"Ah, picnic, young 'un; and you've just hit it. But GET UP, I say!"
And, if you'll believe it, the third time old Joe Wilkings shouted "Get
up" in that voice of his, a-staring straight at Worble all the time, old
Worble _did_ slowly get up and stood, doddering, but without support.
"Don't you stand a-doddering at me like that as if you were a decrepit
old idiot instead of a boy; but just reach down your hat and bustle
along," said old Joe; and if Worble, after looking feebly and hopelessly
up at the hat on the high peg--the hat he had not worn for years--didn't
hop up on a wooden chair and fetch it down, and dash it on his head, and
then toddle downstairs and into the street arm-in-arm with old Joe!
If people had stared when old Joe came out of his garden, what did they
do _now_ when he and old Worble went dancing down the street arm-in-arm,
both of 'em chuckling like mad and chattering like magpies?
At the corner they met old Peter Scroutts in a bath-chair. Peter had a
paralyzed leg, and was so feeble that he could hardly wink his eye, and
so deaf that it was all he could do to hear with an ear-trumpet as big
as the cornucopia belonging to the wooden young lady over the provision
stores.
"Just you step out and walk!" roared old Joe in the ear-trumpet. And the
queer thing is that old Peter did begin to get out; and not only began,
but went on; and stood on the pavement; and then took Joe's arm; and the
three went careering down the street together!
The whole place came out to stare open-mouthed at those three old boys
bouncing down the street together.
Half-way down old Joe Wilkings stopped with a jerk, and turned on old
Peter.
"What, in the name of goodness, _do_ you want with that trumpet
machine?" he roared. "A young 'un like you! Lookee here--let's get rid
of it." And Joe snatched the ear-trumpet out of his hand, and jerked it
over a shed into the field behind. It was a good long jerk; and most of
the young men of the place would have been proud to do it.
"Can hear just as well as I can; that's what _you_ can do! Can't he,
young George?"
Old Peter looked dazed; but old Joe stood nodding at him so decisively
that old George took it up and nodded decisively too; and they were so
convincing about the matter that old Peter began to believe he _could_
hear; and from that moment, if you'll believe me, he _did_ hear quite
comfortably!
[Illustration: "THE THREE WENT CAREERING DOWN THE STREET."]
Then the inhabitants collected in little knots, and talked the matter
over; and decided that there must be something wrong, in the witchcraft
line; and shook their heads doubtfully; but those three old boys trotted
into the "Bun and Bottle" and ordered--ah! and drank off--a pint of beer
apiece; a thing they had not done those ten years. Drank it off at a
draught, if you'll believe me.
Well, then they went the round and beat up all the old folks of that
place to bid them to the picnic. Those old people stared, and shook
their heads, and scoffed; but old Joe Wilkings hadn't talked to them for
five minutes before they were up on their feet and trotting about as if
they were acrobats, though perhaps it's hard to believe.
"We'll have a row on the river," said old Joe; "and then we'll picnic on
the bank, and see who can climb trees best; and then we'll have a room
at an hotel, and finish up with a dance, and just show 'em how it ought
to be done."
[Illustration: "AUNT SUSAN'S MOTHER."]
I tell you he had to busy himself, had old Joe, to keep them up to it;
for as soon as he had been away from any one of them a few hours that
one would begin to collapse again, and think he or she was as weak as
ever; but Joe wouldn't allow this; all day long he was here and there
among them applying the spur, bullying them into getting up and dancing,
and roaring with indignation at the idea of their being old. He made
them practise their steps, and while those who possessed crutches were
doing it, he sneaked off with the crutches and concealed them. He
wouldn't even allow them sticks, wouldn't old Joe--not he.
Old Worble's aunt Susan got quite young and skittish; and as for old
Worble's aunt Susan's mother, who was bedridden, up she had to get on
old Joe Wilkings's third visit, and had to toddle across the room. He
drilled her--kept on at it; he was there twice a day; and every time she
had to get out of bed and toddle across the room. Had to live in her
dressing-gown, and could get no peace for the life of her; but, bless
you, in ten days she had begun to believe that she had never been
bedridden at all, and that it was all fancy! And all in consequence of
that strange influence of old Joe Wilkings; that awful determination of
his.
Then there were the provisions to prepare for that picnic; and old Joe
would insist upon the old folks preparing them. He wouldn't have any
young people in it--not he. He was here, there, and everywhere,
compelling them to superintend the cooking of the joints and pies--for
he was not going to have any beef-tea or arrow-root or pap at the
picnic, but all good solid food for robust people.
Well, the eventful day came; and there were the old folks collected at
the railway station with their hampers and bags. The whole population of
younger folks had turned out to see them off; but not a single one of
them was to go, for old Joe wouldn't have anyone under the age of
sixty-five, as he said children were always a trouble at an outing. And,
what's more, his word seemed to be law, and that was the long and the
short of it.
The young people shook their heads forebodingly, and said they didn't
know what on earth would come of it all, that they didn't; and they only
hoped uncle and aunt and grandfather would come back all right!
But the train came in, and in hopped the old parties, and away they
went.
Old Joe Wilkings had his work cut out now, with a vengeance and all: for
as soon as they had got away from the younger folks who usually took
care of them, they began to think it was all over with them and to give
way; but Joe Wilkings roared and shouted at them, and chuckled and
threatened until he had brought them all round again. There wasn't to be
a single bath-chair, or crutch, or even a stick.
Then they got out at the station they had settled on; and old Joe
insisted on their carrying the hampers among them down to the river:
and, what's more, he chose a way across the fields where there were a
lot of stiles to get over; and he made 'em do it, if you'll credit it.
Old George Worble's aunt, Susan's mother, pretended she couldn't, and
sat down and wept: but Joe Wilkings had her on her feet again in a
twinkling; and over she had to go somehow.
[Illustration: "OVER SHE HAD TO GO SOMEHOW."]
Then old Peter Scroutts began to give way and grizzle for his bath-chair
and ear-trumpet, but when old Joe threatened to fight him if he went on
about that nonsense, why, he just had to behave himself.
Our doctor had made up his mind that something dreadful was bound to
come of the whole thing, and sneaked after them by the next train; but
when Joe caught him following them, he was so angry and furious about
it, that the doctor was afraid he would have an apoplectic fit unless he
went away as Joe commanded him to. So he retired; and subsequently
dressed himself as a rustic, and smeared his face so that he might not
be recognised, and hung about the party, offering to carry things, and
so on. But if old Joe Wilkings did not spot him after all; and got in
such a rage that the doctor thought it best to retreat while he had a
whole skin, and get back safely home.
So you see old Joe was a terrible fellow, and that determined it's awful
to think about.
[Illustration: "VERY NEARLY DROWNED."]
Well, they went on the river, and they rowed little races among
themselves; and old Ben Jumper and old Tobias Budd upset their boat,
skylarking--both of 'em being just turned eighty--and went in, and were
very nearly drowned. However, they were hauled out and made to run
about, and taken into a cottage, and rubbed down, and dressed up in
borrowed clothes; and with a good jorum of brandy-and-water apiece, why,
in half an hour they were as right as trivets, if you'll believe me!
The cold collation was a great success; and then the old boys had a
smoke, and were all as jolly as sand-boys. But, suddenly, one of 'em
looked round and said, "Why, where's old Joe Wilkings?" And after ten
minutes, when old Joe did not turn up, all those old folks began to
shake their heads doubtfully and dismally, and the old boys dropped
their pipes, and the old ladies began to weep and whinnick.
[Illustration: "OLD JOE WILKINGS--AFTER LUNCH."]
For old Joe Wilkings, being wild-like with merriment, had gone in pretty
heavily for the champagne and stuff, and had got a bit mixed, as you
might say, and he had gone off a little way to get some dry wood to make
a fire to boil the kettle over, and then he hadn't seemed to be able to
recollect which was his way back; and had wandered and wandered off in
quite the wrong direction; and at last he had got drowsy and fallen
asleep in a dry ditch with his wooden leg on the lower rail of a fence;
and then a local policeman who didn't know him had taken charge of him
and trotted him off to Winklechurch, which was the nearest village.
And those old people at the picnic got more and more depressed and
feeble and helpless; and some of 'em broke down completely, and wept and
doddered; for you see the influence of old Joe Wilkings's determination
was rapidly giving out. And at last, after the doctor had waited
anxiously at the railway station for them, and hour after hour went by
without any signs of them, he decided to look them up at any cost; and
at eleven that night he found them all sitting there on the bank of the
river that depressed and helpless you can't imagine. Not a single one of
them all had had the courage to move, and their fright and despair were
perfectly fearful. And a nice trouble he had to get them home--had to
send for flys, and bath-chairs, and litters, and goodness alone knows
what all!
Well, then they had to find old Joe Wilkings, and mighty anxious they
were about him; and a nice tramp they had up hill and down dale before
they discovered him; and when they did, they found him rolled up in a
shawl on the policeman's hearthrug, for, of course, Mr. Podder, the
policeman, was not going to lock up the likes of an old boy of his age.
Joe Wilkings had recovered a bit now, and he was that pugnacious he
wanted to fight Mr. Podder and all those that had come to find him; and
what should he do but put his back against Mr. Podder's parlour-wall
(smashing the glass of the chromo of "Little Red Riding-Hood" that was
hanging up), and invite the lot to "Come on."
However, they quieted him down and got him home at last; and when he'd
got home he was that dismal and depressed from the reaction that he sat
in his armchair all day and did nothing but grumble and burst into
tears, for, you see, he'd overdone it, and it was bound to tell upon
him. But after that all his natural pluck and determination got hold of
him again, and if he wasn't mad to have that dance that they had been
balked of!
Out he went to beat up all the old folks again; but most of 'em were ill
in bed--none the better for that picnic, I can tell you, though,
luckily, it had been a lovely day and night, as warm as toast, so that
they hadn't come to much harm beyond the exhaustion.
The younger people of the houses where he called met him with black
looks enough, you may be sure, but old Joe Wilkings wasn't the sort to
be daunted by that sort of thing; and bless me if he didn't succeed in
getting at most of those old parties again, and even getting some of
them out of bed and putting them through their paces as before.
[Illustration: DR. PILLIKIN. MR. SARME. MR. WEAZLE.]
It was really getting serious, so Mr. Sarme, the vicar, and Mr. Weazle,
the curate, and Doctor Pillikin (who lived in the house with the brown
shutters then, before he moved next door to the stores) went and tried
to get him out of the houses and make him keep quiet; but old Joe roared
at them that way that they were glad to get away home again in despair.
Ah, he _was_ a plucky one, was old Joe!
Well, he persevered and kept at it until he had persuaded all those old
parties to get up a dance in the schoolroom; they were to have printed
programmes, and champagne, and everything in style--for Joe had a bit of
money, and was as free as you like with it, and meant to stand a good
deal more than his share of the expenses.
Then the vicar and Doctor Pillikin consulted with the squire--the squire
and the vicar being justices of the peace--whether they hadn't better
give old Joe in charge and lock him up out of harm's way; for he was
getting a regular firebrand, don't you see; and they were afraid he'd be
the death of those old folks. But, after they'd consulted, they couldn't
hit on any legal excuse for charging him--(not that that little obstacle
mostly stands in the way of justices of the peace)--and they had to give
that up.
When the day arrived for the ball--for they called it a "ball" now,
bless you--all the young people agreed together to lock the old parties
in their rooms to prevent them going; but bless me if old Peter Scroutts
and old George Worble, and one or two other desperate characters didn't
manage to get out somehow, being so under the influence of Joe; and when
the hour came for the dance, there they were at the schoolroom!
And they--about nine of them--began dancing too, and a regular strange
kind of a hobble it was, as ever was seen: but at last the squire and
the vicar and Doctor Pillikin went down with the sergeant and a
constable and pretended that a new Act had been passed making it illegal
to dance after nine o'clock, and cleared the hall, with Joe dinging away
at 'em the whole time, and made the old folks go home.
Next day Joe Wilkings was going to do all manner of things--going up to
London to consult a solicitor in Lincoln's Inn, and appeal to the High
Courts, and give the squire and the rest of 'em penal servitude at
Botany Bay, and all manner; but he'd caught such a cold at that ball
that he had to take to his bed again, in spite of all his determination;
and when he got up again after three weeks he had lost the use of his
one leg, and was so weak he hadn't the heart to do anything. He was in a
bad way for a long time, but they say he's getting better again now; and
I've heard tell that the squire and that lot are beginning to get
nervous again, as there's no knowing when he'll break out.
[Illustration: "GETTING BETTER AGAIN."]
He's a tough one, is old Joe Wilkings, and, if you'll believe me, he'll
make it hot for 'em yet!