Читать книгу Paddy-The-Next-Best-Thing - Gertrude Page - Страница 16

A spell of beautiful autumn weather brought Lawrence often to the beach as of old to get his boat, but Kathleen and Doreen no longer accompanied him. They were not asked, and had they been would have declined the honour. A nameless feud was waging between the dilettante brother and the two lively Irish girls, scarcely less wild than Paddy, who resented his cool superiority and cutting sarcasms to their inmost core.

It did not interfere with anyone’s pleasure, however, as they had hosts of friends all over the countryside, and Lawrence preferred having Eileen to himself. It was hardly realised by the elders that with so many young folks about two should have much opportunity of being alone, or a little more discretion might have been shown. They were all supposed to be out together, and probably were at the start-off, but a moment’s thought might have suggested Paddy and Jack most unlikely occupants of Lawrence’s trim yacht.

However, they were mellow, dreaming days, and an atmosphere of peaceful dreaminess seemed to pervade them all—like the calm before a storm.

To do Lawrence justice, he did not go out of his way to win Eileen’s love. On the contrary, he did go a little out of his way to shock her, but since she possessed divination enough to realise something of this, it had the opposite effect. She was so simple and natural herself that she was incapable of understanding deception. She believed Lawrence wanted her to know him at his worst—to know all the thoughts he harboured so directly opposed to her dearest beliefs—and so let her love him as he was instead of as she would have him.

And the mere idea only stimulated her love. Pained she inevitably was, but the offered up her pain at the shrine of Love, and went deeper into the maze.

If Lawrence dimly perceived this, he blinded himself to it. To him love-making was a very different process to this calm interchange of ideas, and he certainly refrained from much that he would not have thought twice about with any other pretty girl who interested and pleased him. Could any more be expected? No one could ever say he made love to Eileen. He did not make love to her, but he sought her companionship beyond all other, and looked his admiration of her quiet loveliness, regardless that to such as she these delicate attentions were almost a declaration. For the rest, a man must have something to amuse him, and her naïvété really was rather refreshing, and of course it wouldn’t hurt her to learn a little more about the world generally from a less narrowed horizon. So he sought her day by day, and made no further allusion to that projected Eastern tour, till Eileen forgot all about it, and waited in a dreaming ecstasy for her joy to take actual shape.

The only two who seemed at first to scent danger were the harum-scarums, Paddy and Jack. Such glorious days could not, of course, be wasted in a piffling little sail on the Loch or mooning on the beach, but there was time occasionally for a passing thought of the two who sailed and mooned so contentedly.

“I can’t think why Eileen doesn’t pack him off,” Paddy said once. “He makes me want to stamp, with his calm superiority. Fancy spending hours listening to the drivel he talks when she might be ratting with us,”—which somewhat remarkable comparison would no doubt have rather astonished the Oxford B.A.

As a matter of fact, he was enlightened with it the following day, for while leaving The Ghan House to go home, he was suddenly knocked nearly silly by a flying, furious apparition, who charged into him round a sharp corner, carrying a blackthorn in one hand and a ferret in the other.

For one second Paddy regarded him with unmistakable disgust for staying her progress, then her face suddenly grew excited again, as she exclaimed: “There! there, see, there it goes. Come on—we’ll have him yet,” and dragging the astonished Lawrence after her, charged on down the hill. “Here! you take the ferret,” she gasped, “but mind how you hold him. He bites like old Nick,” and she thrust the offensive little beast into his hand. Lawrence took it with as good a grace as he could! command, and when they ran the rat to earth exhibited a momentary enthusiasm nearly equal to hers.

“There!” said Paddy, holding up the slaughtered vermin, with shining eyes. “Wasn’t that a good catch?”

“Very. What shall I do with this!” and Lawrence held up the ferret, with which he had again been unceremoniously saddled, with a comical air of martyrdom.

“Put it in your pocket for the present,” promptly “or are you afraid of spoiling the shape of your coat?” with a scornful inflection, as he looked vaguely disgusted.

“You can put it so, if you like,” he retorted, “though. I have many other coats.”

“What’s the matter with Peter?” eyeing the ferret affectionately. “He’s a beauty—if only he didn’t bite so. I’ll take him, if you like. Come along back to the barn and I’ll find you another blackthorn. You can’t think what sport it is. Fancy sitting in a spick and span little yacht, that could hardly turn over if it tried, and talking about stuffy, uninteresting people like Browning and Carlyle, when you might be ratting!” Leading the way up the hill again.

“Fancy!” ejaculated Lawrence. “You must really take me in hand. I’m afraid my education has been guided into foolish and worthless channels.”

“You needn’t bother to be sarcastic,” hurrying on, with her eyes eagerly on the barn. “It’s all wasted on me. I know what’s life and fun. You only know a lot of useless stuff that someone thought about life a long time ago, I don’t know how Eileen has the patience to listen to you. Come on,”—growing more excited—“Jack and Mr. Masterman have evidently unearthed some more!”

“I bow to your superior wisdom,” with a little smile that made his face suddenly almost winsome, and straightway threw himself heart and soul into the ethics of ratting, noting with a slight amusement, the big, cheery Ted Masterman’s evident predilection for the fair ratter.

But it was over Paddy’s adventure with the pigs that he won his first real spark of approval from her.

Paddy and Jack had a great friend near by in the person of one Patrick O’Grady, who farmed a small farm with an Irishman’s dilatoriness, helped therein by the two playmates. Paddy had sown seed for him, ploughed, harrowed, and dug potatoes—Jack likewise—both considering it their due, in return, to be consulted on all matters pertaining to the farm. This was how it came about that Paddy was mixed up in the sale of the pigs. She was at the farm when the disposal of those forty-five young pigs was discussed, and naturally took an active part in the impending decision. It was finally decided they should be sold by auction at the next market, and Paddy should mingle with the crowd—Jack also, if procurable—to run up the prices. She also undertook to turn up the previous afternoon, bringing Jack with her, to help to catch the forty-five little pigs and put them in a wagon. When they arrived on the day in question they were first of all regaled with tea by Patrick O’Grady’s housekeeper, who was commonly called Dan’el, though whether from her transparent fearlessness of all things living, or because her enormous bulk was supported on feet that could only, under ordinary circumstances, belong to a big man, remains a mystery. Paddy had once remarked that if you were out in a storm with Dan’el it didn’t matter about having no umbrella, because if you got to the leeward side you were sheltered same as if you were up against a house, but that, of course, was a little of Paddy’s Irish exaggeration. Howbeit, having finished tea, the farmer piloted them all to the big barn into which he had driven the pigs ready for catching.

“I thought we’d have ’em all together here,” he remarked, “but ’tis a pity there’s no door to close the entrance.”

“Never mind,” said Paddy slyly, “Perhaps if there had been you couldn’t have got them in.” At which Patrick scratched his head and looked thoughtful a moment before he replied:

“Why, no, begorra! I’d never thought o’ that; but how’s we goin’ to keep ’em in whiles we catches ’em?”

“We must have Dan’el,” said Paddy promptly. “She shall be Horatio and keep the bridge,” whereupon poor Dan’el was duly installed to fill up the doorway with her accommodating bulk. Then began a rare scrimmage. Bound, and over, and through dashed those young pigs, with Paddy and Jack and Patrick after them—shrieking with laughter—till Paddy finally leaned up against the wall on the verge of hysterics and begged for a halt.

“Don’t let me see Dan’el for a few minutes,” she prayed Jack. “Come and stand in front of me. When I see Dan’el rolling about in that doorway, like a German sausage on a pivot, it makes me feel as if I should burst.”

By this time half the pigs were safely installed in the wagon, but this, instead of lightening their labour, considerably increased it, for the remaining half had more room to escape their pursuers. Finally a farm youth was called in to help, and the work progressed until only a dozen remained. A brief halt was again called, and then they all returned to the fray feeling refreshed. Unfortunately the pigs were refreshed also, and had apparently taken advantage of the halt to concoct some plan of concerted action. They slipped and scuttled between legs with a lightning speed that suggested a reinforcement of the devils of old time, until the moment came for the grand coup. This consisted in a dash at Paddy’s legs, which took her entirely by surprise and tripped her up, she emitting a shriek that made everyone pause a second to see if she was getting killed. In that same second, while the moment of unguarded surprise still held their captors, another concerted rush was made for the mountainous apparition in the doorway. The breach was carried gloriously. Dan’el came down like an avalanche, and in the pandemonium that followed it was discovered she had entrapped one small pig under her person, and its shrill screams were mingled stridently with the helpless laughter of the outwitted captors. Paddy lay on the floor, buried her face, and gave it up. Tears poured down her cheeks, and for very exhaustion she could not look on while the two men, nearly as helpless as she, tried to hoist poor Dan’el on to her feet and release the screaming little pig. They got her to a sitting posture, and then they had to take a rest while Jack leant up against the wall of the barn, hid his face on his arm, and shook with convulsive laughter. The pigs meanwhile, in a distant corner of the yard, held another council of war, squeaked and grunted their glee and awaited developments. When Jack was moderately calm again, and Paddy recovering, Dan’el was finally hoisted to her feet and prevailed upon to do a little more entry blocking while the pigs were chased round the yard, and after a terrific hunt they were all safely collected in the wagon, ready to start for market at daybreak.

So far all was well, but the next day Paddy’s praiseworthy intentions of getting her farmer friend good prices did not have quite the result she had anticipated. Again and again the clear young voice rang out with a higher bid, to be outdone satisfactorily by some pig-desiring Pat; but occasionally there was no higher bid, and then the pig was surreptitiously replaced among the rest, to be re-offered presently. How long, in consequence, the sale of pigs might have proceeded, it is impossible to say. Jack, who was having a little fun on his own, sometimes mingled with the buyers, and disguising his voice, made careful bids after solemnly advising Paddy to go one higher, till a system of buying in and re-offering was in progress that seemed likely to last until doomsday.

At last Jack came up to Paddy with an inquiring air.

“What in the world are you going to do with fifteen pigs, Paddy?” he asked. “I shouldn’t buy any more if I were you.”

“I—buy—fifteen—pigs!” she exclaimed. “What in the world—”

“Well, of course, you have,” he urged. “They’re all in the wagon waiting for you. Patrick just asked me if you were going to drive them home yourself,” omitting, however, to mention that he had previously impressed upon the doubtful Patrick that the pigs belonged to the fair buyer. “After robbing him of purchasers, you can’t very well leave them on his hands. I don’t suppose he’ll want you to pay in a hurry, but you must take charge of them.”

Paddy regarded him with a haughty stare, and then turned to encounter the visibly perturbed Patrick.

“They fifteen pigs, miss,” he began hesitatingly. “Are they to go to The Ghan House?”

“They’re not mine,” she declared stoutly. “I bought them for you.”

“Very good of you, miss; but what would I be wanting with ’em, when I be selling ’em?”

Paddy looked perplexed. “Whose in the world are they?” she asked doubtfully. “They’re not mine—and they’re not yours—I give it up.”

“Begorra! I’m shure I dunno, miss,” and Patrick fell to scratching his head in great perplexity; “but it seems as if, seeing I sold ’em and you bought ’em—”

“But I bought them for you.”

“But if I was selling ’em, how could I want for to buy ’em?”

“If Patrick doesn’t want them,” put in Jack, “of course you must take them home, Paddy. I’ll help you drive them.”

“Oh! don’t be an idiot!” stamping her foot. “They don’t belong to me.”

“But you’ve just said you bought them.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did; you said you had bought them for Patrick.”

Paddy stamped her foot more impatiently still and grew more perplexed.

“Share, and it’s beyond me,” and Patrick fell again to his head-scratching. “If you bought ’em it seems as if they ought to be yours, don’t it?”

Paddy looked round with a worried air, and at that dreadful moment descried Lawrence, in the very act of dodging two small pigs that had escaped their owner and were making tracks back to the wagon as fast as they could go. She signalled to him, and he came up at once.

“I don’t know what’s happened to Newry,” he said, “but every third person seems to have acquired a small pig. I’ve been dodging them for the last half-hour. They’re all over everywhere.”

Jack began to chuckle in a most annoying manner.

“Paddy’s bought fifteen,” he said.

“I haven’t. Be quiet, you—you—great, silly clown.”

“Now, don’t get cross, Paddy,” soothingly; “and you’ve said so many times that you did buy them that it sounds dreadfully like a fib.”

Paddy looked as if she were not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, and Lawrence asked:

“What’s the matter, Paddy? Why does he say you’ve bought fifteen pigs?”

“It’s just this way—” began poor Paddy.

“The real trouble,” put in Jack, “is that Patrick O’Grady doesn’t know whether he’s been selling pigs or, buying them, and Paddy doesn’t know whether she’s been buying pigs or selling them. For the last two hours they’ve been doing both in a sort of cycle, and now they’re left with fifteen on their hands, and we want a Solomon to say who they belong to,” and he exploded again.

“If you don’t shut up, Jack—I’ll—I’ll throw a pig at your head,” said Paddy furiously.

“And I offered to help you drive them home,” in an aggrieved voice.

“I’ll help instead,” volunteered Lawrence. “I’m a positive genius at pig-driving.”

“Or I could take them to The Ghan House on my way back,” said Patrick cheerfully.

“But they’re not mine, I tell you. I don’t want the things. What in the world could I do with fifteen pigs?”

“They certainly wouldn’t be very nice in your bedroom, and I don’t see where else you could hide them,” put in Jack.

“Come, what’s it all about?—don’t mind him,” as Paddy again looked furiously at her tormentor. “Perhaps I can help?”

Wherewith, turning her back on the delinquent, who continued to chuckle audibly, Paddy related the history of the fifteen pigs, and the Gordian knot she and Patrick had managed to tie between them.

Lawrence had a good laugh—not the least at Paddy’s mystified air as to whether she had bought the pigs or not—and then he nobly offered to solve the difficulty by taking them off her hands.

“You can take them to the Mourne Lodge farm,” he told the no less bewildered Patrick, “and call for the money in the morning.”

Paddy was instantly all smiles. “And don’t forget my commission, Pat!” she cried.

“Your commission was for selling,” was Jack’s parting shot. “You bought these, so you can’t claim it.”

“Let’s all go and have coffee at the café,” suggested Lawrence. And ten minutes later Paddy and Jack were again chuckling uproariously over the relation of the whole episode from first to last.

And it was then that Paddy, under the spell of a certain sense of gratitude, decided Lawrence was very nice when he liked, and, of course, if Eileen was growing to care for him, and thought she would be happy with him, it was no use worrying about things. It was, of course, too much to expect that Lawrence could do other than love Eileen if she would let him.