Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted
I
Mrs. Trenchard that evening, after a brief absence from the living-room, reappeared in her best flowered bonnet and a muslin shawl and announced her intention of going “just there and back.” Her husband, who was reading the newspaper, looked up and nodded. Templeton was sketching out a specification, and did not hear what she said. Eves gave her a cheerful au revoir from the depths of the chair where he lay at ease, and smiled at her retreating form.
“’Tis like that, sir,” said the farmer, catching his look. “‘There and back’ in our family do mean a gossip with Martha Runt.”
“The wife of Runt the smith?”
“Ay, that be the woman. I’ve not a word to say against Martha—not a word; but she be a rare workman with her tongue. We shan’t see no more of Mother till supper-time.”
He relapsed into his paper, and Eves stretched his legs and watched Templeton steadily pursuing his task.
Mrs. Trenchard returned a good hour before she was expected. Her rosy cheeks were flushed a deeper shade than usual; her bonnet was awry.
“I never did!” she exclaimed, pulling the strings into a knot. “No, never in all my born days, without a word of a lie in it—never hev I seed or heard no such goings on.”
“What hev ruffled yer spirits, Mother?” asked the farmer, mildly.
“You may talk till yer throat be dry as a kex, Trenchard,” cried the angry woman, “but you’ll never make me believe as black’s white—never!”
“What silly ass has been trying to, Mrs. Trenchard?” said Eves, sitting up. He had passed a dull evening.
“There’s my boy Joe,” she went on. “What did he do, though only a Territorial and not supposed to move a leg out of his parish? ‘Mum,’ says he—you heard un wi’ yer own ears, Trenchard—‘’tis said here and there they want men in France. Seems to me I must go.’ ‘That heathen land!’ says I. ‘Ay, that’s the place,’ says he; ‘we’re all going.’ And go he did, and what wi’ the rats and the mud——”
“Now, now, don’t ’ee carry on, Mother,” said the farmer, seeing that his wife’s eyes were filling. “Who’ve been vexing yer soul? And I don’t care who the man is——”
“Man! He baint no man. He’s a conscientious objection. You’d never believe it, Trenchard. When I traipsed down along to village, there was a crowd of a dozen or more by church gate, and, thinks I, ‘They be talking o’ young gentleman’s invention’; but, coming up to them, no such thing; ’twas that lad of Noakes’s holding forth, preaching peace as bold as brass.”
“You don’t say so, Mrs. Trenchard,” cried Eves. “That little chap with the long hair?”
“No, no, Mr. Eves; little Josiah baint so gifted. ’Twas Noakes’s elder lad, Nahum by name, as went away to work in Weymouth a year or two back, and now home he comes boasting of how he ’scaped the Army, and telling folks the war is wrong, and we be as much to blame as they Germans, and no one didn’t oughter fight for their country, and a pack of rubbish. All fighting be against his conscience, says he—a pretty conscience, indeed, as growed sudden when the Lords and Parlyment said every man was a born soldier. Conscience! Why, Trenchard, you mind how he used to leather his feyther’s horse; and many’s the time I’ve seed un cuff and pinch his little brother till the poor soul hollered wi’ pain. The likes of him! What them there tribunals be about in letting him off when good boys like my Joe, as wouldn’t hurt a fly and haven’t got no conscience—there, ’tis a scandal, and makes my blood boil, it do.”
“Well, well, Mother,” said Mr. Trenchard, “I’ll go as fur’s to say I agree with ’ee; but I wouldn’t say a word against Mr. Noakes. He’s a man of renown in the parish.”
“The dickens he is!” ejaculated Eves, who had followed Mrs. Trenchard’s story with the liveliest interest. Templeton, also, having finished his draft, had listened with his usual air of thoughtfulness.
“Judging by the price he charged for those firelighters,” he said, “Mr. Noakes is a profiteer.”
“Prophet neither here nor there, for all his Bible name, and his sons’ likewise,” said Mrs. Trenchard. “That there Nahum, coming here and stuffing his unnat’ral thoughts into the heads of our young fellers whose time be nigh come! There was Billy Runt, and young Pantany, and Tim Coggins, and such—oh! it did rile me, and I hadn’t the heart to go there, so I comed home along. And bless ’ee, he be going to wag his tongue again to-morrow, and axed the boys to bring all their friends to hear un.”
“Splendid!” cried Eves. “I say, Bob, we’ll go. You can nobble the audience for Aunt Caroline.”
This suggestion was not immediately accepted by Templeton, but in the privacy of their bedroom it bore fruit.
“This is rather serious, you know, Tom,” he said.
“Broken a collar-stud, old man?” Eves rejoined.
“No; I mean this speechifying. It’s not right for the fellow to turn the village boys against military service.”
“Gas like that won’t do much harm.”
“But it may. It ought to be stopped. It’s our duty to stop it.”
“Jolly good idea! Start an opposition meeting and talk him down. Ripping rag!”
“I’m afraid I’m not up to that. You see——”
“Leave it to me, then. I bet I can rattle my tongue faster than Nahum Noakes. By George! Bobby, what an awful name!”
“You don’t understand, Tom. It isn’t talk that’s wanted. The question is, is he sincere? If he is—well, what about free speech?”
“A free kick is more to the purpose. But what are you driving at?”
“Well, oughtn’t we to find out if he really has a conscientious objection?—test him, you know? Mrs. Trenchard seemed to doubt it, and if he’s a humbug he ought to be exposed.”
“Just so, Socrates. I’ll kick him, and see how he takes it. You can’t take him to pieces like a clock, and examine his innards.”
“That’s the difficulty. Your idea won’t do at all. You can’t justify an unprovoked assault.”
“I jolly well can. But I’m dead beat; pedalling that heavy old machine nearly biffed me. Sleep on it, Bob; perhaps you’ll dream one of your bright ideas.”
But in the morning Templeton confessed that he had slept as sound as a top, and hadn’t given the matter another thought. Meditation during the day was not more fruitful, and in the evening, when they went down to the meeting-place opposite the church porch, Templeton had come to the conclusion that they had better hear what Noakes had to say, and act as circumstances seemed to require.
On the way they met Haylock, the constable, nodded to him, and passed on. After a few seconds, however, Eves ran back, saying:
“I’ll catch you in half a tick, Bob.”
Templeton strolled on, too busy with his thoughts even to wonder what his friend had to say to the policeman, or to notice the broad smile on Eves’s face when he overtook him.
They found that the meeting had already started. A group of the male villagers, old and young, was gathered in a half-circle in front of a sturdy-looking fellow of some twenty years, who was perched on the churchyard wall. Nahum Noakes’s appearance was that of an unusually robust clerk. His black hair was cut short; his straw hat was tilted back, showing a neat middle parting and well-oiled side-shows. He wore a pointed collar and a lilac tie; his grey flannel trousers were hitched up, revealing lilac socks neatly stretched above brown shoes.
“You want to know what I said to the tribunal?” he was saying as the two new-comers sauntered up. His accent was that of a countryman overlaid with a thin veneer of town polish. “I’ll tell ’ee. ‘Your name?’ says the chairman. ‘Noakes,’ says I. ‘Christian name?’ says he. ‘Nahum,’ says I. ‘Yes, your name,’ says he. ‘Nahum,’ says I. ‘Don’t waste our time,’ says he; ‘what is your other name besides Noakes?’ ‘Nahum,’ says I. You see, neighbours, I was taking a rise out of him. ‘Is the man an idiot?’ says he. ‘No, he’s not, and he knows his Bible,’ says I. That was a good one, wasn’t it? Well, there was a young officer there, only a lieutenant, but as stuck up as if he was commander-in-chief. Military representative, he’s called, I believe. He had a paper in his hand, and he cocked his eye at it, and said: ‘The man’s Christian name is Nahum, I find.’ ‘Oh! ah!’ says the chairman, fixing his eyeglass. ‘One of the minor prophets. Well, Nahum Noakes, what are the grounds of your appeal?’ ‘I don’t hold with fighting,’ says I; ‘’tis against my principles.’ One of the tribunal, a little worm of a feller, pipes up: ‘What would you do, my man, if the Germans landed?’ ‘I’d meet ’em as men and brothers,’ says I.”
“Was they yer principles when you cracked young Beddoe’s skull for saying as you sanded yer feyther’s sugar?” cried a voice from the outskirts of the crowd.
There was a titter; Mr. Noakes, who had been listening to his son’s eloquence with a fond smile of paternal pride, scowled at the interrupter, Runt the smith.
“Abuse is no argument, Mr. Runt,” said Nahum, obviously nettled. “What happened years ago when I lived in the village is not to the point. Since I’ve been a resident in the town I’ve done a deal of deep thinking, I can tell you, and studied a lot of subjects you’ve never heard of——”
“Ever study phrenology?” asked Templeton, moving forward with Eves into the circle.
“Got it?” whispered Eves, eagerly.
“Perhaps,” returned Templeton.
Nahum stared at his questioner. The villagers drew together, Runt winked at Coggins the butcher. Mr. Noakes looked annoyed, and stiffened his long, straight upper lip.
“You said?” began Nahum.
“I asked you if you had ever studied phrenology, the science of reading the mind through the skull.”
“Well, I won’t exactly say that I’ve been very deep into it, but——”
“Allow me,” interrupted Eves, who had taken his cue. “Having only just returned to the village, you don’t know my friend, Mr. Templeton, who has gone very deeply into loads of things, I assure you. Mr.—I think you said Nahum Noakes—you are really a splendid specimen for the phrenologist, and a little examination of your bumps——”
Nahum started back as Eves approached.
“It is quite painless, I assure you,” said Eves, soothingly. “Mr. Templeton will only pass his hand gently over your head, and from the configuration of the cranium he will read your character like an open book.”
“I don’t think I need even touch your head,” said Templeton. “If you will kindly just raise your hat—
“Give it a trial, Nahum,” said Runt. At first puzzled, like the rest of the villagers, he had now risen to the situation, and was ready to lend his aid in its development.
“See if the young gen’l’man be right,” added Coggins. “We all know ’ee, from a baby up’ard.”
Half suspicious, angry at the interruption of his discourse, and still more at the sniggers of some of the younger members of the group, Nahum seemed to think that to acquiesce was the shortest cut out of his quandary. He took off his hat. Templeton stood in front of him, inspecting his head with the gravity of a judge at a cattle show. Nahum looked simply foolish.
Templeton moved slowly round, and leant on the wall to get a back view of Nahum’s head.
“Yes, it seems genuine,” he said at last. “I don’t find the bump of pugnacity.”
“Which means that he doesn’t mind what you do to him?” said Eves.
“Just so. He’s not a fighter.”
Nahum’s face cleared; his father shed a gratified smile around the group.
“Supposing some one pulled his nose?” Eves went on.
“He couldn’t possibly resent it,” replied Templeton. “It would be quite safe.”
A loud guffaw from Runt brought a flush to Nahum’s cheeks, and a scowl to his brow.
“I’d like to see any one try it,” he muttered.
Instantly Eves shot out his hand, seized the somewhat prominent member in question, and pulled. Nahum sprang from the wall and hit out. Eves nimbly evaded the blow, and for half a minute dodged up and down like the matador at a bull-fight, pursued by the infuriate youth, who became only the more enraged as his clenched fists beat upon empty air. Shouts of laughter broke from the crowd. “Mind yer principles,” cried the smith. “Gie un a larruping!” bellowed Mr. Noakes. Templeton looked worried.
At this moment the constable elbowed his way into the arena.
“Good now, gen’l’men,” he said; “this be what the law do call a breach of the peace, and I’m not so sure but ’tis time to take ’ee both into custody for obstructing the police in the execution of his duty.” He took Nahum’s arm. “Come, come, sonny. I be surprised, and you such a man of peace as never was.”
“Ay, and he axed the gen’l’man to pull his nose, he did so,” said the smith.
“True, he said he’d like to see any one try it,” said Coggins. “The gen’l’man only took him at his word—hee, hee!”
Aware now of the pitfall into which he had fallen, Nahum broke away from the constable, plunged through the crowd, and hurried away, followed closely by his father.
“A rare good randy, sir,” said the smith to Eves, “but I hope Philemon won’t make ’ee pay for it. Howsomever, Nahum’s tongue won’t wag no more, maybe, and that’ll be for the good o’ the nation.”
“Another ripping day, Bob,” said Eves, as he walked home with Templeton. “That idea of yours was splendid.”
“I was quite serious,” said Templeton.
“You always are, old man. But you don’t mean to say you really meant to feel the fellow’s bumps?”
“I did, till I funked the bear’s grease.”
“And there really is a bump of pugnacity?”
“Of course there is—combativeness, they call it. It’s at the back, low down. The fellow hadn’t got a trace of it. I really think——”
“You’ll be the death of me, Bob. A fellow who lashed out like that not combative? Why, you can see it in his face—bully’s written there as plain as a pikestaff. It’s jolly lucky you’ve got me to work out your ideas! Anyway, it was a good rag, well worth half-a-crown.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I tipped old Haylock half-a-crown to barge in if he heard a row. That leaves me four and elevenpence halfpenny.”
A few days later Lieutenant Cradock, military representative at the county tribunal, rode over on his motor-bicycle and had a short interview with Constable Haylock. With the constable perched on the carrier he went on to Trenchard’s farm, and found Eves and Templeton digging energetically along the border of a field. A conversation ensued, freely punctuated with laughter, and the officer rode away.
Next day a summons reached Nahum Noakes to attend an adjourned meeting of the tribunal. The chairman announced that an incident reported by the military representative hardly squared with the appellant’s professions, and Nahum Noakes, passed A1, was handed over to the military authorities.
II
Spring and summer had been very dry, and Farmer Trenchard’s fields, lying on a rocky upland, gave promise of but an indifferent harvest. The growth was thin, the stalks were short and yellow, the husks lean. The farmer had almost given up hope of his cereals, and his root crops could only be saved if the drought was soon broken.
On the morning following the affair of Nahum Noakes’s bumps Mr. Trenchard was walking along the edge of one of his fields, looking disconsolately at the drooping upper-growth of the carrots. Eves and Templeton were hoeing some little distance away.
“Here’s old Noakes,” said Eves, suddenly. “Wonder if he’s come to grouse about yesterday?”
Mr. Noakes, dressed as usual in his rusty frock-coat, but wearing a new straw slouch hat—his old one had not survived its bath of soot—was shambling up the field to meet the farmer.
“Marnen, neighbour Trenchard,” he said.
“Marnen, Mr. Noakes,” returned the farmer, with the air of timidity that marked all his intercourse with his neighbour. The two men stood together, Noakes smug and self-satisfied, Trenchard downcast and almost humble.
“It do seem you’d be the better for a drop of rain,” Noakes went on. “The ground be dust dry. Them there carrots baint no good.”
“True; I’m afeared ’twill be a bad year wi’ me.”
“Well, we’re in the hands of Them above,” said Noakes, smiling and rubbing his hands slowly together. “The old ancient men of Egypt had their lean years and their years of plenty; we can’t look for no different in these here end o’ the world times.”
“Ah, Mr. Noakes, I don’t gainsay ’ee, but ’tud hev made all the difference to me, a good moist season. I be afeard I shall have to axe ’ee——”
“Not a word, neighbour. Sufficient unto the day, you know. Not but what ’tis a misfortune to ’ee, but things may take a turn.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets and stood for a few moments scanning the fields; then after a word or two of a general nature moved away, without having appeared to notice the two boys.
“Cut dead!” said Eves with a grin. “A good thing too; I loathe the fellow. Poor old Trenchard will be wretched all the rest of the day. I wonder why he always looks so hang-dog when Noakes is about? He couldn’t look worse if Noakes was his landlord and he couldn’t pay the rent. And upon my word, Noakes has cheek enough for two. I saw him prodding the cattle the other day as if he owned ’em, or would like to. What do you think about it?”
“Eh? about Noakes? I wasn’t thinking of him,” said Templeton. “I was wondering whether we couldn’t do something to help save the old man’s crops.”
“Well, old chap, if you can invent rain——”
“Don’t be an ass. Of course I can’t. But I don’t see why we shouldn’t irrigate, as they do in India.”
“We haven’t got an Indus, and the river down there is too far away, and below this level. You can’t make water run up-hill.”
“But there’s the brook just at the edge of the field, behind that ridge. All we’ve to do is to divert it.”
“My good man, it’s miles below the top of the ridge. Besides, there’s not much water at the best.”
“There’s enough. We should have to build a dam, of course. Then the water would collect till it rose to the height of the ridge and flowed over, and we could carry it over the fields through small drains. You see, the stream runs straight to the sea; there are no fishing rights to consider, and it’s not used for mills or anything of that sort.”
“A jolly back-aching job, digging drains and what not. No chance of a rag. Still, the idea’s good enough, and I’d like to see old Trenchard more cheerful. You had better see what he says about it.”
The farmer was so much preoccupied with his gloomy thoughts that he scarcely appreciated at first the nature of the service which Templeton offered to render. This, as Eves pointed out afterwards, was partly due to Templeton’s manner of broaching the subject.
“Your jaw about irrigation and the Punjab was enough to put him off it,” said Eves, who was nothing if not frank. “Of course, the old countryman didn’t understand; he understood right enough when I chipped in. There’s nothing like what old Dicky Bird, when you do a rotten construe, calls sancta simplicitas.”
Between them they managed to explain the idea to Mr. Trenchard, and to win his assent. Indeed, the chance of saving his crops had a magical effect on his spirits.
“It do mean a mighty deal to me,” he said; “more’n you’ve any right notion of. I wish ’ee success, that I do.”
They started work on the following morning. From the rocky banks of the stream they rolled down a number of stones and boulders and piled them in the channel to the height of the ridge, forming two adjacent sides of a square. Then up stream they cut a quantity of brushwood, which, being set afloat, was carried by the water against the piled-up stones. This occupied them the whole day, and they left for the next the final operation—the digging of earth to stop up the interstices through which the water still flowed away, and the carrying of it in wheelbarrows to its dumping places.
It was while they were digging that Lieutenant Cradock arrived to interrogate them about the conscientious objections of Nahum Noakes. About half an hour after his departure Nahum’s father appeared on the scene, breathless from hurrying up the hill from the village. He had pumped Constable Haylock, who was a simple soul, and had learnt enough about the recent interview to feel a gnawing anxiety as to the fate of his beloved Nahum. He was hatless, and wore his apron, with which he wiped the shining dew from his face as he stood watching the diggers.
“Marnen, gen’l’men,” he said, presently, in the tone of one who would be a friend. “’Tis warm work ’ee be at, surely.”
“A warm day, Mr. Noakes,” said Templeton, resting on his spade. Eves went on digging.
“Ay, sure, ’tis warm for the time o’ year, so ’tis. Vallyble work; if there be one thing I do admire, ’tis to see young gen’l’men go forth unto their labour until the evening, as the Book says—earning their bread with the sweat of their brow. Ah, ’tis a true word.”
Templeton was too modest to acknowledge this compliment. Eves went on digging. Mr. Noakes hemmed a little, and stroked his beard.
“Purticler such young gen’l’men as you be,” he went on, “as hev gone deep into book learning and gives yer nights and days to high matters. That there finology, now; that be a very deep subjeck—very deep indeed; wonderful, I call it, to read into the heart through the head. Nobody ’ud never hev thought ’twere possible. And so correck, too; my boy Nahum, as peaceful as a lamb—you was right about that there bump, sir.”
“He certainly hasn’t got the bump of combativeness,” said Templeton; “but——”
“Ah, yes, to be sure; he was a trifle overtaken with yer friend’s joke, as any young feller might be; but I told un ’twas just a bit o’ juvenile high spirits, and so he oughter hev took it. ‘Let not the sun go down upon yer wrath,’ says I, and bless ’ee, he smiled like a cherub next day, he did. That there bump be a good size on soldiers’ heads, now? I warrant that young officer man as I seed down in village has a big un.”
“I really didn’t think to look, Mr. Noakes,” said Templeton, patiently.
“Only think o’ that, now, and I felt in my innards he’d come up along a-purpose. You didn’t say nought o’ finology, then?”
“Well, it was mentioned—just mentioned.”
“And Mr. Templeton assured Lieutenant Cradock that your son hadn’t the slightest prominence in that part of the skull,” Eves broke in. “In fact, it’s the other way about.”
“Wonderful ways o’ Providence!” said Mr. Noakes, rubbing his hands together and smiling happily.
“But I’m bound to say——” Templeton began.
“Come on, Bob; shovel in, or we’ll never get done,” Eves interrupted. “There’s enough stuff dug; let’s cart it down. We’re trying an experiment in irrigation, Mr. Noakes.”
“Ah! irrigation. It needs a dry soil, to be sure; it’ll grow well here—very well indeed.”
Eves smothered a laugh, and let Templeton explain. The explanation, strangely enough, brought a shadow upon Mr. Noakes’s face. It darkened as he watched the dumping of the earth upon the dam. He was silent; his mouth hardened; and after a few more minutes he shambled away.
“I’m afraid we’ve given him a wrong impression,” said Templeton, anxiously.
“Well, he shouldn’t be sly. Besides, if he’s ass enough to think ‘finology’ will go down with the tribunal, that’s his look-out.”
They worked hard through the rest of the day, and by tea-time the water had begun to trickle over the ridge in many little rills. It seemed, indeed, that there would be no necessity to dig the channels of which Templeton had spoken, the slope of the ground and the natural fan-like spreading of the streams promising that in due time the whole field would be thoroughly watered. Tired, but well pleased with the success of their experiment, they returned to the farmhouse.
Mr. Trenchard had been absent all the afternoon. At tea they told him what they had done, and he cheerfully assented to their suggestion that he should go with them to the ridge and see for himself their irrigation works.
It was dusk when they started. The ridge was at an outlying part of the farm, and as they strolled across the intervening fields Eves suddenly exclaimed:
“What’s that?”
Some hundreds of yards ahead, a whitish object, not distinguishable in the dusk, was moving apparently along the top of the ridge. In a few seconds it disappeared.
“That was one of they rabbits after my turmuts, I reckon,” said the farmer. “Terrible mischeevious little mortals they be.”
“I say, Bob,” cried Eves, “we might have a rabbit hunt one of these days.”
“We’ve a lot of other things on hand,” said Templeton, dubiously. “You see, there’s the tar entanglement, and——”
“There it is again,” said Eves, pointing towards a hedge some distance to the left beyond the ridge. “Rabbits don’t live in hedges, do they, Mr. Trenchard?”
“Not as a general rule,” replied the farmer, cautiously; “but there’s no saying what they’ll be doing. He’s gone again; we’ve frighted him away.”
“Well, here you see what we’ve done,” said Templeton. “The dam there holds back the stream, the water is forced to rise, and it’s now finding its way over the ridge in many little rivulets which I daresay by to-morrow morning will have flowed right over the field.”
“Well to be sure!” said Mr. Trenchard. “Now that’s what I call a downright clever bit of inventing. And to think that there stream hev been a-running along there all the days of my life, and I never seed no use for un! ’Twill be the saving of my roots, young gen’l’men, and I’m much beholden to ’ee.”
It was as though a load had been lifted from the old man’s mind. He was more cheerful that night than his guests had yet seen him, and was easily persuaded to join them and his wife in a rubber of whist.
Early hours were the rule at the farm. By nine everybody was in bed but the two strangers. They were always the last to retire. About ten they had just undressed. It was a hot, sultry night; the bedroom, low-pitched and heavily raftered, was stuffy; and Eves, after blowing out the candle, pulled up the blind and leant out of the window to get a breath of what air there was. The sky was slightly misty, and the moon, in its last quarter, threw a subdued radiance upon the country-side.
“By George!” exclaimed Eves, suddenly; “there’s that white thing again.”
“What does it matter?” said Templeton, who was getting into bed. “We’ve got to be up early; come on.”
“Come and look here, you owl. That’s no rabbit. It’s bobbing up and down, just where the dam is. I’ll be shot if I don’t believe some one’s interfering with it.”
This suggestion brought Templeton to the window at once. Side by side they gazed out towards the ridge.
“This is serious,” said Templeton. “If it really is any one interfering with our work——”
“We’ll nip him in the bud. Come on; don’t wait to dress; it’s quite warm. Get into your slippers. We’ll go out of the back door without waking the Trenchards and investigate.”
Two minutes later they were stealing along under cover of the hedge that skirted the field to be irrigated. Arriving at the ridge some distance above the dam they turned to the left, and bending double crept towards the scene of their toil. There, rising erect, they saw Mr. Noakes up to his thighs in the stream, hard at work pulling away stones and earth from the dam.
The water was already gurgling through.
“Hi there! What the dickens are you up to?” Templeton cried.
The man turned with a start, and faced them. He appeared to be undecided what to do.
“What are you about?” repeated Templeton, indignantly. “What right have you to destroy our dam?”
“What right!” said the man, indignant in his turn. He was still in the water, and, leaning back against the dam, he faced the lads in the misty moonlight. “What right hev you two young fellers, strangers in the parish, to play yer mischeevious pranks here? ’Tis against the law to interfere wi’ the waterways o’ the nation, and the Polstead folk hev their rights, and they’ll stick to ’em. Ay, and I hev my rights, too, and I’m a known man in the parish. This here stream purvides me wi’ washing water, and to-morrow’s washing day. You dam up my water; I can’t wash; that’s where the right do come in.”
“My dear sir,” said Eves, gravely, “however much you want washing, and however much it is to the interest of your neighbours that you should wash, the interests of our food supply, you must admit as a patriotic man, are more important. Wash by all means—to-morrow, when the dam, having done its work, will no doubt be removed. For my part, I have a distinct bias in favour of cleanliness. If a man can’t be decent in other things, let him at least be clean. There was young Barker, now, a wretched little scug who wore his hair long, and always had a high-water mark round his neck. My friend Templeton, of whose ingenuity you have seen proofs, had an excellent invention for an automatic hair-cutter. But I am wandering from the point, which was, in a word, how to be happy though clean——”
Eves was becoming breathless. He wondered whether he could hold out. Templeton gazed at him with astonishment; as for Mr. Noakes, he looked angry, puzzled, utterly at sea. Once or twice during Eves’s oratorical performance he opened his mouth to speak, but Eves fixed him with his eyes, and held up a warning hand, and overwhelmed him with his volubility.
“Yes, how to be happy though clean,” Eves went on; “there’s a text for you. Cleanliness is an acquired taste, like smoking. The mewling infant, with soapsuds in his eyes, rages like the heathen. The schoolboy, panting from his first immersion—my hat!”
The expected had happened. During Eves’s harangue, the water had been eating away the pile of soil and rubbish which had been loosened by Mr. Noakes’s exertions. Without warning, the dam against which the man was leaning gave way. He fell backward; there was a swirl and a flurry, and Mr. Noakes, carried off his feet by the rush of water, was rolled down stream. His new soft straw hat, which had betrayed him, floated on ahead.
Templeton sprang over the ridge and hastened to Mr. Noakes’s assistance. For the moment Eves was incapacitated by laughter. Fortunately the stream was not deep, and after the first spate it flowed on with less turbulence. Templeton gripped the unhappy man by the collar, and hauled him up after he had been tumbled a few yards. Breathless, he stood a pitiable object in his frock-coat and baggy trousers, his lank hair shedding cascades.
“A most unfortunate accident,” said Templeton. “You see, by removing some of the stones——”
“Mr. Noakes, your hat, I believe,” interposed Eves, handing him the sodden, shapeless object which he had retrieved from the stream. Mr. Noakes snatched it from him, turned away, and started downhill. Never a word had he said; but there was a world of malevolence in his eye.
“We had better get back and dress,” said Templeton.
“What on earth for?”
“Well, we can hardly repair the dam in our pyjamas.”
Eves laughed.
“You’re a priceless old fathead,” he said. “Repairs must wait till the morning. I can never do any work after a rag.”
“A rag! But it was a pure accident, due to the idiot’s own meddlesomeness.”
“Most true; but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t kept his attention fixed by the longest spell of spouting I ever did in my life. It was a ripping rag, old man, and now we’ll toddle back to bed. The one thing that beats me is, what’s his motive? He’d hardly take the trouble to smash our dam just to get even with us, would he? That’s a kid’s trick. There’s something very fishy about old Noakes.”
III
Templeton had not settled which among his many ideas to work at, when accident launched his imagination upon a new flight.
One day the village was stirred to unusual excitement. Two items of local news, following quickly one upon the other, gave the folk so much matter for gossip that the amount of work they did was reduced fifty per cent. The first was that Nahum Noakes’s final appeal had failed; the second, that young Wilfred Banks, the son of Squire Banks, one of the local magnates, had been seriously injured by the fall of an aeroplane.
Mrs. Trenchard, having been “there and back,” was full of the story.
“Ay me, to think of a nice pleasant young gentleman like Mr. Wilfred lying at death’s door through one o’ they dratted airyplanes! That venturesome he always was, as a little small chiel. ’Tis against Nature to try to fly like the birds, that’s what I say, and what can you expect? The world do be turning topsy-turvy, and all through they Germans.”
That night, just as Eves had turned over to sleep, he was roused by a call from Templeton in his companion bed.
“What is it?” he murmured, drowsily.
“I’ve got an idea,” was the reply.
“Well, sleep on it, old man.”
“You know very well that I can’t get a wink till I see daylight.”
“Then you’ve got about five hours. Good night!”
“Of course I meant a light on the problem; you’re so literal. You see, the evolution of a perfectly stable machine——”
Eves interrupted with a groan.
“I suppose I must be a martyr,” he said, “but I wish you’d arrange for your ideas to come in the morning. Fire away! I’ll keep awake if I can, but cut it short.”
“You’re a good sort, Tom. Really I’d like to know what you think of it. You see, an aeroplane ought to balance itself automatically, and I’ve got an idea for automatically adjusting the surfaces of the planes so that the machine will instantly adapt itself to gusts of wind, side-slips, and so on.”
“Jolly good idea! Good night.”
“Hold hard. You haven’t heard the idea yet. My arrangement would be electric. Beyond the extremities of the frames I’d have a light framework on which an extension of the plane could be pushed out by a steel rod actuated by a small electric motor.”
“I can go to sleep at once, then, because that won’t work. It means more weight.”
“No, no; we’ll argue it out. Weight’s becoming less and less important every day. Look at the weight of bombs an aeroplane can now lift. Anyhow, the point is that the motor would be controlled by the movement of the plane. A sphere moving in a horizontal channel would be affected by the slightest inclination of the plane. I’d arrange by a series of electrical contacts——”
“How?”
“I haven’t worked out all the details yet; how could I? But the effect would be that the farther the sphere moved the farther the rod would push out the extension of the plane on the side required. And when the aeroplane had righted itself, the sphere would return to neutral.”
“My sleepy brain is fairly dazed with your rods and spheres and the rest. Hang all that! The question is, would the extension idea work? Would the lengthening of the planes meet the case?”
“Of course it would. It’s easily proved. All you want is a glider.”
“Well, old man, the idea’s ripping, and being a reasonable chap, you’ll agree that you’ve got to go one step at a time. I don’t say you’re wrong, but treat me as a bit of a sceptic, who wants everything proved.”
“Very well; I’m not unreasonable. We’ll set to work and make a glider; then you’ll see.”
“Righto! Feel more easy now? Hope you won’t wake in the night.”
Templeton was just dozing off when from Eves there came:
“I say, Bob.”
“What?”
“You’ll have to cut into your tenner at last. Bye-bye!”
During the next week they did very little “work on the land.” Farmer Trenchard, impressed as usual by Templeton’s earnestness, allowed them as much leave as they wanted, and they devoted themselves during the hours of daylight to the manufacture of a glider. A journey to the nearest town and the cashing of the £10 note furnished them with the wood and the textile fabric they needed, and Templeton had sufficient skill in carpentry to fashion two wings, light enough for his purpose, yet strong enough to sustain him. His funds would not run to an electric motor, but he thought that, for his first experiments, the lengthening rod might be actuated by stout cords running over pulleys.
The contrivance was finished after a week’s hard work. Tested in the farmyard, the lengthening apparatus worked smoothly; it only remained to try it in the air. Templeton had already marked a suitable spot for the trial—a sloping field some little distance from the farm, too steep for cultivation, and occupied usually by cattle fattening for Coggins, the butcher. It was enclosed by a thick hedge except at the gate, and that was kept locked, and blocked with brushwood.
“I think perhaps we had better ask Coggins’s leave to use his field,” suggested Templeton.
“Don’t do anything of the sort,” replied Eves. “We don’t want a crowd of yokels looking on. If the thing goes all right, you can invite the village to an exhibition.”
The morning chosen for the trial was warm and still. No danger from gusts of wind was to be anticipated. Mounting the glider on two wheels from the old tricycle, patched up for the occasion, they wheeled it up to the field and managed with some difficulty to hoist it over the gate, after having cleared a way through the obstructing brushwood. At the far end a few cattle were peacefully grazing. The well-cropped hill was a smooth inclined plane of springy turf.
They carried the machine to the top.
“I bag first go,” said Eves.
“No, I can’t agree to that,” said Templeton. “You see, though I’m pretty sure it will work all right, there’s bound to be a certain risk, and as it’s my idea I ought to test it.”
“That’s no reason at all. Cooks never eat their own cake. Besides, if there is an accident, much better it should happen to me than you. I’m not an inventor.”
“I still maintain——”
“Oh, don’t let’s waste time. Let’s toss for it. Heads me, tails you. A use for my half-penny at last. Here goes.”
He spun the coin.
“Heads! There you are. Now fasten the straps on my shoulders, and give me a gentle shove off.”
The glider was not fastened to the wheels, Templeton’s theory being that, having been started on them at the top of the hill, it would almost at once gain “lift” from the air. So it proved. After a few yards it rose slightly; a little farther on it was quite clear of the ground, and Eves, with legs bent and arms stretched out on the wings, enjoyed for a few brief seconds the exhilaration of aerial flight. Then, however, it began to tilt. Mindful of Templeton’s careful instructions and the preliminary test in the farmyard, Eves tugged at the appointed rope, which should have thrown out an extension of the wing, and, according to Templeton’s theory, have restored the balance. Unhappily the mechanism that had worked so smoothly before now proved treacherous. The machine swerved to the left, and crashed into a bramble-bush in the hedge at the foot of the hill.
Templeton rushed down in great agitation, sprang into the hedge regardless of scratches, unloosed the straps, and hauled Eves out.
“I say, you’re not hurt, old man?” he asked, anxiously.
“I’m pretty well pricked, confound the thing!” said Eves. “The wretched cord jammed.”
“But the theory’s all right.”
“Hang the theory! Look here, old man— Hullo, here’s old Noakes.”
Noakes, accompanied by a thick-set countryman in corduroys and leggings, had come over the crest of the hill just as the accident occurred, and run down almost on Templeton’s heels.
“I’ve cotched ’ee,” he cried, panting. “You’re my witness, Ted Smail. Cotched in the act, the mischeevious young vipers. I’ll have the law of un.”
“My dear sir, I don’t think it has anything to do with you,” said Templeton. “My friend, as you see——”
“Your friend, and you too, be a-trespassing on my field and a-ruining my property, and the law’ll have something to say about that.”
“Ruined a bramble-bush!” said Templeton.
“And the bush has ruined my clothes,” Eves added.
“That there’s my hedge, and you’ve been and knocked a hole in it, and——”
At this moment his tirade was suddenly interrupted by a bellow behind him. A bull, excited by the vagaries of the glider, had trotted up from the far end of the field to investigate, and further roused, probably, by Noakes’s loud tones and waving arms, threw down its head and charged. The men scattered. Eves and Templeton made for the gate and vaulted over. Noakes ran one way, his friend another. The bull plunged straight at the glider, sticking in the hedge, and smashed it to splinters. Then it dashed after Noakes, who, seeing no other outlet, flung himself into the ditch below the hedge and scrambled through the tangled lower branches only just in time to escape the animal’s horns.
“We must offer to pay Noakes for the damage,” said Templeton.
“Rot! We haven’t done tuppence-ha’-penny worth; and how do we know it’s his field?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t say so if it wasn’t, and there’s certainly a hole in the hedge. I’ll just see what he says.”
Noakes, hatless, dishevelled, and scratched, was coming towards them.
“I’m willing to pay any reasonable sum for damages, Mr. Noakes,” said Templeton.
“Are ye?” replied the man with a grin. “I be main glad to hear it. You shall have the bill, don’t ’ee make no mistake about that. But I won’t take no money ’cept by judge and jury.”
He passed on, and stood at the gate until his friend should find it convenient to join him.
Two days later Constable Haylock came to the farm, and, with an apologetic air, handed to Eves and Templeton each a blue document, summoning them to appear at the justice court to answer a plaint of trespass and damage on the part of Philemon Noakes.
“This is serious,” said Templeton. “You see, we’ve no defence. We did break his hedge and disturb his tenant’s cattle, as he says. I wonder what the penalty is?”
“A fine of £5, old man, I expect,” said Eves, cheerfully. “Don’t you worry; I did the damage, and I can’t pay.”
“I’m sure I can’t. That glider cost £7 16*s.* 4*d*. I haven’t half £5.”
“Well, they’ll give us seven days C.B., or whatever they call it, and you’ll have to write to Aunt Caroline to bail us out. Jolly good idea! We’ll be able to give her tips in food economy after a week of prison fare.”
“It’s no joking matter. She’ll be upset; no Templeton of our family has ever been in prison.”
“You don’t say so! You’ll make a record, then. Splendid!”
On the appointed day they appeared before the justice.
“’Tis Squire Banks’s day,” whispered Haylock as they passed him at the door. “He baint such a hanging judge, so to speak it, as Sir Timothy.”
Noakes gave his evidence, Smail corroborated it, and Squire Banks asked the culprits what they had to say in their defence.
“It was like this, sir,” began Eves, before Templeton could start; “my friend Templeton devotes a lot of time to trying experiments—working out ideas for useful inventions. When he heard of that accident to a flying man the other day”—the old gentleman looked interested—“he kept me awake at night talking over an idea for making an aeroplane automatically safe. I confess I was sceptical, and it’s my fault all this happened, because it was to prove his theory to me that he made a glider; it cost him over £7, sir; and we couldn’t find a better place to try it on than that hilly field. I’m afraid I was clumsy; at any rate, the thing came to grief——”
“But the principle of it is quite sound,” Templeton put in.
“But, of course, you’re not concerned with principles here, sir, but only with law,” Eves went on. “We didn’t know the field belonged to Mr. Noakes, or I assure you we wouldn’t have touched it with a pole, and as to damage, my friend offered to pay any reasonable sum.”
“But didn’t I understand that you caused the damage?” the squire interposed, his eyes twinkling. “That being the case, ought not the offer to pay have come from you?”
“I’m afraid it ought, sir; but—well, I’ve only got four and elevenpence halfpenny.”
There were smiles in the court at this ingenuous confession.
“Well, Mr. Templeton offered to pay,” the squire went on. “What then?”
“Mr. Noakes wouldn’t hear of it, sir,” Eves answered.
“Is that so, Noakes?”
Noakes had to confess that it was.
“Come, now, Noakes, brambles grow very fast, and any hedger will close the gap for eightpence. It’s a trumpery matter. You young fellows can pay half-a-crown between you for the damage, and Noakes must pay his own costs; it’s an unreasonable action. Call the next case.”
“Jolly old trump!” said Eves as they went out. “And I’m jolly glad the old boy’s son is getting better.”
On reaching the farm, Templeton found awaiting him a letter from his aunt, written in reply to one he had sent her more than a week before. She explained the long delay by the fact that the letter had pursued her through three counties. “I am delighted to hear,” she wrote, “that you have not yet spent any of the money I sent you. It shows great strength of character. You will be pleased to hear that my lectures are a great success. I expect to reach Polstead in about ten days, and I shall be so glad if you will do a little thing to prepare my way. My lectures are thoroughly practical; it is useless to talk about economical foods if the dear people cannot procure them. I want you to see Mr. Philemon Noakes for me; he is the principal tradesman in the village; and ask him if he will very kindly lay in a stock of certain cheap articles of which I will send you a list. A personal interview is so much more satisfactory than a formal letter, and you will find Mr. Noakes a very civil and obliging person.”
“My hat!” cried Eves, laughing. “What a rag! I’ll come with you, old man.”
Templeton looked worried.