Читать книгу Mr Weston's Good Wine - T. F. Powys - Страница 3

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A Ford car, of a type that is commonly used in England to deliver goods in rural districts, stood, at half-past three in the afternoon, before the Rod and Lion Hotel at Maidenbridge upon the 20th November 1923.

The town was settled, as was its wont at this time of the year, into its usual autumn sleep that wasn’t in the least likely to be disturbed by the arrival in its midst of so common a thing as a tradesman’s automobile. But the car was not altogether unnoticed. It was being regarded by the eyes of three small children, because, just at that moment, there was nothing more interesting for them to see.

Town children, as is well known, will watch anything, however ordinary and commonplace it be, and that for a very good reason, for a town child has always a lively hope in its heart that some extraordinary and uncommon beast—an ape, a dog-faced woman, or an armless man—may appear from a hidden corner when least expected, and provide the watchers with the sudden and brisk joy of a hasty flight.

The children remained by the car, having a curious wish, that they themselves couldn’t account for, to discover what sort of goods were kept inside.

It was a covered car—and by no means a new one—and appeared, from the mire upon its wheels, to have already travelled some distance that day. The driver, whose right hand rested upon the wheel, seemed to be awaiting the arrival of a companion—who was also, perhaps, his partner in business—for he turned now and again to glance expectantly at the inn doorway.

As it is a very rare thing to meet or to see any one that would be worth our while to look at twice in so dull a place as a small provincial town, we must consider ourselves fortunate—more fortunate than we deserve when we think of our sins—at having this opportunity to be introduced to some one who, we may venture to say, was interesting.

The driver’s face—for we, as well as the town children, may be allowed to be a little inquisitive here—was, above all, good-natured and loving, though a trifle rugged and worn. His eyes were thoughtful, their colour grey, but at times their thoughtful expression changed to a twinkle of merriment. His nose, we are sorry to confess, wasn’t the best part of him, for it showed a certain redness—an unmistakable sign that he had more than once drunk his glass and enjoyed it. He seemed a man somewhat below an ordinary man’s size, and was sitting, as little men who are moderately stout often do, with his knees wide apart and his plump thighs smiling.

Although the gentleman had looked at the hotel doorway, he hadn’t looked there impatiently, and he now turned to look at the street, moving a little that he might rest more contentedly, as though he was quite prepared to remain exactly as he was in the Ford car in Maidenbridge High Street for ever.

He looked indeed, seated thus, to be an honest trader, a worthy citizen, a happy and thriving one too, with the best power—the power of kindness—in his face, that showed clear enough that this gentleman certainly and honestly believed that the goods he sold were of the right quality and well worth the money charged for them.

The driver of the Ford car had given little heed to the children—indeed, he hardly noticed them—and was now looking straight ahead of him and down the street, at the end of which a woman was walking and coming his way. She was walking slowly, and her figure showed pleasantly, even from the distance she was away, as a pretty woman’s. She moved with a light ease and a winning grace that certainly, in these days of loud manners, was a pleasant thing to see. Between the lady and the Ford car the street was empty, and this the lady herself thought to be a little unusual at the hour of the day, when, as a rule, there would be some shoppers about, or else at least a nursemaid, or a cross old gentleman tapping the pavement with his walking-stick.

As there was nothing between the lady and the Ford car, it was the most natural thing in the world that she should look at, or at least notice, the car and its driver. She quickened her pace a little, for she did not care to be thought a loiterer, supposing, as indeed was most true, that the gentleman in the car was looking at her as well as she at him.

The children, whose town manners and behaviour—learnt in Mill Lane and practised whenever occasion offered—were not always as respectful as one could wish them to be towards a simple tradesman, had remained with wide-open eyes beside the car, in the hope, perhaps, that the driver would leave his seat and enter the inn, so that they might get the chance to peep into the car without being noticed—though, even to them, the driver appeared to be a cheerful kind of man who wasn’t likely to be angry with little children for peeping.

The rude children had wished to laugh at him, but, as he had no beard to point at and was dressed in good clothes, they saw no chance of merriment in that quarter, for they could not laugh at an old gentleman merely because he was well-fleshed. But still they looked; for the driver of the car, for some strange reason, attracted their gaze. And they had not to look long either before a chance act of his brought them to laughter.

It now happened that, for some reason or other—perhaps to put it on more comfortably—the driver took off his hat, a brown felt.

His hair was white like wool.

The children mocked him. The gentleman accepted their unseemly mirth good-humouredly, and even as good as encouraged it by holding his hat in his hand for a few moments before he placed it on his head again.

When the rude children were grown a little tired of their mirth, that did not appear in the least to annoy the object of it, one of them happened to discover that the sides of the car, as is often the case, were used for advertising the goods that the car, no doubt, carried. The children—two little girls and one boy—had come directly from their reading lesson at their school, a large ugly building down a side street that led to the cemetery. And so, wishing no doubt to show off her newly acquired knowledge to her companions, the elder of the two girls spelt each word upon the side of the car, and, having done so, she read the words aloud:

‘Mr. Weston’s Good Wine.’

The boy, although he could not read so quickly, was ready enough to listen, and as soon as he heard what the advertisement was, he at once became inquisitive to see, so that he might tell those at home, how many bottles—if they were bottles—Mr. Weston, for that indeed was the driver’s name, carried in his covered car. And if he were lucky—and fortune, it is said, sometimes favours the brave—the child thought he might be able to steal one.

Tom Burt, who was already honoured by a little local fame as a cunning thief, ventured, putting his finger to his lips to keep the girls still, on tiptoe to the front of the car, very softly and silently, hoping and even expecting that the driver of the car would be looking a little to the right hand, at the lady who was now coming nearer.

Tom Burt’s knowledge of the habits and ways of men did not betray him. Mr. Weston was watching her. Tom saw his chance; he climbed silently up into the car, hoping that he might open the curtain that guarded the contents, look in, take something, descend as quietly, and stand innocently beside the little girls.

Tom did as he wished to do. He opened the curtain behind Mr. Weston and peeped. But the immediate result of his inquisitiveness was very startling. Tom fell from the car into the road, and then, picking himself up as best he might, he ran as fast as he could to his home, shouting all the way with fear and horror.

Whatever it was that Tom had seen, it was most evident that he wished to get away from it, and his companions, seeing him flee so fast, caught his fear and ran away too.