Читать книгу The 'Piping Times' - John Jeffery Farnol - Страница 7

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THREE miles of hot and dusty road brought a perspiring and dusty Tom within sight of a small, neat tavern standing back from the road in the pleasant shade of trees. Now being footsore, weary and direly a-thirst, Tom viewed this tavern with eyes of yearning; and thinking upon richly nutty ale foaming creamily on cool rim of pewter pot, Tom moistened avid lips, but, being Tom, halted instantly and sat down on grassy bank in the full sunglare to gaze upon this place of refreshment and to let imagination riot in thought of the joys to be,—ale, crusty loaf, luscious butter and ripe cheese, that their later consumption might prove the more delicious.

Ale! First a sip. Then a swallow. Then—a long and glorious gulping draught!

Tom leapt afoot, made three or four long racing strides, checked his fevered impulse sternly and sauntered leisurely, swinging his cane jauntily but with gaze fixed yearningly upon the wide lattice of this alluring tavern which, like the hospitable door, stood wide open to the sunny air ... And lo! as he drew near, out from this latticed casement came a shining pewter tankard crowned with bubbled foam ... Tom dropped his cane to clasp this precious thing, much as if it had been some sacred vessel ... He gazed at it in a mute rapture ... he raised it to his lips with motion slow and reverent ... he sipped, he swallowed, he gulped, drinking gloriously.

And as he did so a hoarse though cheery voice spake blessing:

“Good ’ealth, Master Tom! Drink ’earty, my lord! I spies y’ludship in the offing, and acted according and prompt, sir, prompt!”

“Bob!” sighed the drinker from beneath the inverted and now empty tankard. “Oh, my hearty, the Navy is always prompt and ready! The Navy, God bless it, never fails! Bob, old mess-mate, bring me another, and one for yourself ... out here in the open air.”

“Ay, ay, my lord!”

And now, having rid himself of heavy knapsack, Tom, reclining in this bowery shade on roomy settle beside the door, gazed up dreamily at the signboard above him the which proclaimed this for inn of the “Jolly Sailor,” with a lively portrait of the tar in question, very round of eye and black of whisker, in the act of performing an intricate step of the hompipe, hat askew, arms folded and balanced gracefully on the extreme point of one toe.

Tom was still intent upon this vivid work of art when forth to him came the landlord, Robert Perks, ex-boatswain R.N., who, from truck to keelson,—from square, good-natured face to trim feet, was precisely such jovial, hardy mariner, save for tarry pigtail, as those who manned and fought Old England’s battlefleets in Nelson’s glorious days.

Having deposited with due care two brimming beakers (foaming, of course) upon the stout, oaken table, Bosun Bob ‘made a leg,’ smiled and took the hand his visitor extended.

“Lord! my lord,” he exclaimed, shaking it heartily, “if I ain’t that glad to see you alongside again I’m a square-’eaded Dutchman! You’m a looking prime, sir—prime though dusty, my lord ... Master Tom, my best respex and many on ’em.”

“Bob, here’s wishing all the hair off your head!” murmured Tom. And so they drank to each other. “Now, sit down, Bob, and let’s hear all the news,—first how’s your Nancy, Mrs. Perks?”

“Handsome as ever, sir, all trim, taut and shipshape alow and aloft. She’s bore away this morning for to see our Eliza’s noo babby.”

“What another, Bob?”

“Ay, this un’ll make four, being two gells and two boys, tight little craft, and all along of and by reason of—you, my lord!”

Tom very nearly dropped his ale.

“Eh? what? Me, Bob?”

“Your very own self, Master Tom!”

“Oh, but I say, you know! What I mean to say is——”

The Bosun chuckled and clapped brawny thigh.

“Lord, sir, it do seem only yesterday as our Eliza fell into the old ’ammer pond and you goes in and pulls her out. And both on ye no taller than my knee! You was a bold little swimmer even then.”

“Yes, I could always swim.”

“Ar, like any little fish, my lord,—if not, d’ye see, there’d ha’ been the end to our Eliza and consequently—instead o’ four grandchildren—never a single one! So that’s why you’re responsible for ’em,—as your right noble father never forgets.”

“My father! How d’you mean, Bob?”

“Why, I means their birthdays, sir,—a golden sovereign every year, and five apiece, wi’ toys, at Christmas, the Earl never forgets! Ha, a right noble lord is your dad, Master Tom.”

“So he—actually remembers their birthdays, Bob,—amazing!”

“Ay, and wonderful, sir, con-sidering as he’s such a busy sort of Earl, blow fair or foul at ’ome and abroad. And a mighty good landlord, what’s more.”

“No, is he, Bob?”

“Well, ain’t he, sir? Take a look at any of his villages! Listen to wot ’is tenants says of him, ay—even the farmers as is never content and never finds good in nothing, ’specially weather and landlords! And, talking o’ the Earl, Master Tom, he was a-drinking out o’ that very same tankard now in your fist, no later than yesterday as ever was, and—enj’ying of it!”

“Swigging ale ... a pewter pot ... my father?”

“Bible oath, Master Tom! And out o’ that very same pot! That’s why my Nancy give it such a polish, look at it shine! That’s why we keeps it on our mantel-shelf, keeps it for—just him! And you, o’ course, Master Tom. He likes us, me and Nancy, to tell o’ them days when you used to stay at Jasper’s Farm yonder, and how I learned you to build and rig little ships, and sail ’em, and likewise tie flies and cast ’em trim and true. Ay, he likes us to tell o’ you in them good old days.”

“Does he though?” murmured Tom. “Now, tell me, Bob, does he ever mention my——”

The word ‘mother’ was upon Tom’s lips, but remained unspoken, for at this precise moment, with prodigious clatter of hoofs and wheels, a fast-driven dogcart drew up suddenly before the tavern, and from this smart vehicle complete with liveried footman, there descended and with lithe nimbleness, one at sight of whom Tom’s straw-coloured eyebrows twitched to sudden frown while Bosun Bob’s cheery visage beamed in glad welcome.

“Now love me eyes!” he exclaimed, rising. “Here’s Mr. Timkins! There’s another right gentleman as I’m proud to have aboard, ay and as do ’preciate good ale likewise. So I’ll go and draw a pint, according.” And away strode the Bosun. Meanwhile, Mr. Timkins, having dismissed the dogcart, now approached with leisured stride; and Tom’s frown deepened to note that he also was equipped for the road, from stout boots to cap and knapsack, yet looking sedate as usual; thus Tom’s greeting was (for Tom) decidedly cold and repelling:

“So it’s you again, Mr. Timkins! And why? Not for ale only?”

“No, my lord, though ale is for the moment my first consideration.”

“And here ’tis, Mr. Timkins, sir!” said Bosun Bob, and out from that same lattice came yet another foaming tankard. “Good ’ealth and best respex, sir.”

“Thanks, Bob, long life!” Having said which, Mr. Timkins drank thirstily, sighed deeply, glanced at Tom’s gloomy visage and bowed.

“My lord,” said he, dark eyes a-twinkle in solemn face, “I grieve that I must be your infliction.”

“You have dogged me here by order of the August Parent, of course,” said Tom, sullenly.

“Of course, my lord.”

“To command my return, I suppose?”

“No, my lord. The dogging is to persist until your lordship has been dogged safely to Cornwall, there my doggish duties will end, and I shall return to less onerous and more human occupation.”

“Ha!” sighed Tom. “So then you are to haunt me as the persistent agent of a too officious Parental Care, to watch over my Lordly Sire’s precious heir. Oh, dammit,—to see that I come to no harm, neither run into any kind of mischief! Am I right?”

“Perfectly, my lord, though you omitted the word ‘dog’.”

“Well,” growled Tom, “I suppose I could not beg or bribe you to dog someone else?”

Mr. Timkins merely glanced at the speaker, then, raising tankard to lip, turned from him and drank.

Tom scowled down at sun-dappled grass, up at the dancing ‘Jolly Sailor,’ at the quiet, dignified man he had meant to affront, and rose, saying:

“Mr. Timkins, your rebuke is merited ... what I mean to say is ... I richly deserved it, I withdraw the ‘dogging’ and what not, and beg your pardon, sir.”

Mr. Timkins glanced round, saw Tom’s extended hand, clasped it and smiled. Now although neither spoke, they viewed one another with truer understanding, for Tom, at least, began vaguely to realize why this man was and had been chiefest, most confidential and trusted of the Earl’s many secretaries.

“Ahoy, Bosun!” cried Tom. “Ale, Bob, brim our tankards.”

“Ay, ay, my lord,” quoth Bob, instant to obey.

“Ale,” quoth Tom, “has a magic in it, a charm, a spell especially for all true Englishmen, so now, up tankards all, and let us, in this noble ale, drink to ale the wine of England, the great and kindly humanizer. May its cool downflow call up a generous warmth and goodfellowship, banish care and foment true friendship.”

When this toast had been duly honoured, they sat a while in friendly converse until, the sun being high and the tankards empty, Tom rose, girded on bulging knapsack, took up his light whanghee cane, shook Bosun Bob’s ready hand, then, with Mr. Timkins beside him, set off to ‘front his destiny.’