Rather to my surprise, the next morning passed off uneventfully. By
lunch time I had come to the conclusion that the expected trouble
would not occur that day, and I felt that I might well leave my post
for 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 a
good many things of no importance to say to each other, it was not
till 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 of
Vickers, 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 in
time of need. What must the faithful hired man be thinking of me?
Probably he placed me, as he had placed Ukridge, in the ragged ranks
of those who have shot the moon.
Fortunately, having just come from the professor's, I was in the
costume which of all my wardrobe was most calculated to impress. To a
casual observer I should probably suggest wealth and respectability. I
stopped for a moment to cool myself, for, as is my habit when pleased
with life, I had been walking fast, then I opened the gate and strode
in, trying to look as opulent as possible.
It was an animated scene that met my eyes. In the middle of the lawn
stood the devoted Beale, a little more flushed than I had seen him
hitherto, parleying with a burly and excited young man without a coat.
Grouped round the pair were some dozen men, young, middle-aged, and
old, all talking their hardest. I could distinguish nothing of what
they were saying. I noticed that Beale's left cheek bone was a little
discolored, 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 latch
click, and nobody had caught sight of me. Their eyes were fixed on the
young man and Beale. I stood at the gate and watched them.
There seemed to have been trouble already. Looking more closely I
perceived sitting on the grass apart a second young man. His face was
obscured by a dirty pocket handkerchief, with which he dabbed tenderly
at his features. Every now and then the shirt-sleeved young man flung
his hand toward him with an indignant gesture, talking hard the
while. It did not need a preternaturally keen observer to deduce what
had happened. Beale must have fallen out with the young man who was
sitting on the grass and smitten him, and now his friend had taken up
the quarrel.
"Now this," I said to myself, "is rather interesting. Here in this one
farm we have the only three known methods of dealing with duns. Beale
is evidently an exponent of the violent method. Ukridge is an apostle
of evasion. I shall try conciliation. I wonder which of us will be the
most successful."
Meanwhile, not to spoil Beale's efforts by allowing him too little
scope for experiment, I refrained from making my presence known, and
continued to stand by the gate, an interested spectator.
Things were evidently moving now. The young man's gestures became
more vigorous. The dogged look on Beale's face deepened. The comments
of 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 air
of quiet triumph, at intervals of thirty seconds by a little man in a
snuff-colored suit with a purple tie. Nobody ever answered him or
appeared to listen to him, but he seemed each time to think that he
had 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 from
threats to action. His right fist swung round suddenly. But Beale was
on the alert. He ducked sharply, and the next minute Charlie was
sitting on the ground beside his fallen friend. A hush fell on the
ring, and the little man in the purple tie was left repeating his
formula 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 second
round, and Beale was getting into position once more. In another five
minutes 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 position
of man of the moment, and stood blinking at the setting sun and
opening and shutting his mouth. There was a buzz of conversation.
"Don't all speak at once, please," I said. "I can't possibly follow
what you say. Perhaps you will tell me what you want?"
I singled out a short, stout man in gray. He wore the largest whiskers
ever 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 be
much obliged if you would stop digging your heels into it."
This was not, I suppose, conciliation in the strictest and best sense
of the word, but the thing had to be said.
"You don't understand me, sir," he said excitedly. "When I said we
didn't know where we were, it was a manner of speaking. We want to
know 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 ten
pounds 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 the
general roar) "... and eightpence."
"My account with Mr. Uk----"
"... settle--"
"I represent Bodger--"
A diversion occurred at this point. Charlie, who had long been eyeing
Beale sourly, dashed at him with swinging fists and was knocked down
again. The whole trend of the meeting altered once more. Conciliation
became a drug. Violence was what the public wanted. Beale had three
fights in rapid succession. I was helpless. Instinct prompted me to
join 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 arm
as he drew back from the prostrate form of his latest victim.
"Drop it, Beale," I whispered hotly, "drop it. We shall never manage
these people if you knock them about. Go indoors and stay there while
I 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_ a
turn-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 he
played me dirty, hittin' at me when I wasn't looking. They can't say
as I started it."
"That's all right, Beale," I said soothingly. "I know it wasn't your
fault, and I know it's hard on you to have to stop, but I wish you
would go indoors. I must talk to these men, and we sha'n't have a
moment's peace while you're here. Cut along."
"Very well, sir. But it's 'ard. Mayn't I 'ave just one go at that
Charlie, 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--"