The Fancy (31 page)

Edward had taken off his white overall and was in his shirt-sleeves again, and Mr. Bell came and gave him a blow between the shoulders as he staggered across the hall with one end of a row of pens complete with rabbits.

“Splendid work, old boy,” he said. “You’ve done a great job here. Sorry I couldn’t get in before to give you a hand, but I’ve been tied up with work all morning. Can’t even reckon on my Sundays these days, like you can.”

“Easy!” said Edward to the schoolboy at the other end of the pens. “O.K., put her down. Perhaps you’d give me a hand with some of these then,” he said straightening up. “This lad’s got plenty to do.”

“My dear old boy, I can’t. I’ve got to rush off. I only just looked in to see what I could do to help. Good thing I did, too. Those pens
would never have done as you had them. I’ll be back in good time, though. Don’t worry. Colley’ll probably come round to my place and I’ll bring him along with me.”

But at a quarter to eleven, Edward, who was going through lists with Dick, looked up impatiently as Mr. Marchmont’s tan golf stockings with the yellow tassels came straddling into his vision.

“Colley’s here I see,” said Mr. Marchmont. “Spotted him at once. He was at the Iver Show.”

“Is he?” Edward jumped up. “Where? I ought to have been there to——” he looked round, not liking to admit that he didn’t know what Allan Colley looked like.

“Over there by the Chins.” There were three men looking at the Chinchillas ; one was a Club member, another was a tubby man with wiry grey hair and a square moustache who looked as if he had just wandered in by chance, and the third was obviouslv Allan Colley, tall and sporting with a high complexion and heavy brogues. Edward hurried up to him.

“How d’you do, Mr. Colley?” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t at the door to meet you. I understood you were coming with Mr. Bell.”

The tall man stared. “Watson’s the name, sir,” he said. “Watson and that leaves you to sing aafDolmeny’s Rabbitries of Slough.” He pulled a card out of his waistcoat pocket, which Edward took without looking at it, turning in embarrassment to the short man.

“Then—oh, excuse me—are you—I mean, I’m expecting Mr, Allan Colley.”

The grey-haired man’s eyes went small and twinkled when he was amused. He held out his hand. “I’m Colley,” he said. “My fault for not introducing myself. I was just having a look round. You’re the Secretary, eh? Bell didn’t tell me your name.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I mean my name’s Ledward. I’m terribly sorry—you must think me very rude, but Mr. Bell told me you were going round to his place and coming on with him.”

“Good Lord, no, I don’t even know where he lives. I’ve only met him once or twice as a matter of fact, but I’m grateful to him for having asked me to come and judge here. I understand this Club’s quite a new venture, and I’m keen on that.” They moved away from the tall man, who had been listening with his eyebrows raised. Allan Colley strolled with his hands in his pockets, chatting to Edward as if he were an equal and rapidly dispelling his confusion. Edward kept sneaking back with pleasure to the thought that Allan Colley, E. Dexter Bell’s “old pal the collie dog”, hardly knew Mr. Bell.

The other judge, Miss Violet Seeds, arrived with more pomp. She stood in the doorway in a white mackintosh and a porkpie hat, looking about her and tapping a brogue until people came hurrying up. It was obvious who she was. Under her mackintosh, she was all ready for
business in a green overall with the badge of a famous club on the pocket. Allan Colley had changed into a worn white coat. They knew each other. The two of them chatted technically for a few moments, while Edward sent for the rabbits in the first class, and then the judging began. They each took a class at one end of the long table and Edward stood between them with the record book in which he entered the numbers and results in duplicate. As each class was finished, he tore off the outside column and an eager schoolboy dashed off with it as if it were the midnight Russian Communiqué to the table where sat Dick Bennett and Miss Hemming, now looking holy.

Spectators were not allowed on the judges’ side of the table. When E. Dexter Bell arrived, he had gone straight round to the sacred side where Allan Colley was holding a rabbit upside down to look at its belly fur. “The other side, please, if you don’t ”—he had begun politely, without looking at him, but Mr. Bell cut in with : “My dear Colley, how are you? Do forgive me for not being here to greet you. One of the world’s workers, you know.”

“Oh, hullo, Bell,” said Allan Colley, turning the rabbit right side up and ruffling its back. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine,” said Mr. Bell, as if he had really wanted to know. He was smoking a small cigar and wearing a short white overall that stuck out round his fat hips. He moved along to greet Miss Violet Seeds with gallantry and then remained on the judges’ side of the table, clearing his throat loudly to keep his presence obvious, and making sounds of approval as the rabbits were gradually weeded out and the final six graded as Commended, Highly Commended, Very Highly Commended, Third, Second and First.

The rabbits were held on the other side of the table by Club members, wearing red rosettes which said “STEWARD”. As one class was finished, Edward called out the numbers of the entries for the next, and the Ste he blew a kiss into the air.pawards went off to ihe pens to collect them. Mrs. Ledbetter was invaluable. She returned in an instant, always with the right rabbit, which was more than could be said for Mr. Simkiss. She held three rabbits at once, cradled on the table between her arms, stroking them expertly, so that they lay still, with their ears sleeked back and their eyes calm, only their noses moving. The girl in the flowered dress was at Miss Seeds’ end of the table. She only held one rabbit at a time, and by dint of letting it go and catching it as it moved forward, as a cat plays with a mouse, contrived to make the rabbit she held appear an intractable demon, controlled only by her skill.

“You naughty thing!” she kept saying to blowsy Angora, which was squatting like a log. “Keep still, you bad one.” It was too overfed and well-trained to want to do anything else, but by prodding and tweaking, she managed to make it move a step forward, when she clitched it back to her, stroking it feverishly and looking round in triumph.

“You can soon tell a rabbit that hasn’t been handled,” she said. “Be still, you wicked bunny!” The Angora went into a kind of coma, unmoved even when Miss Seeds pulled it forward by the ears and turned it upside down. It lay on its back, praying at her with front paws neatly together, and then squatted while she took liberties with its hips, blinking as if it were an old story. It knew it had won prizes at many shows and it knew it would win this one, which it did, returning to the toothy girl to be told as she carried it back to its pen that it was a wicked bun and didn’t deserve it——” Ah, scratch me, would you?”

When the first Havana Rex class came up, the toothy girl tried to hold one of her own rabbits, looking innocent until Edward discovered it. She handed it over to Mr. Marchmont and held another, trying to spoil its chances by making it leap in the air.

As each class was judged, Miss Hemming filled in award cards and the eager schoolboy dashed to fix them on the pens. Mr. Bell’s rabbits were getting a lot of cards. He occasionally moved away from the table to stand in front of them so that he could tell admirers who was the breeder, in case they could not read Miss Hemming’s writing.

At last it was the Flemish Adults. Freda lay, smug and enormous, between Mr. Marchmont’s terra-cotta sleeves, ears well back and great dewlap folded on the table. Edward had trained her
ad nauseam
to lie properly, and she was not letting him down. His heart swelled with pride as he looked at her covertly, terrified of giving away that she was his, for a small girl who had shrilled : “That’s my bunny!” had been severely reprimanded by Miss Seeds and almost got her rabbit disqualified.

“That’s a sizy rabbit,” said Allan Colley and hopped her over two others to the head of the line as if he were playing Halma. Edward’s eyes nearly came out of his head as rabbit after rabbit was sent back to its pen until only three remained. For the sake of the spectators, who were crowding round, some with cups of tea in their hands and their mouths full of Mrs. Bennett’s beetroot rolls, Allan Colley now delivered one of his little lectures. Size was paramount in a Flemish, he said. Edward’s heart leaped. But size was not everything. Edward’s heart sank a little but rose again as he said : “But this is a quite exceptionally large doe. She starts with a great advantage. If she has the quality——” He turned her up and round about, he prodded and fingered her like a butcher, he pulled her ears apart and stared her in the face——” and she has——” Edward wondered whether people he blew a kiss into the air.pa could see it written all over him that he had bred her. “On points,” Allan Colley pulled a panting brindle rabbit out of Mrs. Ledbetter’s arms, “On points, this one’s her equal, but——” he balanced them, one in each hand, Freda’s great front paw, which was as big as a dog’s, hanging limply down, “but there’s no question about which gets First.” He put Freda down, where she lay in perfect position. “That one First,” he said, and Edward could have died for him. He wrote
“1st” very deeply against Freda’s number in the book and almost forgot to record the decision between second and third, it was so unimportant.

When they broke off for a quick snack at Mrs. Bennett’s counter, Edward wanted to talk to Allan Colley about Freda, but she was eligible now for Best Rabbit in Show, so he could not claim her yet.

It was the last class of the Show. All the First Prize winners of every breed were lined on the table and Allan Colley and Miss Seeds judged them together. Mr. Bell had two up there, a Chinchilla and a jazzy Dutch, and most of the others came from the big breeders who had sent by rail. Edward realised that the actual members of the Collis Park Club had not done very well. He heard Mr. Marchmont say : “Personally, I don’t think it’s right. They shouldn’t have let the outside competition in. The Iver Show was only for members.”

From Edward’s point of view, the quality of the competition only made Freda’s prize more glorious.

He had left his place on the judging side of the table and now stood with the crowd at one end, his lips dry, his fancy already racing ahead to himself taking home the cup and showing it to the family. He might even take it to the factory to show Wendy. Later, he would have it engraved ; he could see the spot on the mantelpiece where it would stand. Allan Colley liked Freda. He kept putting her up to the head of the line, and Miss Violet Seeds kept changing her for Mr. Bell’s Chinchilla, a gross-looking animal that could hardly breathe for its coat. Miss Seeds was a well-known Chinchilla breeder. It was soon obvious that it was between these two. One by one, the others were sent back to their pens until at last there were only Freda and the Chinchilla and an aristocratic Havana left on the table. The judges didn’t pay much more attention to the Havana.

Edward was aware of heavy breathing over his shoulder. “Looks like it’s you or me, old boy,” said Mr. Bell, his eyes like marbles behind the thick lenses.

“But you can’t win your own cup!” It had only just occurred to Edward.

“Can’t I? You watch me.”

That was the maddening part. He knew he was going to win. Even when Allan Colley and Miss Seeds were conferring together
sotto voce
and apparently arguing, and Edward could hardly breathe for suspense, Mr. Bell affected to turn away and light another small cigar. Miss Seeds was being didactic with a square-nailed forefinger. At last, Allan Colley shrugged his shoulders and stepped back, turning away as if he had no more interest. “Best Rabbit in the Show,” said Miss Seeds in a voice which Edward thought grating, “No. 66, the Chinchilla.”

“That lets him out if he hasn’t paid for it,” said Mrs Ledbetter to Miss Hemming, as Mr. Bell wrapped up his own cup again and bore it
away. making the V sign. She untied her white apron, and called Mr. Ledbetter from the washing-up to help her box her own rabbits.

Mr. Bell had his car behind the thick lenses. p along outside and was going to give Allan Colley a lift, but Edward managed to catch the judge in a corner where he was taking off his overall.

“Oh, there you are, Ledward,” said Allan Colley. “I wanted to thank you for putting up such a good show. Thoroughly enjoyed myself. Not every club does so well the first time.”

“Thanks awfully,” said Edward. “I’m glad it went off all right. It was terribly good of you to come along. I say, excuse my bothering you, but that Flemish, the one that was runner-up for best rabbit——”

“Should have been first, if I’d had my way.”

“I bred her,” said Edward, blushing with pleasure.

“You did? Congratulations. Got any more like her, or is she just a fluke?”

“No, I’ve got some youngsters coming along that promise even better. I’m going all out for size, you know.”

“Good, good.” He seemed really interested. “You may be starting something really big, you never know. Concentrate on your stock’s best point ; that’s what I’m always saying, but people simply will try and get everything at once and then wonder why they end up with nothing.”

“Oh, no,” said Edward smugly. “I’m concentrating on size.”

“Good man,” said Allan Colley. He had his jacket on now and they were walking towards the door, where Mr. Bell was holding forth to a few admirers.

“Who’s going to do the write-up?” asked Allan Colley casually.

“The write-up?”

“Yes, for the papers. Ought to put a bit in
Backyard Breeding
, you know. Give the Club a bit of a fillip.”

“Would they put it in?”

“Of course they would. I’ll see to that. You going to write it? Good. Send it along to the editor with a little note mentioning my name. They have an awful lot of stuff they can’t print, of course, but I‘ll see that this gets in. Keep it short.”

“About how long, and when should I—?” But they were at the door now and Mr. Bell had claimed Allan Colley with a hand on his arm and : “Come along, my dear chap, mustn’t let the horses get cold—fourteen of them—ha, ha, ha.”