Donkey Boy (32 page)

The
Daily
Trident
had from the first sponsored the new motoring. The “craze” had been one of the things Richard had never been able to understand in an otherwise sensible newspaper with its feet properly on the ground. During his ride through the dusk, in the cool air of the streets, with the feeling of being remote from the squalor and thus able to enjoy its picturesqueness, he had, as he told Hilary while crossing Randisbourne Bridge, to revise his opinion. He had had a wonderful experience.

“Will it be able to get up Hillside Road?”

“Well, a model has crossed the Alpes Maritimes and then the
Massif Central, so we shall probably manage to get there without the need to shove.”

As they turned the corner and chugged up Hillside Road, a surprise met Richard. The bedroom window of his house was lit up. Burglars? Hetty was not expected home until the morrow. Then her figure was seen in the window, looking at the approaching noise. What could have happened?

Mrs. Bigge came to the gate as he got down from the Panhard, the cage in his arms.

“My,” she said, “I wondered whatever it could be coming up our quiet little road! Surprise on surprise, Mr. Maddison! First Mrs. Maddison returned a day early, owing to whooping cough in the country, now a motor coming up! Why, whatever have you got there, Mr. Maddison, a parrot?”

“Yes,” said Richard. “You must come in and see it one day soon. I think it is asleep now.”

A wild scream came from the cage. “Oh, my!” said Mrs. Bigge. “Polly's woken up. Well, I think you'll find all all right, Mr. Maddison, so good-night!” and Mrs. Bigge tactfully retired.

Richard put the cage upon the lawn behind the privet hedge, as Phillip ran down the porch and to the gate. He stared at his father and uncle, and at the motor car.

“Coo, I say, look at that!”

“Hullo, young fellow,” said Hilary. “D'you remember me, eh?”

“Yes, Uncle Hilary. Is it yours?”

“Say ‘How do you do' properly to your Uncle, Phillip,” said Richard, annoyed by the boy's gaucherie.

“How do you do, Uncle Hilary?”

“Well?” said Richard. “What else?”

The boy did not speak.

“Aren't you going to say anything to me?”

“Yes, Father.” He remained silent.

“Have you lost your tongue while you've been away?”

“I don't know, Father,” he said, twisting his hands before him.

“Well, open the gate, my boy.”

Phillip held back the gate. Richard waited for his brother to enter first.

“Aren't you pleased to see your father?” asked Hilary, ruffling the boy's hair as he passed.

“Yes, Uncle Hilary.”

“Well then, say ‘How do you do, Father' to him.”

“How do you do, Father.”

“That's better. And how are you, Phillip?”

“Quite all right, thank you, Father.”

Richard stepped back and lifted up the cage. He carried it past a wide-eyed Phillip. Many times he had imagined Hetty and the three children coming into the sitting-room and seeing the parrot in its cage on the table in the corner beside the
fireplace
, and visualised the surprise and pleasure on their faces. The picture was shattered.

Sarah Turney was in the kitchen, giving the little girls their bread and milk. Richard went into the front room, and lit the gas.

“Sit down, Hilary,” he said. “I'll be back soon. Would you like to see the paper?” He put
The
Daily
Trident
on the table. “Now, if you will forgive me, I'll go and find out what's happened.”

“I'll just check that the Panhard is all right, Dick.”

Hardly had he gone outside, when Hetty came into the room. She looked well and smiling, to Richard's relief, for that aspect of her homecoming fitted into his mental picture. Polly Pickering, it appeared, had developed signs of whooping cough, so they had all left Beau Brickhill a day early.

“I did not send a telegram, Dickie, not wishing to alarm you. I do hope our coming will not put you out in any way.”

Mavis and Doris ran into the room, with glad cries of “Daddy!” Richard knelt down and kissed Mavis; he loved his elder daughter. Doris' head was patted.

“May I come in?” It was Sarah at the door. Then Hilary reappeared. He showed his charm to the old woman, treating her as if she were an Indian princess. Sarah responded to this consideration shown to her by a young man, and so Hilary was able to continue with his best manner. Mrs. Turney, he thought, was much nicer than he had imagined from what his sister Victoria had led him to believe. But then, no woman's judgment was to be taken seriously, particularly about another of her sex, whatever her age: an aboard-ship philosophy.

Phillip was by the green-covered cage, peering and listening. Was it a jackdaw? Or a parrot? If only Father would say! A
raucous shriek made Sarah jump. “Goodness gracious, children dear, what a surprise!”

This was Richard's opportunity. Carefully he unknotted the string, while the children waited with part-suppressed excitement.

“Quick, Daddy! Oh please be quick!”

“Patience, Mavis. Curiosity killed the cat, remember.”

“What is it, Daddy? I know it can't be a cat, for cats don't have cages.”

“All in good time, young woman.”

“
I
know what it is!” cried Phillip.

“Ss'sh, Sonny!” warned Hetty.

Father took so long, Phillip suffered for the delay. He wanted to offer his penknife, but Father always unpicked string. At last the baize was removed, with warnings of the bite that could be given by a fearful beak. As an added precaution, the cage was put on the table. There, walking sideways on its perch, was a grey and pink bird.

“You must thank Uncle Hilary nicely for the present,
children
.”

“Thank you, Uncle Hilary. Does it speak, Uncle Hilary?”

“I don't think it is the kind that talks.”

“It might talk if you slit its tongue, Uncle Hilary.”

“What a ferocious thing to suggest! Where did you get that idea?”

“They slit jackdaws' tongues, then they can talk, Uncle Hilary.”

“Good lord, whoever told you that?”

“Grandpa Thacker did, also Cousin Percy.”

“Really? You surprise me, young man. How would you like your tongue slit, eh?”

Phillip did not know what to say.

“Now, Hetty, I think it is time for the children to go to bed, what do you say?”

“Yes, dear. I'll take them up immediately.”

“Oh, Mummy, can't I stay up a little longer, and see the parrot?”

“You heard what your father said, Mavis. Run along up. Say ‘Good-night' to Grannie, and Uncle Hilary, and your Father, dear.”

“Oh, Mummy—— Is Polly her name, Father?”

“We'll see, later on. Now up you go. That includes you, Phillip. You can see the bird tomorrow.”

Reluctantly they left the room. Grannie said she would take up the little girls.

“Good-night, Mummie; good-night, Uncle Hilary; good-night, Father. Mummy, you won't forget to tuck me up, will you?”

“Good-night, Polly!” cried out Phillip, showing his face round the door.

When they were gone, Richard led his brother down to the sitting-room. Hilary thought he would leave as soon as he politely could, and be in time for a game of billiards at the club.

Richard drew the curtains. He unlocked the cupboard under the bookcase, and took out the decanter of sherry, nearly empty. He had no whisky or soda.

“I'm afraid I've only got sherry, old chap.”

“Oh, I don't need anything, Dick. I ought to be getting back soon. If the plugs oil up, or I get a puncture——”

“Well, stay just a little while. May I offer you a cigar? Hetty will be down shortly. I'm sure she would like to talk with you.”

“Yes, of course. She looks very well, Dick. The holiday has done her good. So you've got your father-in-law next door?”

“Yes, Hilary. I am away all day, of course, and it is nice for Hetty to have her people so near.”

Bravo, thought Hilary; old Dick always did bite on the bullet.

“Well, it's been a great pleasure to see you again, Dick. I've bought a place in Hampshire, you know; you must come down and visit us for a week-end. That reminds me, I must make an early start, and get down there to-morrow. I want to run over and see John shortly. Can I give him any particular message from you, Dick?”

“Oh, give him my very kind regards, Hilary.”

Hilary looked round the room, which he found depressing. Dick was a stick-in-the-mud, all right. “Very comfortable little room this, isn't it? Is it warm in winter?”

“Oh yes, I can't find much fault with it.”

“Being up a bit, I suppose you get
less fog than in London itself?”

“Yes, but when it's a proper pea-souper we get it everywhere, you know, much the same.”

“I think I'll just see that my lights are all right, Dick. Don't disturb yourself, I can find my own way.”

Out of consideration Richard insisted on going with his brother, explaining that the path through the rockery by the gate was treacherous. So, apparently, was the surface of Hillside Road, for one of the front Dunlops of the Panhard was flat.

“Damn!” said Hilary, under his breath, as the bright lights of London faded. There a flake of flint was, sharp to the hand, sticking out of the rubber tread. It was not possible to repair it in the dark. There was only one thing to do: to return to Town by train, and come down and repair it in the morning.

“We can put you up, if you would care to stay, Hilary.”

Hilary said it was most kind of his brother, but he had arranged to meet a man at the club at ten o'clock. Would he mind if the Panhard remained there all night? He would come down first thing in the morning.

While they discussed it, a policeman walked up the road, and stopped to admire the vehicle. Hilary explained the dilemma; the policeman replied that it would be quite in order to leave it for the night where it was. He would ask his relief to keep an eye on it. A shilling went into his pocket.

“If you'll excuse my saying so, but I shouldn't leave the hammercloth out.”

This was the chequered rug, with its backing of plain melton cloth. So Hilary, after a few more minutes with Hetty and Richard, and the hammercloth folded and stored in the front room, took his leave.

“Well,” said Richard, in the Sportsman armchair just before Hetty went upstairs for bed, “I think I might be of service to my brother Hilary. I will get up early and mend the puncture. I would have suggested mending it for him while he was here, but it was a question of the light. My bull's-eye lantern is missing from where I put it in the trunk in the attic. I have an idea how it came to leave the trunk. Perhaps you have, too?”

While he was speaking, Hetty thought that one of the lamps of the motor car, removed, would have given at least as much light as the dark lantern: and that the idea of mending the puncture had come to Dickie as an afterthought. Could Phillip have got up into the attic and taken it?

“Are you sure it isn't there, Dickie? I don't think Phillip knows about the attic at all, when I come to think about it, dear.”

“Obviously the boy knows more about it than you do, then. I'll go up right away and find out.” Richard got up from his chair.

“Oh, Dickie, please! Sonny will be asleep now. If he has taken your lantern, I am sure it is only because he likes to think of you, dear.”

Richard stared at his wife. “Can I really believe my ears? Are you seriously suggesting that a thief robs somebody also because he thinks he is like his victim? If that is your idea of morality, then it is not mine! But then I well remember how you got rid of my only pair of walking boots for me, when first we set up in Comfort House, or have you forgotten?”

“Yes. Dickie, I was very sorry about that, and have said so, many times.”

“Oh, well.” Richard settled back in the armchair, to read
The
Daily
Trident.
But concentration was impossible. Was Hetty incurably foolish? Did she really mean what she said? A boy stole from his father because he liked to think he was his father. Yes, yes, certainly! The thief stole from the rich man because he liked the idea of being like him, with his money! Let Hetty put that in her pipe and smoke it.

There was the sound of a chamber pot being moved above the ceiling.

“Phillip is awake. I shall go up and ask him.”

“Oh, please, Dickie, if he has taken it, do not punish him to-night. He was sick in the train, and now is so very very excited about the motor car, and the parrot——”

Richard went out of the room. Hetty heard him walking softly upstairs. She listened to the dull sound of his voice above.

He returned. “‘No, Father', ‘No, Father', ‘No, Father'. As I expected.”

“Are you sure, dear, you looked properly? He's so very small to be able to climb up into the attic alone.”

“Very well, we will settle this matter once and for all! Come with me upstairs, this very moment, and see for yourself! Come along! I insist on fair treatment!”

Hetty followed Richard upstairs. He fetched the portable
steps from the carpentry room. He climbed up into the attic, and brought down the long, narrow tin trunk. Laying it upon the bathroom floor, he invited Hetty to open it, repeating that she could see for herself, and be satisfied.

Hetty slid back the lid fasteners. Within lay the scarlet uniform.

“The lantern was in that corner when I saw it last. Underneath the trousers, there!”

Hetty felt something hard. She drew forth the dark lantern.

“Obviously the boy has put it back since coming home!”

Downstairs in the sitting-room,
The
Daily
Trident
had no savour. Richard put it down for the second time. Surely she had seen or heard the steps being moved? Well then, had she seen or known what the boy had been doing since her return?