THE GATHERING OF THE BANDS
From the direction of Putney Bridge a large crowd was approaching.
People were leaning over the sides of omnibuses, staring out of the
windows of trams, boys were whistling and exchanging comments, the
purport of which Mr. Hearty could not quite catch. In this new
excitement he forgot the "alibis," who gradually became absorbed in
the growing throng that collected outside the shop.
Mr. Hearty gazed at the approaching multitude, misgiving in his soul.
He caught a glimpse of what looked like a pineapple walking in the
midst of the crowd, next he saw a carrot, then an orange. He turned
away, blinked his eyes and looked again. This time he saw, moving in
his direction, an enormous bean, followed by a potato. Yes, there was
no doubt about it, fruit and vegetables were walking up Putney High
Street!
As they came nearer he saw that each vegetable was leading a donkey,
on whose back were two boards, meeting at the top, thus forming a
triangle, the base of which was strapped to the animal's back. People
were pointing to the boards and laughing. Mr. Hearty could not see
what was written on them.
The sensation was terrific. A group of small boys who had run on ahead
took up a position near the door of Mr. Hearty's shop.
"That's 'im," cried one, "that's Napoleon."
"No, it ain't," said another, "that's Caesar."
Mechanically Mr. Hearty waved the boys away. They repeated words that
to him were meaningless, and then pointed to the approaching crowd.
Mr. Hearty was puzzled and alarmed.
"Look! guv'nor, there they are," shouted one of the boys.
Instinctively Mr. Hearty looked. At first he beheld only the donkeys,
the animated fruit and the approaching crowd, then he suddenly saw his
own name. A motor omnibus intervened. A moment later the donkeys and
their boards came into full view. Mr. Hearty gasped.
On their boards were ingenious exhortations to the public to support
the enterprise of Alfred Hearty, greengrocer, of Putney, Fulham and
Wandsworth. Mr. Hearty read as one in a dream:
ALFRED HEARTY
THE NAPOLEON OF GREENGROCERS
ALFRED HEARTY
THE CAESAR OF FRUITERERS
ALFRED HEARTY
THE PRINCE OF POTATO MERCHANTS
HEARTY'S TWO-SHILLING PINEAPPLE
TRY IT IN YOUR BATH
HEARTY'S JERUSALEM ARTICHOKES
GENERAL ALLENBY EATS THEM
THE GERMANS FIGHT FOR
HEARTY'S BRUSSELS SPROUTS
As the six animals filed past, Mr. Hearty was conscious that hundreds
of eyes were gazing in his direction. He read one sign after another
as if hypnotised, then he read them again. Scarcely had the animals
passed him, when the pineapple swung round leading his donkey, the
others immediately followed. As they came back on the other side of
the way, that nearest to Mr. Hearty, he had the benefit of reading
further details about the wonderful properties of the fruit and
vegetables he retailed. The second set of exhortations to the
housewives of Putney ran:
EAT HEARTY'S FILBERTS, OH! GILBERT,
THE NUT
NUT-CRACKERS WITH EVERY BAG
HEARTY'S FRENCH BEANS
SAVED VERDUN
TRY HEARTY'S JUICY CABBAGES
THEY CURE BALDNESS
THE FOOD CONTROLLER RECOMMENDS CARROTS
TRY HEARTY'S--I HAVE
ALFRED HEARTY
KNOWN AS PINEAPPLE ALF
IF YOU DON'T BUY YOUR VEGETABLES
FROM ALFRED HEARTY
YOU WILL BE WHAT I AM
The last-named was particularly appreciated, everybody being able to
see the joke and, thinking that no one else had been so clever, each
took infinite pains to point it out to his neighbour.
At first Mr. Hearty went very white, then, realising that the crowd
was laughing at him, and that he was being rendered ridiculous, he
flushed crimson,--turning round he walked into the shop. There was a
feeling in his throat and eyes that reminded him of what he had felt
as a child after a storm of crying. His brain seemed deadened. From
out the general hum he heard a boy's shrill voice enquiring the
whereabouts of his mate, and the mate's reply was heard in the
distance.
Suddenly a new sensation dwarfed that of the donkeys.
"Here's another! here's another!" yelled a shrill voice.
The crowd looked up the High Street towards the bridge. With stately
lope a camel was pursuing its majestic way. On its back was an
enormous water-melon, through which appeared the head of the driver
shaded by leaves, a double stalk concealing his legs.
From the shelter of the double brass-rail Mr. Hearty watched the camel
as if fascinated. The donkeys had come to a standstill outside the
shop. Behind him stood Mrs. Bindle and Smith, the one very grim, the
other grinning expansively, whilst from the gloom behind, Mrs. Hearty
was heard wheezing and demanding what it was all about.
With stately and indifferent tread the camel approached, with head
poised rather like a snake about to strike. Slung over its back on
each side were notices. The one Mr. Hearty first saw read:
I'VE GOT THE HUMP
THROUGH NOT BUYING HEARTY'S VEGETABLES
As the beast swung round, the other motto presented itself:
EAT HEARTY'S LEEKS
THEY DEFY THE PLUMBER
Cheers, cat-calls, loud whistlings and the talk of an eager, excited
Saturday-afternoon crowd formed a background to the picture.
"Well, I'm blowed!" muttered Bindle, who had read the notices with
keen relish. "Well, I'm blowed! They done it in style."
The excitement was at its height when the steady pounding of a drum
was heard in the distance. As it drew nearer, the attention of the
crowd was attracted from the donkeys and the camel. Putney was in
luck, and it looked gratefully in the direction of where Mr. Hearty
stood, a shadowy form behind his double brass-rail.
Bindle recognised the tune the band was playing as that of Mr.
Hearty's favourite hymn, "Pull for the Shore, Sailor." As the band
entered the High Street, another was heard in the opposite direction.
Bindle turned into the shop and walked up to his brother-in-law, who
still stood staring at the strange and curious beasts that were
advertising his wares.
"Look 'ere, 'Earty," he said, in his most official manner, "this may
be all very well in the way of business; but you're blocking the 'ole
bloomin' 'Igh Street."
Mr. Hearty gazed at Bindle with unseeing eyes.
"These bands yours, too, 'Earty?" Bindle enquired.
Mr. Hearty shook his head in hopeless negation. Nothing was his, not
even the power to move and rout this scandalous, zoological-botanical
exhibition.
"Well, wot are they a-playin' 'ymns for?" demanded Bindle.
"Hymns?" enquired Mr. Hearty in a toneless voice.
"Yes, can't you 'ear 'em?" Bindle gazed at his brother-in-law
curiously. "Enough to blow your 'ead orf."
The first band was now blaring out its "Pull for the Shore, Sailor,"
with full force. At its head walked a man carrying a representation of
a cabbage, on which was painted:
HEARTY FOR CABBAGES
The bandsmen wore strangely nondescript clothes. With one exception
they all seemed to possess the uniform cap, that exception was a man
in khaki. Four of them had caps without tunics. Only one had the full
regulation uniform; but he was wearing odd boots. The bandmaster, in a
braided frock-coat, which reached well below his knees, was
spasmodically putting in bits on a cornet; he was short of stature
with a constricted wind, and the pace was fast.
The second band approached, the man at its head bearing a carrot with
a similar legend as that of the rival concern; but in relation to
carrots. "Onward, Christian Soldiers" was its melody. The noise became
diabolical. The second band had uniform caps only, and two of its
members had taken off their coats and hung them over their shoulders.
It was a hot and tiring day.
At the moment when the second band was within a hundred yards of the
shop, the camel raised its head and gave vent to its terrifying roar,
a rather indifferent attempt to imitate that of a lion.
The "Onward, Christian Soldiers" band was the first to reach the
shop, having a shorter distance to traverse. Its leader was a tall man
with a weary face, and a still more weary moustache. His waistcoat was
unbuttoned, and his face dripping with perspiration as he blew out
what brains he possessed upon a silver cornet. He marched straight up
to the door of the shop, blowing vigorously. Suddenly a double beat of
the drum gave the signal to stop. Taking off his cap, with the back of
his hand he wiped the sweat from his brow. Pushing past Mr. Hearty he
entered, a moment after followed by his eleven confreres.
For a moment Mr. Hearty stared, then he retreated backwards before the
avalanche of musicians.
"What do you want?" he demanded feebly.
"This the way upstairs, guv'nor?" enquired the tall man.
"Upstairs?" interrogated Mr. Hearty.
"Yus, upstairs, like me to say it again?" queried the man who was
tired and short-tempered.
"But, what----?" began Mr. Hearty.
"Oh, go an' roast yourself!" responded the man. "Come along, boys,"
and they tramped through the back-parlour. Mr. Hearty heard them
pounding up the stairs.
The drum, however, refused to go through the narrow door. The drummer
tried it at every conceivable angle. At last he recognised that he had
met his Waterloo.
"Hi, Charlie!" he yelled.
"'Ullo! That you, Ted?" came the reply from above.
"Ruddy drum's stuck," yelled the drummer, equally hot and exasperated.
"Woooot?" bawled Charlie.
"Ruddy drum won't go up," cried Ted.
"All right, you stay down there, you can 'ear us and keep time," was
the response.
The drummer subsided on to a sack of potatoes. Mr. Hearty approached
him.
"What are you doing here? You're not my band," he said, eyeing the man
apprehensively.
The drummer looked up with the insolence of a man who sees before him
indecision.
"Who the blinkin' buttercups said we was?" he demanded.
"But what are you doing here?" persisted Mr. Hearty.
"Oh!" responded the man with elaborate civility, "we come to play
forfeits, wot jer think?"
At that moment from the room above the shop the band broke into full
blast with "Shall We Gather at the River." The drummer made a grab at
his sticks, but was late, and for the rest of the piece, was a beat
behind in all his bangs.
Mr. Hearty looked helplessly about him. Another cheer from without
caused him to walk to the door. Outside, the "Pull for the Shore,
Sailor," faction was performing valiantly. Their blood was up, and
they were determined that no one should gather at the river if they
could prevent it.
In the distance several more bands were heard, and the pounding became
terrific. All traffic had been stopped, and an inspector of police was
pushing his way through the crowd in the direction of Mr. Hearty.
Bindle joined the inspector, saluting him elaborately.
The inspector eyed Mr. Hearty with official disapproval.
"You must send these men away, sir," he said with decision.
"But--but," said Mr. Hearty, "I can't."
"But you must," said the inspector. "There will be a summons, of
course," he added warningly.
"But--why?" protested Mr. Hearty.
The inspector looked at Mr. Hearty, and then gazed up and down Putney
High Street. He was annoyed.
"You have blocked the whole place, sir. We've had to stop the trams
coming round the Putney Bridge Road. Hi!" he shouted to the drummer
who was conscientiously earning his salary.
"Stop that confounded row there!"
The man did not hear.
"Stop it, I say!" shouted the inspector.
The drummer stopped.
"Wot's the matter?" he enquired.
"You're causing an obstruction," said the inspector warningly.
"Ted!" yelled the voice of the leader at the top of the house, who was
gathering at the river upon the cornet in a fine frenzy, "wot the 'ell
are you stoppin' for?"
"It's the pleece," yelled back Ted informatively.
"The cheese?" bawled back Charlie. "Shouldn't eat it; it always makes
you ill. Go ahead and bang that ruddy drum."
"Can't," yelled Ted. "They'll run me in."
The leader was evidently determined not to bandy words with his
subordinate. He could be heard pounding down the stairs two at a time,
still doing his utmost to interpret the pleasures awaiting Putney in
the hereafter. The cornet could be heard approaching nearer and nearer
becoming brassier and brassier. The leader was a note behind the rest
by the time he had got to the bottom of the stairs. Arrived in the
shop he stopped suddenly at the sight of the inspector.
"Tell them to stop that infernal row," ordered the officer.
He, who had been addressed as Charlie, looked from Mr. Hearty to the
inspector.
"There ain't no law that can stop me," he said with decision, "I'm on
the enclosed premises. Go ahead, Ted," he commanded, turning to the
drummer, "take it out of 'er," and, resuming his cornet, Charlie
picked up the tune and raced up the stairs again, leaving Ted "taking
it out of 'er" in a way that more than made up for the time he had
lost.
The inspector bit his lip. Turning to Mr. Hearty he said, "You will be
charged with causing obstruction with all this tomfoolery."
"But--but--it isn't mine," protested Mr. Hearty weakly. "I know
nothing about it."
"Nonsense!" said the inspector. "Look at those animals out there."
Mr. Hearty looked, and then looked back at the inspector, who said
something; but Mr. Hearty could only see the movement of his lips. The
babel became almost incredible. Three more bands had arrived, making
five altogether, and there was a sound in the distance that indicated
the approach of others. For the first time in his life Ted was
experiencing the sweets of being able legally to defy the law, and he
was enjoying to the full a novel experience.
At that moment Mrs. Bindle pushed her way into the shop. She had been
out to get a better view of what was taking place. She stopped and
stared from Mr. Hearty to the inspector, and then back to Mr. Hearty.
"I--I don't know what it means," he stammered, feeling that something
was required of him; but no one heard him.
Bindle, who had hitherto been quiet in the presence of his superior
officer, now took a hand in matters.
"Look 'ere, 'Earty," he shouted during a lull in the proceedings,
"advertisement's advertisement, an' very nice too, but this 'ere is
obstruction. Ain't that right, sir?" he said, addressing the
inspector; but the inspector did not hear him, it is doubtful if Mr.
Hearty heard, for at that moment there had turned into the High Street
from Wandsworth Bridge Road a double-drummed band playing something
with a slight resemblance to "Gospel Bells," a melody that gives a
wonderful opportunity for the trombones.
There were now one band upstairs and five in the High Street, as near
to the shop as they could cluster, and a seventh approaching. All were
striving to interpret Moody and Sankey as Moody and Sankey had never
been interpreted before.
The inspector walked out on to the pavement, and vainly strove to
signal to two of his men whose helmets could be seen among the crowd.
Mr. Hearty's eyes followed the officer, but he soon became absorbed in
other things. From the Wimbledon end of the High Street he saw bobbing
about in the crowd a number of brilliant green caps with yellow braid
upon them. The glint of brass in their neighbourhood forewarned him
that another band was approaching. From the bobbing movement of the
caps, it was obvious that the men were fighting their way in the
direction of his, Mr. Hearty's shop.
Glancing in the other direction, Mr. Hearty saw a second stream of
dark green and red caps, likewise making for him. When the leader of
the green and yellow caps, a good-natured little man carrying a
cornet, burst through the crowd, it was like spring breaking in upon
winter. The brilliant green tunic with its yellow braid was dazzling
in the sunlight, and Mr. Hearty blinked his eyes several times.
"'Ot day, sir," said the little man genially as he took off his cap
and, with the edge of his forefinger, removed the sweat from his brow,
giving it a flick that sent some of the moisture on to Mr. Hearty,
causing him to start back suddenly.
"Sorry, sir," said the man apologetically. "Afraid I splashed you. I
suppose we go right through and up. Come along, Razor," he yelled to
the last of his bandsmen, a thin, weedy youth, who was still vainly
endeavouring to cut his way through the crowd.
Suddenly the little man saw the first drummer banging away vigorously.
"'Ullo, got another little lot inside! You don't 'alf know 'ow to
advertise, mister," he said admiringly.
This reminded Mr. Hearty that he possessed a voice.
"There is some mistake. I have not ordered any band," he shouted in
the little man's ear.
"Wot?" shouted the little man.
Mr. Hearty repeated his assurance.
"Not ordered any band. Seem to 'ave ordered all the bands in London,
as far as I can see," he remarked, looking at the rival concerns.
"Sort of Crystal Palace affair. You ordered us, any'ow," he added.
"But I didn't," persisted Mr. Hearty. "This is all a mistake."
"Oh, ring orf!" said the leader. "People don't pay in advance for what
they don't want. Come along, boys," he cried and, pushing his way
along the shop, he passed through the parlour door and was heard
thumping upstairs.
"You can't get through," shouted Ted to the second drummer, a
mournful-looking man with black whiskers.
"Wot?" he bawled dully.
"Can't get through," yelled Ted.
"Why?" roared the whiskered man.
"Ruddy drum won't go up," shouted Ted.
"Oh!" said the second drummer and, without testing the accuracy of
Ted's words, he seated himself upon a barrel of apples, his drum still
in position.
There was a sound of loud altercations from above. After a minute they
subsided, and the volume of tone increased, showing that Charlie had
found expression in his cornet.
"Where's Striker?" came the cry.
"Strikeeeeeeeer!" yelled several voices.
"'Ullo!" howled Striker in a muffled voice.
"We're all ready. Wot the 'ell are you doin', Striker?" came the
response.
"Drum won't come up," bawled Striker.
"Wot?"
"Drum won't come up, too big."
"Right-o! you can pick us up," came the leader's reply.
A moment later "Onward, Christian Soldiers," broke out in brassy
rivalry to "Shall We Gather at the River."
Mrs. Hearty and Mrs. Bindle fled into the parlour.
It is obvious that whatever phenomenon eternity may have to discover
to man, it will not be Christian soldiers gathering at the river. The
noise was stupendous. The stream of brassy discord that descended from
above was equalled only by the pounding of the two drums that rose
from below.
Ted had made some reflections upon the whiskers of the second
drummer, with the result that, forgetting their respective bands, they
were now engaged in a personal contest, thumping and pounding against
each other with both sticks. The sweat poured down their faces, and
their mouths were working, each expressing opinions, which, however,
the other could not hear. At that moment the dark green caps with red
braid began to trickle into the shop.
Bindle, who had been a delighted spectator of the arrival of band
after band, suggested to the leader of the eighth band in a roar that
just penetrated to the drum of his ear, "'Adn't you better start 'ere,
there ain't no room upstairs?"
The man gave a comprehensive look round, then by signs indicated to
his men that they were to start then and there. They promptly broke
out into "The Last Noel." Bindle ran from the shop, his fingers in his
ears.
"Oh, my Gawd! they'll bring the 'ole bloomin' 'ouse down," he
muttered. "I 'ope they don't play 'ymns in 'eaven--them drums!"
Mr. Hearty, who had been pushed into a corner behind an apple barrel,
stood and gazed about him. There was a dazed look in his eyes, as of
one who does not comprehend what is taking place. He looked as if at
any moment he might become a jibbering lunatic.
A wild cheer from the crowd attracted his attention. He looked out.
Pushing their way towards the shop was a number of vegetables: a
carrot, a turnip, a cabbage, a tomato, a cucumber, a potato, a marrow,
to name only a few. Each seemed to be on legs and was playing an
instrument of some description.
Was he mad? Could that really be a melon playing the drum? Did bananas
play cornets? Could cucumbers draw music from piccolos? Mr. Hearty
blinked his eyes. Here indeed was a dream, a nightmare. He saw Bindle
with an inspector and a constable turn the vegetables back, obviously
denying them admission. He watched as one who has no personal interest
in the affair. He saw the inspector enter with three constables, he
saw the green and red band ejected, Ted and the whiskered man
silenced, Charlie and the short genial man brought down protesting
from upstairs.
He saw the inspector's busy pencil fly from side to side of his
notebook, he saw Bindle grinning cheerfully as he exchanged remarks
with the bandsmen, he saw what looked like a never-ending procession
of bandsmen stream past him.
He saw everything, he believed nothing. Perhaps it was brain fever. He
had worked very hard over his new shop. If he were to die, Smith could
never carry on the three businesses. What would become of them? He
further knew that his afternoon trade was ruined, that he would
probably be summoned for something that he had not done, and tears
came to his eyes.
In Mr. Hearty's soul was nothing of the patience and long-suffering of
the martyr. Behind him, above him and in front of him he still seemed
to hear the indescribable blare of brass. Outside were the cheers of
the crowd and the vain endeavours of the police to grapple with the
enormous problem that had been set them. What could it all mean?
In the kitchen behind the parlour sat Mrs. Hearty wheezing painfully.
Opposite to her stood Mrs. Bindle, tight-lipped and grim.
"That Bindle's done this," she muttered to herself. "It'll kill Mr.
Hearty."