THE STORM BREAKS
XXII
Rather to my surprise, the next morning passed off uneventfully. Bylunch time I had come to the conclusion that the expected troublewould not occur that day, and I felt that I might well leave my postfor the afternoon while I went to the professor's to pay my respects.
The professor was out when I arrived. Phyllis was in, and as we had agood many things of no importance to say to each other, it was nottill the evening that I started for the farm again.
As I approached the sound of voices smote my ears.
I stopped. I could hear Beale speaking. Then came the rich notes ofVickers, the butcher. Then Beale again. Then Dawlish, the grocer.Then a chorus.
The storm had burst, and in my absence.
I blushed for myself. I was in command, and I had deserted the fort intime of need. What must the faithful hired man be thinking of me?Probably he placed me, as he had placed Ukridge, in the ragged ranksof those who have shot the moon.
Fortunately, having just come from the professor's, I was in thecostume which of all my wardrobe was most calculated to impress. To acasual observer I should probably suggest wealth and respectability. Istopped for a moment to cool myself, for, as is my habit when pleasedwith life, I had been walking fast, then I opened the gate and strodein, trying to look as opulent as possible.
It was an animated scene that met my eyes. In the middle of the lawnstood the devoted Beale, a little more flushed than I had seen himhitherto, parleying with a burly and excited young man without a coat.Grouped round the pair were some dozen men, young, middle-aged, andold, all talking their hardest. I could distinguish nothing of whatthey were saying. I noticed that Beale's left cheek bone was a littlediscolored, and there was a hard, dogged expression on his face. He,too, was in his shirt sleeves.
My entry created no sensation. Nobody, apparently, had heard the latchclick, and nobody had caught sight of me. Their eyes were fixed on theyoung man and Beale. I stood at the gate and watched them.
There seemed to have been trouble already. Looking more closely Iperceived sitting on the grass apart a second young man. His face wasobscured by a dirty pocket handkerchief, with which he dabbed tenderlyat his features. Every now and then the shirt-sleeved young man flunghis hand toward him with an indignant gesture, talking hard thewhile. It did not need a preternaturally keen observer to deduce whathad happened. Beale must have fallen out with the young man who wassitting on the grass and smitten him, and now his friend had taken upthe quarrel.
"Now this," I said to myself, "is rather interesting. Here in this onefarm we have the only three known methods of dealing with duns. Bealeis evidently an exponent of the violent method. Ukridge is an apostleof evasion. I shall try conciliation. I wonder which of us will be themost successful."
Meanwhile, not to spoil Beale's efforts by allowing him too littlescope for experiment, I refrained from making my presence known, andcontinued to stand by the gate, an interested spectator.
Things were evidently moving now. The young man's gestures becamemore vigorous. The dogged look on Beale's face deepened. The commentsof the ring increased in point and pungency.
"What did you hit him for, then?"
This question was put, always in the same words and with the same airof quiet triumph, at intervals of thirty seconds by a little man in asnuff-colored suit with a purple tie. Nobody ever answered him orappeared to listen to him, but he seemed each time to think that hehad clinched the matter and cornered his opponent.
Other voices chimed in.
"You hit him, Charlie. Go on. You hit him."
"We'll have the law."
"Go on, Charlie."
Flushed with the favor of the many-headed, Charlie now proceeded fromthreats to action. His right fist swung round suddenly. But Beale wason the alert. He ducked sharply, and the next minute Charlie wassitting on the ground beside his fallen friend. A hush fell on thering, and the little man in the purple tie was left repeating hisformula without support.
I advanced. It seemed to me that the time had come to be conciliatory.Charlie was struggling to his feet, obviously anxious for a secondround, and Beale was getting into position once more. In another fiveminutes conciliation would be out of the question.
"What's all this?" I said.
My advent caused a stir. Excited men left Beale and rallied round me.Charlie, rising to his feet, found himself dethroned from his positionof man of the moment, and stood blinking at the setting sun andopening and shutting his mouth. There was a buzz of conversation.
"Don't all speak at once, please," I said. "I can't possibly followwhat you say. Perhaps you will tell me what you want?"
I singled out a short, stout man in gray. He wore the largest whiskersever seen on human face.
"It's like this, sir. We all of us want to know where we are."
"I can tell you that," I said, "you're on our lawn, and I should bemuch obliged if you would stop digging your heels into it."
This was not, I suppose, conciliation in the strictest and best senseof the word, but the thing had to be said.
"You don't understand me, sir," he said excitedly. "When I said wedidn't know where we were, it was a manner of speaking. We want toknow how we stand."
"On your heels," I replied gently, "as I pointed out before."
"I am Brass, sir, of Axminster. My account with Mr. Ukridge is tenpounds eight shillings and fourpence. I want to know--"
The whole strength of the company now joined in.
"You know me, Mr. Garnet. Appleby, in the High--" (voice lost in thegeneral roar) "... and eightpence."
"My account with Mr. Uk----"
"... settle--"
"I represent Bodger--"
A diversion occurred at this point. Charlie, who had long been eyeingBeale sourly, dashed at him with swinging fists and was knocked downagain. The whole trend of the meeting altered once more. Conciliationbecame a drug. Violence was what the public wanted. Beale had threefights in rapid succession. I was helpless. Instinct prompted me tojoin the fray, but prudence told me that such a course would be fatal.
At last, in a lull, I managed to catch the hired retainer by the armas he drew back from the prostrate form of his latest victim.
"Drop it, Beale," I whispered hotly, "drop it. We shall never managethese people if you knock them about. Go indoors and stay there whileI talk to them."
"Mr. Garnet, sir," said he, the light of battle dying out of his eyes,"it's 'ard. It's cruel 'ard. I ain't 'ad a turn-up, not to _call_ aturn-up, since I've bin a time-expired man. I ain't hitting of 'em,Mr. Garnet, sir, not hard I ain't. That there first one of 'em heplayed me dirty, hittin' at me when I wasn't looking. They can't sayas I started it."
"That's all right, Beale," I said soothingly. "I know it wasn't yourfault, and I know it's hard on you to have to stop, but I wish youwould go indoors. I must talk to these men, and we sha'n't have amoment's peace while you're here. Cut along."
"Very well, sir. But it's 'ard. Mayn't I 'ave just one go at thatCharlie, Mr. Garnet?" he asked wistfully.
"No, no. Go in."
"And if they goes for you, sir, and tries to wipe the face off you?"
"They won't, they won't. If they do, I'll shout for you."
He went reluctantly into the house, and I turned again to my audience.
"If you will kindly be quiet for a moment--" I said.
"I am Appleby, Mr. Garnet, in the High Street. Mr. Ukridge--"
"Eighteen pounds fourteen shillings--"
"Kindly glance--"
I waved my hands wildly above my head.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" I shouted.
The babble continued, but diminished gradually in volume. Through thetrees, as I waited, I caught a glimpse of the sea. I wished I was outon the Cob, where beyond these voices there was peace. My head wasbeginning to ache, and I felt faint for want of food.
"Gentlemen!" I cried, as the noise died away.
The latch of the gate clicked. I looked up a
nd saw a tall thin youngman in a frock coat and silk hat enter the garden. It was the firsttime I had seen the costume in the country.
He approached me.
"Mr. Ukridge, sir?" he said.
"My name is Garnet. Mr. Ukridge is away at the moment."
"I come from Whiteley's, Mr. Garnet. Our Mr. Blenkinsop having writtenon several occasions to Mr. Ukridge, calling his attention to the factthat his account has been allowed to mount to a considerable figure,and having received no satisfactory reply, desired me to visit him. Iam sorry that he is not at home."
"So am I," I said with feeling.
"Do you expect him to return shortly?"
"No," I said, "I do not."
He was looking curiously at the expectant band of duns. I forestalledhis question.
"Those are some of Mr. Ukridge's creditors," I said. "I am just aboutto address them. Perhaps you will take a seat. The grass is quite dry.My remarks will embrace you as well as them."
Comprehension came into his eyes, and the natural man in him peepedthrough the polish.
"Great Scott, has he done a bunk?" he cried.
"To the best of my knowledge, yes," I said.
He whistled.
I turned again to the local talent.
"Gentlemen!" I shouted.
"Hear, hear!" said some idiot.
"Gentlemen, I intend to be quite frank with you. We must decide justhow matters stand between us." (A voice: "Where's Ukridge?") "Mr.Ukridge left for London suddenly (bitter laughter) yesterdayafternoon. Personally I think he will come back very shortly."
Hoots of derision greeted this prophecy.
I resumed:
"I fail to see your object in coming here. I have nothing for you. Icouldn't pay your bills if I wanted to."
It began to be borne in upon me that I was becoming unpopular.
"I am here simply as Mr. Ukridge's guest," I proceeded. After all, whyshould I spare the man? "I have nothing whatever to do with hisbusiness affairs. I refuse absolutely to be regarded as in any wayindebted to you. I am sorry for you. You have my sympathy. That is allI can give you, sympathy--and good advice."
Dissatisfaction. I was getting myself disliked. And I had meant to beso conciliatory, to speak to these unfortunates words of cheer whichshould be as olive oil poured into a wound. For I really didsympathize with them. I considered that Ukridge had used themdisgracefully. But I was irritated. My head ached abominably.
"Then am I to tell our Mr. Blenkinsop," asked the frock-coated one,"that the money is not and will not be forthcoming?"
"When next you smoke a quiet cigar with your Mr. Blenkinsop," Ireplied courteously, "and find conversation flagging, I rather think I_should_ say something of the sort."
"We shall, of course, instruct our solicitors at once to institutelegal proceedings against your Mr. Ukridge."
"Don't call him my Mr. Ukridge. You can do whatever you please."
"That is your last word on the subject."
"I hope so."
"Where's our money?" demanded a discontented voice from the crowd.
Then Charlie, filled with the lust of revenge, proposed that thecompany should sack the place.
"We can't see the color of our money," he said pithily, "but we canhave our own back."
That settled it. The battle was over. The most skillful general mustsometimes recognize defeat. I could do nothing further with them. Ihad done my best for the farm. I could do no more.
I lit my pipe and strolled into the paddock.
Chaos followed. Indoors and out of doors they raged without check.Even Beale gave the thing up. He knocked Charlie into a flower bed andthen disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
It was growing dusk. From inside the house came faint sounds of mirth,as the sacking party emptied the rooms of their contents. In the fowlrun a hen was crooning sleepily in its coop. It was a very soft,liquid, soothing sound.
Presently out came the invaders with their loot--one with a picture,another with a vase, another bearing the gramophone upside down.
Then I heard somebody--Charlie again, it seemed to me--propose a raidon the fowl run.
The fowls had had their moments of unrest since they had been ourproperty, but what they had gone through with us was peace comparedwith what befell them then. Not even on that second evening of ourvisit, when we had run unmeasured miles in pursuit of them, had therebeen such confusion. Roused abruptly from their beauty sleep, theyfled in all directions. The summer evening was made hideous with thenoise of them.
"Disgraceful, sir. Is it not disgraceful!" said a voice at my ear.
The young man from Whiteley's stood beside me. He did not look happy.His forehead was damp. Somebody seemed to have stepped on his hat andhis coat was smeared with mold.
I was turning to answer him, when from the dusk in the direction ofthe house came a sudden roar. A passionate appeal to the world ingeneral to tell the speaker what all this meant.
There was only one man of my acquaintance with a voice like that. Iwalked without hurry toward him.
"Good evening, Ukridge," I said.
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