A BIT OF BLACKMAIL
Bob Andrews was one of the picturesque figures of the village. He
lived at the East Lodge of the Hall, and was supposed to help with the
gardening of the Hall grounds. He was tall, handsome, white-bearded and
gloriously lazy. He had a roguish twinkle in his blue eye and a genius
for wasting time--both his own and other people’s. He was a great
friend of William and the Outlaws. He seemed to them to be free of all
the drawbacks that usually accompany the state of grownupness. He was
never busy, never disapproving, never tidy, never abstracted. He took
seriously the really important things of life such as cigarette-card
collecting, the top season, Red Indians, and the finding of birds’
nests. Having abstracted a promise from them that they would take “one
igg an’ no more, ye rascals,” he would show them every bird’s nest in
the Hall woods. He seemed to know exactly where each bird would build
each year. He had a family of two tame squirrels, four dogs and seven
cats, who all lived together in unity. He could carve boats out of
wood, make whistles and bows and arrows and tops. He did all these
things as if he had nothing else to do in the world. He would stand
for hours perfectly happy with his hands in his pockets, smoking. He
would watch the Outlaws organising races of boats, watch them shooting
their bows and arrows, taking interest in their marksmanship, offering
helpful criticism. He was in every way an eminently satisfactory
person. He was paid a regular salary by the absent owner of the Hall
for occasionally opening the Lodge gates, and still more occasionally
assisting with the gardening. He understood the word assistance in
its most literal sense--that of “standing by.” He also was generous
with kindly advice to his more active colleagues. It says much for his
attractive personality that this want of activity was resented by no
one.
* * * * *
Mr. Bott, the new owner of the Hall, was a business man. He liked
to get his money’s worth for his money. It was not for nothing that
passionate appeals to safeguard their health by taking Bott’s Sauce
with every meal met England’s citizens in every town. Mr. Bott believed
in getting the last ounce of work out of his work-people. That was what
had raised Mr. Bott from grocer’s errand boy to lord of the manor.
When Mr. Bott discovered that he had upon his newly acquired estate a
man who drew a working man’s salary for merely standing about and at
intervals consuming the more choice fruit from the hot houses, Mr. Bott
promptly sacked that man. It would have been against Mr. Bott’s most
sacred principles to do otherwise....
The Outlaws avoided Mr. Bott’s estate for some time after their
adventure with his daughter. But having heard that she had departed on
a lengthy visit to distant relatives, the Outlaws decided to return to
their favourite haunts. They entered the wood by crawling through the
hedge. For a time they amused themselves by climbing trees and turning
somersaults among the leaves. Then they tried jumping over the stream.
The stream possessed the attraction of being just too wide to jump
over. The interest lay in seeing how much or how little of their boots
got wet each time. Finally the Outlaws wearied of these pursuits.
“Let’s go and find Bob,” said William at last.
Scuffling, shuffling, dragging their toes along the ground, whistling,
punching each other at intervals, in the fashion of boyhood, they made
their way slowly to the East Lodge.
Bob stood at his door smoking as usual.
“Hello, Bob,” called the Outlaws.
“Hello, ye young rascals.”
“I say, Bob, make us some boats an’ let’s have a race.”
“Sure an’ I will,” said Bob knocking out his pipe and taking a large
penknife out of his pocket, “though it’s wastin’ me time ye are, as
usual.”
He took up a piece of wood and began to whittle.
“How’s the squirrel, Bob?”
“Foine.”
“Bob, they’re building in the ivy on the Old Oak again.”
“Shure an’ I knew that before you did, me bhoy.”
But though he whittled and whistled Bob was evidently not his old self.
“I say, Bob, next month----”
“Next month, me bhoys, I shall not be here.”
They stared at him open-mouthed.
“_What_--you goin’ away for a holiday, Bob?”
Bob whittled away nonchalantly.
“I’m goin’ away, me bhoys, because th’ould devil up there has given me
the sack--God forgive him for _Oi_ won’t,” he ended piously.
“But--_why?_” they said aghast.
“He sez I don’t work. _Me!_” he said indignantly. “_Me_--an’ me wearin’
me hands to the bone for him the way I do. _An’_ he says I steal ’is
fruit--me what takes only the few peaches he’d come an’ give me with
his own hands if he was a gintleman at all, at all.”
“What a _shame!_” said the Outlaws.
“Turnin’ me an’ me hanimals out into the cold world. May God forgive
him!” said Bob. “Well, here’s yer boats, ye young rascals, an’ don’t
ye go near me pheasants’ nests or I’ll put the fear of God on ye.”
[Illustration]
“We’ve gotter _do_ something,” said William, when Bob had returned,
smoking peacefully, to his Lodge.
“_We_ can’t do anything,” said Ginger despondently. “Who’d listen to
_us?_ Who’d take any notice of _us_, anyway?”
William the leader looked at him sternly.
“You jus’ wait an’ _see_,” he said.
* * * * *
Mr. Bott was very stout. His stoutness was a great secret trouble to
Mr. Bott. Mr. Bott had made his money and now Mr. Bott wished to take
his proper place in Society. Mr. Bott considered not unreasonably that
his corpulency, though an excellent advertisement of the nourishing
qualities of Bott’s Sauce, yet detracted from the refinement of his
appearance. Mrs. Bott frequently urged him to “do something about
it.” He had consulted many expensive specialists. Mrs. Bott kept
finding “new men” for him. The last “new man” she had found was highly
recommended on all sides. He practically guaranteed his treatment to
transform a human balloon to a human pencil in a few months. Mr. Bott
had begun the treatment. It was irksome but Mr. Bott was persevering.
Had Mr. Bott not been persevering he would never have attained that
position of eminence in the commercial world that he now held. Every
morning as soon as it was light, Mr. Bott, decently covered by a large
overcoat, went down to a small lake in the grounds among the bushes.
There Mr. Bott divested himself of his overcoat and appeared in small
bathing drawers. From the pocket of his overcoat Mr. Bott would then
take a skipping rope and with this he would skip five times round the
lake. Then he would put away his skipping rope and do his exercises.
He would twist his short fat body into strange attitudes, flinging his
short fat arms towards Heaven, standing upon one short fat leg with
the other thrust out at various angles and invariably overbalancing.
Finally, Mr. Bott had to plunge into the lake (it was not deep), splash
and kick and run round it, in and then emerge to dry himself on a towel
concealed in the other pocket of his overcoat, shiveringly don the
overcoat again and furtively return to the house. For Mr. Bott was shy
about his “treatment.” He fondly imagined that no one except Mrs. Bott,
the “new man” and himself knew about his early morning adventures.
* * * * *
One chilly morning Mr. Bott had skipped and leapt and twisted himself
and splashed himself and emerged, shivering and red-nosed, for his
overcoat. Then Mr. Bott received a shock that was nearly too much for
his much-exercised system. His overcoat was not there. He looked all
round the tree where he knew he had left it, and it was not there. It
was most certainly not there. With chattering teeth Mr. Bott threw a
glance of pathetic despair around him. Then above the sound of the
chattering of his teeth he heard a voice.
[Illustration]
“I’ve got your coat up here.”
Mr. Bott threw a startled glance up into the tree whence the voice
came. From among the leaves a stern, freckled, snub-nosed, wild-haired
face glared down at him.
“I’ll give you your coat,” said William, “’f you’ll promise to let Bob
stay.”
Mr. Bott clasped his dripping head with a dripping hand.
“Bob?”
“Bob Andrews what you’re sending away for nothing.”
Mr. Bott tried to look dignified in spite of the chattering of his
teeth and the water that poured from his hair down his face.
“I have my reasons, child,” he said, “of which you know nothing. Will
you kindly give me back my coat? I’m afraid you are a very naughty,
ill-behaved little boy to do a thing like this and if you aren’t
careful I’ll tell the police about it.”
“I’ll give you your coat if you’ll promise not to send Bob away,” said
William again sternly.
“I shall most certainly speak to your father _and_ the police,” said
Mr. Bott. “You’re a very impudent little boy! Give me my coat at once.”
“I’ll give you your coat,” said William again, “if you’ll promise not
to send Bob away.”
Mr. Bott’s dignity began to melt away.
“You young devil,” he roared. “You----”
He looked wildly around and his eyes fell upon something upon which
William’s eye ought to have fallen before. William had for once
overlooked something vital to his strategy. In the long grass behind
the tree lay a ladder that had been left there long ago by some
gardener and forgotten. With a yell of triumph Mr. Bott rushed to it.
“Oh, crumbs!” said William among the leafage.
Mr. Bott put the ladder against the tree trunk and began to swarm up
it--large, dripping, chattering with rage and cold. William retreated
along his branch, still clinging to the overcoat. Mr. Bott pursued
furiously.
“You young rogue--you young devil. I’ll teach you--I’ll----”
The branch down which William was retreating pursued by Mr. Bott was
directly over the lake. William alone it could easily have supported,
but it drew the line at Mr. Bott. With a creaking and a crashing above
which rose a yell of terror from Mr. Bott, it fell into the water
accompanied by its two occupants. The splash made by Mr. Bott’s falling
body at first obscured the landscape. Before William could recover from
the shock caused by Mr. Bott’s splash and yell and his own unexpected
descent, Mr. Bott was upon him. Mr. Bott was maddened by rage and
fury, and wet and cold. He ducked William and shook William and tore
his wet overcoat from William. William butted Mr. Bott in his largest
and roundest part, then scrambled from the lake and fled dripping
towards the gate. Mr. Bott at first pursued him, then realising that
the path was taking him within sight of the high road, turned back,
drew his soaked overcoat over his shoulders and fled chatteringly and
shiveringly towards his resplendent mansion.
* * * * *
Two hours later, William met the other Outlaws by appointment in the
old barn where all their meetings were held.
“Well?” said the other Outlaws eagerly.
William, who was wearing his best suit, looked pale and chastened but
none the less determined.
“It didn’t quite come off,” admitted William. “Something went wrong.”
Their faces fell, but they did not question him.
“Well, we’ve done all we can,” said Ginger resignedly, “an’ we jus’
can’t help it.”
[Illustration: ONCE MR. BOTT THOUGHT HE SAW THAT HORRIBLE BOY’S FACE IN
THE BUSHES. ONCE HE IMAGINED HE HEARD AN ODD CLICK, AS IF SOMEONE HAD
STEPPED ON A TWIG.]
“I’ve got another idea,” said William grimly. “I’ve jolly well not
_finished_ yet.”
They looked at him with awe and respect.
“We’ll have another meeting in three days,” said William with his stern
frown, “an’--an’--well, you jus’ wait and see.”
[Illustration: MR. BOTT LEAPED AND SKIPPED AND GAMBOLLED AND SPLASHED.
HE WAS DETERMINED TO OBEY TO THE FULL THE SPECIALIST’S ADVICE ABOUT
PHYSICAL EXERCISES.]
The next day was bright and sunny. Mr. Bott almost enjoyed his morning
exercises. He thought occasionally with indignation of the events
of the previous morning. That dreadful boy ... anyway he’d _shown_
him--he wasn’t likely to come again after yesterday. And most certainly
Bob Andrews should go ... he’d like to see any fool boy dictating
to _him_. But Mr. Bott could not feel bad-tempered for long. It was
such a bright sunny morning and he’d just discovered himself to be
⅞ of an inch thinner round the waist than this time last week....
He leapt and skipped and gambolled and splashed. Once he imagined
he saw the horrible boy’s face in the bushes, but looking again he
came to the conclusion that he must have been mistaken. Once too, he
thought he heard a snap or a click as if someone had stepped on a
twig, but listening again he came to the conclusion that he must have
been mistaken. He enjoyed his exercises for the next two mornings as
well. But on the third morning as soon as he had come down, dressed
and glowing, to his study after his exercises, to look at his letters
before breakfast the butler threw open the door and announced:
“They said it was himportant business, sir, an’ you knew about it. I
’ope it’s all right.”
Then four boys walked up to his desk. One was the boy who had taken
his overcoat up a tree two days before. The butler had gone. Mr. Bott,
sputtering with rage, reached out to the bell. (He was going to say
“Kick these boys out”) when the worst of the boys--the devil--laid half
a dozen snapshots on his desk. Mr. Bott looked at them, and then sat
rigid and motionless, his hand still outstretched towards the bell.
Then his rubicund face grew pale.
The first snapshot showed Mr. Bott, short, fat, and (except for his
microscopic bathing drawers) naked, skipping by the lake. The angle of
his legs was irresistibly comic. The second snapshot showed Mr. Bott,
still short and fat and almost naked, balancing himself on one arm and
one leg, the others stuck out wildly in the air, his eyes staring, his
tongue hanging out of his mouth. The third snapshot showed Mr. Bott in
the act of over-balancing in a rather difficult exercise. That was the
gem of the collection. The fourth showed Mr. Bott lying on his back and
kicking his legs in the air. The fifth showed Mr. Bott standing on two
very stiff arms and stiff legs with an expression of acute suffering on
his face. The sixth showed Mr. Bott splashing in the lake.
Mr. Bott took out his handkerchief and wiped away the perspiration that
was standing out on his brow.
“If you burn ’em,” said William firmly, “we can get more. We’ve got the
films and we can make hundreds more--and _jolly good_ ones too.”
Mr. Bott began to stammer.
“W-hat are you g-going to d-do with them?” he asked.
“Just show them to people,” said William calmly.
Horrid visions passed before Mr. Bott’s eye. He saw the wretched
things in the local paper. He saw them passed from hand to hand in
drawing-rooms. He saw strong men helpless with mirth as they seized on
them. His position in Society--well, the less said about his position
in Society if those things became public the better....
William took a crumpled document from his pocket and laid it solemnly
upon Mr. Bott’s desk.
“That’s a contrack,” he said, “signed in all our life’s blood sayin’
that we’ll keep ’em hid safely and never show ’em to anyone s’long as
you let Bob stay.”
Mr. Bott knew when he was beaten. He moistened his lips.
“All right,” he whispered. “All right ... I promise--only--_go away_.”
They went away.
Mr. Bott locked the contract in his desk and pocketed the key.
Mrs. Bott came in. Mr. Bott still sat huddled in his chair.
“You don’t look well, Botty darling,” said Mrs. Bott with concern in
her voice.
“No,” said Mr. Bott in a hollow voice. “I don’t know that this
treatment’s doing me any good.”
“Isn’t it, ducky?” said Mrs. Bott. “Well, I’ll try to find you a new
man.”
* * * * *
That afternoon the Outlaws passed Bob. He stood outside his Lodge,
hands in pockets, pipe in mouth, handsome, white-bearded, gloriously
lazy.
“I’ve found a grass snake for ye, me bhoys,” he sang out, “he’s in a
box in the yard beyond. Oh, an’ Bob Andrews is _not_ goin’, me bhoys.
The sack is withdrawn. Th’aud devil’s realised me value, glory be to
God.”
* * * * *
That night Robert, William’s elder brother, came downstairs with his
camera in his hand.
“I say,” he said, “I could have sworn I put this away with half a dozen
films in.”
“When did you have it last, dear?” said his mother.
William took a book from a shelf and sat down at the table, resting his
head on his hands.
“I put it away last Autumn till the decent weather came round, but I
could have sworn I put it away with a roll of films in.”
His eye fell sternly and accusingly upon William.
William looked up, met it unflinchingly with an expression of patient
endurance on his face.
“Robert,” he said with a sigh. “I wish you’d talk more quietly. I’m
trying to learn my history dates.”
Robert’s jaw dropped. Then he went quietly from the room still gaping.
There was simply no making head or tail of that kid....