?”

“Your belief,” said Berry, “is correct.”

Counsel’s head, which had been turned away, came round with a jerk.

After a long look at Berry—

“What Petty Sessional Court do you adorn?”

“I attend that of Riding Hood.”

“And there you dispense justice?”

“I subscribe to its administration.”

“You’re sure it is justice?”

“We do our best.”

“I see. Now with regard to this disgraceful business on the twenty-fourth of June.... As being present, as being a Justice of the Peace, why didn’t you take some action?”

“Because it is not my practice to interfere with police-officers in the execution of their duty.”

Counsel leaned forward.

“Wasn’t it because it was your wife’s horses that had taken fright at the car?”

“That fact,” said Berry, “did not affect my outlook.”

“D’you expect the Court to believe that?”

“I do.”

“Don’t you value your wife’s well-being?”

“To be irrelevant,” said Berry, “it is not necessary to be offensive.”

There was more than a murmur of applause, and Counsel grew slowly red.

“This isn’t Riding Hood, Mr. Pleydell.”

“Yes, I’d realized that,” said Berry. “The dock’s much bigger for one thing, and the court-room’s a different shape.”

There was a roar of laughter.

Counsel’s eyes narrowed, and a hand went up to his mouth.

When order had been restored—

“Mrs. Pleydell might have been injured?”

“She might,” said Berry, “have been killed.”

“Exactly. Yet you solemnly declare that that fact did not influence your conduct?”

“I do,” said Berry. “You see, I didn’t know it.”

“What d’you mean—‘didn’t know it’?”

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

“It was not,” he said, “within my knowledge. That being so, for it to affect my outlook was quite impossible.”

“You didn’t know that Mrs. Pleydell had been involved?”

“That is the impression,” said Berry, “which I am endeavouring to convey.”

“Don’t you know your own carriage, when you see it?”

“When I see it—yes. But not when it’s round two corners and a quarter of a mile away.”

Everyone was waiting for this, and the burst of laughter which followed shook the room. Counsel turned and rent his solicitor. Though no one could hear his voice, his manner was eloquent. Then he straightened his back and faced his prey.

“Let me get this clear. When did you appear upon the scene?”

“About fifteen seconds before the constable.”

“Did you see the chauffeur dragged from the car?”

“No. The one had been taken, and the other left.”

“I suppose you realize that no accident would have happened, if he had remained at the wheel?”

“I realize nothing of the kind.”

“What d’you mean, sir?”

“This. When he was at the wheel, the chauffeur put in peril four valuable lives. Left to itself, the car was less exacting.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that, if the chauffeur had not been removed, the barrow would have been upset and the lamp-post destroyed?”

“No. But I am suggesting that, had he not been removed he might well be standing here or elsewhere on a charge of manslaughter.”

“A curious point of view—for a Magistrate. Because a chauffeur misunderstands a request, he is to be branded as a potential murderer.”

“I do not believe that he misunderstood the request.”

“He has sworn so.”

“I know. I don’t believe him.”

“Pray, why not?”

Berry leaned forward.

“Because he has not misunderstood one single one of the questions asked him to-day.”

That was a kidney punch, and the rustle that ran round the Court showed that everyone present was well aware of its worth.

Counsel’s face was working.

“Try to remember,” he rasped, “that you are not on the Bench.”

“May I respectfully offer the same advice?”

In a pregnant silence, the two men regarded each other. Then Counsel returned to his brief.

“When you arrived upon the scene, where was the chauffeur?”

“In the trough,” said Berry.

“And Mr. Slober?”

“Standing beside the car.”

“And the hawker?”

“Was importuning Mr. Slober, who seemed preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied?”

“Yes. He was, er, soliloquizing upon what had occurred.”

“Soliloquizing?”

“Yes, in blank prose.”

When the gust of laughter had passed—

“And the hawker had hold of his arm?”

“No. The hawker never touched him from first to last.”

Counsel wagged a menacing finger.

“I put it to you that he did.”

“You can put it,” said Berry, “where you like, but——”

In the roar of delight at this answer, the rest of the sentence was lost.

But Counsel stuck to his guns.

“The defendant will swear, Mr. Pleydell, that the hawker took hold of his arm.”

“That will confirm the opinion I formed at the time.”

“What opinion was that?”

“That the defendant was beside himself. Didn’t know what he was doing or what was being done. If he didn’t know then, he can’t remember now.”

“His evidence should be ruled out?”

“That is a matter for the Court.”

“Of course. But you would advise them to disregard it?”

“I should not presume to advise them on any point.”

“But you’re a Justice of the Peace.”

“Yes,” said Berry, “I am. I’m also a member of the M.C.C. and the Army and Navy Stores. But at the present moment I’m a witness.”

As the laughter died down—

“When you are, er, enthroned at Riding Hood, do you frequently reject evidence on the ground that the witness was temporarily insane?”

“No.”

“Yet you’re asking this Court to do so.”

“I am doing no such thing.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was under the impression that I was giving evidence.”

“Which you ask the Court to accept?”

“That, I think, is the privilege of the advocate.”

“Are you trying to teach me my business?”

“No,” said Berry, “I’m not. My ability is, er, limited.”

Counsel glared.

Then—

“You saw the constable arrive?”

“I did.”

“And proceed to take particulars?”

“Yes.”

“He produced the traditional note-book?”

“Naturally.”

“Would it be fair to say that he was officious?”

“It would not.”

“And obtuse?”

“No.”

“What was he?”

“Dutiful.”

“Thank you. He hasn’t said that Mr. Slober was out of his mind?”

“Neither have I. My words were ‘beside himself’.”

“What is the difference?”

“Well, I’m not a lexicographer,” said Berry, “but I believe ‘out of his mind’ to be the more serious condition of the two.”

“He didn’t even say ‘beside himself’?”

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

“The phrase may not have occurred to him. He said ‘labouring under excitement’.”

“Do you agree with that statement?”

“Fully.”

“He had had enough to excite him?”

“More than enough. A chauffeur in a horse-trough, and a car doing a lamp-post to the bushel—well, it’s like a bad dream.”

I am glad to record that Counsel contrived to smile.

“The arrival of the constable did not improve matters?”

“I don’t agree.”

“Can you deny that after his arrival the situation deteriorated?”

“That was not the officer’s fault.”

“Whose fault was it?”

“If it was anyone’s, it was Mr. Slober’s.”

“How do you make that out?”

“The constable’s confusion provoked him to violence; but it was his own incoherence that confused the constable.”

“Incoherence?”

“That,” said Berry, “was the word I used.”

“I am aware of that, sir. Of what did his incoherence consist?”

“Of an inability to give intelligible replies.”

“Give me an instance.”

“The constable asked him who was driving the car. Mr. Slober replied, ‘Nobody.’ Well, that wasn’t very helpful.”

Counsel leaned forward.

“It happened to be the truth?”

“No doubt. It would have been equally true and misleading to say that his chauffeur had gone to have a bath.”

There was a roar of laughter.

As it died down—

“Mr. Slober is charged with obstruction. Honestly, Mr. Pleydell, can you substantiate that charge?”

“To this extent—that I saw him snatch the note-book out of the constable’s hand.”

“I suggest that the constable dropped it.”

Berry shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I saw the, er, rape of the book.”

“And the alleged assault?”

“Just naughty temper,” said Berry. “The hawker’s laughter provoked him and so he went for the man.”

“You saw that, too?”

“I did.”

“Is there anything you didn’t see?”

“Oh, quite a lot,” said Berry. “I didn’t see the accident happen. I didn’t see any reason to interfere. I didn’t see the hawker pull Mr. Slober’s nose.”

“Did he?”—excitedly.

“Not that I know of,” said Berry. “That’s probably why I didn’t see it.”

There was a howl of delight.

Counsel was trembling with anger.

“My point, sir, is that you are suspiciously well informed.”

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

“Sitting up in a dog-cart, I could see more than some.”

“On a Bench of your own?” sneered Counsel.

“No,” said Berry, “I had a box-seat put in. They’re really more comfortable.”

Another burst of laughter shook the room.

“And you, a Justice of the Peace, sat there at your ease, watching one assault after another?”

“That,” said Berry, “is a perversion of the truth.”

“Aren’t you a Justice of the Peace?”

“That’s right,” said Berry excitedly. “Of Riding Hood. If you remember, you asked me if I dispensed liquor—I mean, Justice, and I said——”

“Didn’t you watch two assaults?”

“No. I saw them committed.”

“What is the difference?”

“What you want,” said Berry, “is a grammar—not a witness.”

“Never mind what I want, sir,” raged Counsel. “Answer the question. What is the difference between watching an assault and seeing it committed?”

Berry took a deep breath.

“Watching suggests anticipation. I watch you heading for a cesspool: I see you ...”

The rest of the sentence was rather naturally lost.

“Tell me this, Mr. Pleydell. Is it fair to say that if a pair of horses had not taken fright, this Court would not be hearing two summonses to-day?”

“That,” said Berry, “is undeniable.”

“And the lady behind those horses happened to be your wife?”

“That is equally true.”

“Bearing those things in mind, would you be human if you did not hope for Mr. Slober’s conviction?”

“To be perfectly honest,” said Berry, “I don’t care a hoot. So far as I am concerned, he and his chauffeur have paid their respective debts. He’s had his car done in and the chauffeur was ducked. And I’ll lay they stop their engine next time they’re asked.”

There was a burst of applause.

“Are you posing as Solomon?”

“No,” said Berry. “As Job.”

The retort was deservedly acclaimed.

Counsel played his last card.

“It is easy to see that you’re not a motorist.”

Berry raised his eyebrows.

“My car’s outside,” he said simply. “I always leave it outside—it’s too big to ...”

The rest of the sentence was lost, and Counsel sat down.

As Jonah later observed, the case was over when Berry stepped out of the box. Mr. Slober was certainly called, but Berry had queered his pitch: and when Mason declined to cross-examine, the impression that his evidence was worthless was driven home.

After a short consultation, the Chairman announced the decision of the Bench.

“We understand that Mr. Slober is prepared to compensate the hawker and to pay for the damage to the lamp-post. In these circumstances, the Bench is satisfied that justice will be done if, on the summons for assault, he is bound over in his own recognizances to keep the peace for six months. The summons for obstruction will be dismissed on payment of costs. With regard to the other defendant, the Bench feels that it would be unfair to deny to him the clemency shown to Mr. Slober: while he had no shadow of right to take the law into his own hands, we cannot lose sight of the fact that, if the chauffeur had acceded to the groom’s request——”

“Which he misunderstood,” said Counsel violently.

The Chairman looked at him.

“The Bench,” he said coldly, “does not accept the chauffeur’s evidence on that point. As I was saying, had the chauffeur acceded to the groom’s request, no lives would have been put in peril, no damage would have been done and the Bench would not have been hearing these summonses to-day. Joseph Chinnock will, therefore, be bound over in his own recognizances to keep the peace for six months.”

“Scandalous,” said Counsel; but the word was nearly drowned in the tide of applause.

When I left the court, he and his client were still engaged in a furious altercation, regarding, I imagine, his conduct of the case.

An hour had gone by, and we were in the Deanery garden, where we had had a late tea.

“As no doubt you realize,” said the Dean, “the deus ex machina, from whom, of course, all credit has been withheld, was the lamp-post. Had the lamp-post not stopped the car, Joe Chinnock might well have faced a much more serious charge. Had the lamp-post not damaged the car, Berry could not have submitted that Slober had been punished enough. Still, Joe Chinnock’s been saved, and we can throw up our hats—though I have an uneasy feeling that Counsel’s final comment was not altogether undeserved. Mark you, had I been on the Bench, I should have let him off, too. But I fear I should have been wrong. Rough justice is as attractive as going to sleep in Church: but it is equally indefensible.”

“Yet, if he’d been sent down, sir, justice would not have been done.”

“That’s a good point,” said the Dean. “ ‘Their justice rooted in injustice stood.’ Any way, to mark my gratification at Joe Chinnock’s deliverance, kindly instruct Mr. Mason to send me his bill of costs.”