IV
The next morning they were up and away very early. “Take us an hour to get there,” Joby explained. “And I want a good pitch.” They made a quick breakfast, tea and bread and boiled ham, and were bumping down the road before the sun had struggled through the clouds.
‚ÄúBit colder than it wor,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd.
Joby gave the morning an expert glance. “Weather’s breaking. Won’t be so warm today, you’ll see. Might rain. If it doesn’t today, it will tomorrer. Rain’s no good to us. A couple o’ weeks of it and yer see me going to the nearest three brass balls, selling the little ’ome up. Talk about sailors! We’re the blokes that ’ave to watch the weather.”
Ribsden, a squat little town not unlike Everwell, but rather larger, was already in a bustle when they arrived. The combined fair and market filled the square and was creeping up several streets leading to it. Joby secured a pitch that pleased him, however, for it was just at the junction of the main street and the square and‚ÅÝ‚Äîas he pointed out at once‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúdead opposite a boozer‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚ÄîThe Helping Hand. They were not able to keep the van with them, but had to take out everything they wanted, stall and stock, and then park it up a side-street in a line of other cars and carts and caravans. Together they set up the stall and began decorating it with rubber dolls and animals, most of which had to be inflated. From time to time, Joby would give a shout, recognizing some acquaintance, but everybody was too busy to talk, except the onlookers, the local crowd, which was made up of little boys who were so interested that they got in the way and had to be cursed out of it again, little girls who jumped up and down on the pavement in an ecstasy of anticipation, a policeman with a ginger moustache who apparently did not like markets and fairs, and a policeman without a moustache who apparently did like them. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd enjoyed every minute of it. He enjoyed the bustle and hammering and shouting, the setting up and decoration of the stall, upon which he now turned a proud parental eye, the autumn snap in the air and the first gleams of sunlight, the now thoroughly adventurous flavour of Old Salt, and the companionship of the knowing and voluble Joby. He did not see himself as a salesman of rubber dolls, though he soon became expert in blowing them up and setting them out; but taking it all in all, it was‚ÅÝ‚Äîas he admitted to himself more than once‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúa champion do.‚Äù
Joby completed his preparations for the day by tacking a number of little placards to the posts of the stall: ‚ÄúDon‚Äôt forget the Little Ones,‚Äù they screamed at the passerby. ‚ÄúShops Can‚Äôt Compete‚Äù; ‚ÄúWe lead. Others follow‚Äù; ‚ÄúBritish Workmanship Can‚Äôt Be Beat‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhich was probably true enough and worth saying, even though all Mr.¬ÝJackson‚Äôs stock seemed to come out of boxes bearing foreign labels. To crown all, in the centre of the crossbar at the top was a larger placard, glorious in scarlet, announcing that ‚ÄúJoby Jackson is Here Again. The Old Firm.‚Äù Having done this and surveyed his handiwork with great satisfaction, Joby had leisure to turn his attention to his neighbours.
One of them had just arrived to claim a little space on the left, dumping into it an easel and a box. He was a tall seedy man dressed in a frock coat that shone in the sun and looked greenish in the shade. He wore no hat, and had a grey mop of hair at the back of his head but none at all in front. His eyebrows were so large and so black that they did away with the necessity of closely shaving the face below them, a fact of which their owner had recently taken a generous advantage.
“Morning, Perfesser,” said Joby to this personage.
‚ÄúGood morning,‚Äù said the Professor, who had a hollow booming voice. ‚ÄúAh, it‚Äôs Mr.¬ÝJackson. Good morning. Neighbours again, eh? I think I saw you at Doncaster.‚Äù
“You did. Got a good stand ’ere.” And Joby jerked a thumb at The Helping Hand.
‚ÄúAh yes. I‚Äôd never noticed that. Well, it might be useful, Mr.¬ÝJackson. I‚Äôve known the time when‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù And he completed the sentence by raising a large dirty hand towards his mouth, which brought from its cavernous depths a sound suggesting laughter. Then he looked very grave. ‚ÄúNothing much for me here to day, Mr.¬ÝJackson. A mere stopgap, nothing more.‚Äù
“Same ’ere,” said Joby. “Where you been since Doncaster, Perfesser?”
‚ÄúPlaces without a name, you might say,‚Äù the Professor boomed mournfully. ‚ÄúLittle markets, miserable affairs, pounds of cheese and yards of muslin and ducks and hens. Rural solitudes, Mr.¬ÝJackson. And I was carrying the wrong line too. If I‚Äôd been running the rheumatic cure or the digestive tonic, all might have been well, but at the present time I‚Äôm doing the Character and Destiny business and it‚Äôs a town business, absolutely a town business. I thought of changing over, but there wasn‚Äôt time to get the bottles. And you must have bottles nowadays, must have bottles. They won‚Äôt swallow the pills, Mr.¬ÝJackson. That‚Äôs not bad, eh? Just keep an eye on that box will you? I‚Äôll be back in about ten minutes.‚Äù And the Professor strode away.
‚ÄúYon‚Äôd chap‚Äôud make a good loud speaker,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who had been listening with delight to this dialogue.
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs what ‚Äôe is, if you ask me,‚Äù replied Joby. ‚ÄúClever feller, though, the Perfesser. Known ‚Äôim off and on years. All patter, y‚Äôknow. Marvellous! ‚ÄôE‚Äôd sell ‚Äôem anything. No expenses, all profit, in ‚Äôis line. Clever feller. Edjucated, y‚Äôknow‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat‚Äôs what does it. They wouldn‚Äôt believe you and me if we tried it on the same as ‚Äôe does. ‚ÄôE‚Äôd make ‚Äôem believe anything, sell ‚Äôem the boots off their feet.‚Äù
‚ÄúAy, I dare say,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd observed thoughtfully. ‚ÄúBut he hasn‚Äôt got fat on it.‚Äù
‚ÄúToo much booze‚ÅÝ‚Äîlives on it‚ÅÝ‚Äîtelegraphic address: Blotting Paper. ‚ÄôSides, the game‚Äôs not what it was, and that‚Äôs a fact. Too much edjucation about for fellers like ‚Äôim. They‚Äôre beginning to rumble ‚Äôim.‚Äù Then he changed his tone, so suddenly that he startled Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúNar then, lady, take yer choice. Ninepence, one shilling, one-and-six, two shillings, all guaranteed not to burst, tear, burn, or drown, the best rubber on the market today. Pick where yer like, they‚Äôre all the best.‚Äù It looked as if their first customer had arrived.
There was now a steady flow of folk round the stalls, from which issued startling brazen voices. So far the crowd was chiefly composed of women with baskets; the pleasure-seekers would come later; but for those who, like Joby, catered for the family, the day‚Äôs trade had begun. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, hanging about at the back of the stall, discovered a new interest in life. He had never helped to sell anything before, and now it seemed to him an amusing gamble. Would the little boy with H.M.S. Lion on his hat succeed in dragging his mother over to see the rubber animals? Would the woman with the carpet bag, who talked incessantly to her companion and turned over dolls and animals without ever looking at them, end by buying anything or was she merely there to have her talk out in peace? Joby seemed to know, as a rule, and some people he left entirely alone, some he took gently into his confidence in the matter of rubber toys, and others he bullied outright into buying. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, trying to be helpful but not finding much to do, regarded his new friend with admiration.
“Got the idear, George?” said Joby, looking straight in front of him but twisting his mouth round and winking very rapidly, a method of address that suggested unfathomable confidences. “Take note o’ the patter and prices, see. Might want yer to take on a bit soon.”
A minute or two later it would have been almost impossible to hear this message because their neighbour on the right suddenly opened the day‚Äôs campaign. Even when he began, this linoleum merchant, he was coatless, perspiring, in a fury of salesmanship, and every moment he became more tempestuous, banging his rolls of linoleum, his little table, his own hand, anything and everything, and worked himself into such a frenzy that it made you hot to see him, made your throat ache to listen to him, and turned the purchase of a roll of linoleum into an act of common kindness. ‚ÄúNow I‚Äôll tell yer whattam going ter do, people,‚Äù he would yell. ‚ÄúJust to make a start, I‚Äôm not going ter sell yer linoleum, I‚Äôm going ter give it ter yer. Here y‚Äôare.‚Äù And he would unroll a length and bang away at it in a passion. ‚ÄúNow that‚Äôs not oilcloth, it‚Äôs the very best lino-carpet pattern, rubber-backed‚ÅÝ‚Äîand there‚Äôs four yards if there‚Äôs an inch an yer couldn‚Äôt buy it under fifteen shillings in any shop in this town or any other town.‚Äù Here he would draw a deep agonized breath, then give the roll another bang. ‚ÄúFive shillings. Four and six. Four shillings. Well, I‚Äôll tell yer what I‚Äôll do. Three and six. Three and six, and I‚Äôm giving it away. All right, then. Here! Pass me up that other piece, Charlie. Now then,‚Äù he would burst out afresh, beating the new piece unmercifully, ‚Äúthere‚Äôs three yards here‚ÅÝ‚Äîyer could cover a landing with it and it ‚Äôud last yer a lifetime‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I‚Äôll put the two together. Six shillings the two.‚Äù He would glare at the crowd, mop his brow, and run a finger round his sopping rag of a collar. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs not oilcloth I‚Äôm trying to sell yer,‚Äù he would begin again, and his voice was the last despairing shriek of reasoned conviction in a world hollow with doubt and fear. If anyone there said that it was oilcloth it seemed as if the man would have vanished in flame and smoke.
On the other side, the Professor, who had returned to set up his easel, was standing in silence, frowning upon three small boys who were waiting there to see if he would do anything to entertain them. Do You Know Your Fate? asked the easel, and then went on: Professor Miro Can Tell You. What Is the Message of the Stars? Destiny! Will Power! Personality! The Chance of a Lifetime!! Don’t Miss It!!! But so far the good people of Ribsden, bargaining and chattering in the light of the sun, seemed to care nothing for the dark secrets of this life. Perhaps the Professor’s hour would strike when the night stole down upon them, beckoning its old troupe of ghosts. Meanwhile, he tried, quite vainly, to intimidate the three small boys with his immense eyebrows, and stood there, in a dignified silence, nursing a packet of coloured papers.
The Professor‚Äôs other neighbour, a broad-faced, spectacled young man, very carefully dressed, was as noisy as the linoleum merchant, and looked like a bank clerk in a frenzy. Nobody seemed to know what he was selling or even if he was selling anything at all. He held up a number of plain envelopes, shook them in the faces of his audience, and talked continually of one Walters of Bristol. ‚ÄúWhen Mis‚Äëter Wal‚Äëters of Bris‚Äëtol,‚Äù he roared in the manner of one discussing his friend the Prime Minister, ‚Äúgave me these envelopes, he assured me that in every one of them there was a banknote, and he sent me down here to sell them to you purely and simply as an advertisement. Mr.¬ÝWalters knew and I knew that there was no money to be made out of this. It‚Äôs a good advertisement. And when Mis‚Äëter Wal‚Äëters guaranteed that there was a banknote in every one of these envelopes, that was good enough for me. I knew that Mis‚Äëter Wal‚Äëters of Bris‚Äëtol would not send me on a fool‚Äôs errand, I can assure you, people.‚Äù And he went on assuring them and shaking his mysterious envelopes in their faces.
A little after noon, the Professor left his stand and approached Joby. ‚ÄúI was wondering, Mr.¬ÝJackson,‚Äù he began, in a confidential whisper, ‚Äúif you had a spare shilling about you. Just until tonight, you know.‚Äù
Joby nodded towards The Helping Hand. “Going in?”
‚ÄúYes, I thought that perhaps a little‚ÅÝ‚Äîer‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
Joby cut him short. “You come with me, Perfesser. ’Ere, George, you can take over a bit, eh? Shan’t be long.”
So Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was left in charge, and before Joby had returned, he had sold a vermilion stork with wooden feet, a policeman on traffic duty, and a shrimp-coloured and dropsical rubber infant, taking four shillings in all, of which, he knew, at least half-a-crown was sheer profit. This was good business.
When Joby came back, an hour later, he brought with him a bottle of beer and two meat pies. “Yer can’t stir in there now,” he explained, “so I got yer these, see. Knock off and get outside these, then ’ave a walk round. Wotcher done?”
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, attacking the first of the meat pies, reported his sales. ‚ÄúA bird, a bobby, an‚Äô a bairn, for fower bob.‚Äù
“Yer a ruddy poet, George, if yer ask me,” said Joby in great good-humour. “The Perfesser’s still in there. We shan’t see ’im now till closing time. ’E’s found the ’elping ’and all right. ’E’d lowered about five when I left, and all buckshee. ’E could talk a feller into givin’ ’im a bucketful. Clever feller, the Perfesser, but I wouldn’t like to see the coloured menagerie ’e sees some o’ these nights.”
By the time Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had finished his two pies and the bottle of beer, had walked round the fair and market and explored the town, and had returned to have a smoke with Joby, it was nearly teatime. ‚ÄúNot much doing now till about six,‚Äù Joby told him. ‚ÄúYer can take on a bit, see. I‚Äôll ‚Äôave a dekko at the old van, a drop o‚Äô Rosie, and a word wi‚Äô some o‚Äô the boys. Don‚Äôt forget them monkeys is two bob apiece‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey‚Äôre extra special, they are‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey cost me ninepence.‚Äù
The linoleum merchant and the friend of Mr.¬ÝWalters of Bristol had each large audiences, but there appeared to be a temporary slump in rubber toys. Very few people even looked at the stall, partly, no doubt, because its two neighbours were so much more exciting and noisy. The only questions Mr.¬ÝOakroyd found himself answering referred to Joby himself and not to his stock-in-trade.
“ ’Ello! This is Joby Jackson, isn’t it! Where’s old Joby today?”
‚ÄúKnocking about,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd would reply, and the inquirer would saunter off again.
This happened several times, and Mr.¬ÝOakroyd began to assume a knowing air with these fellow professionalists of the road. But he was not able to do more than make a beginning. The tide that had carried him along so smoothly these past twenty-four hours suddenly turned against him. One of these fellow professionalists who had been moving aimlessly through the crowd caught sight of the stall, stopped, and stared. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, staring back at him, came to the conclusion that he was not a pleasant-looking chap. After standing there a minute or two, the man came closer and examined the stall, its placards, its rubber dolls, its uneasy salesman, with little bloodshot eyes. He was a big man, whose huge shoulders were encased in a dirty football jersey; there was three or four days‚Äô stubble on his great prow of a jaw; and he looked as if he had recently wakened from a drunken sleep to find himself in a very bad temper. As he stood there, signs of intelligence began to dawn in his face, but the sight was not a pleasing one.
It was Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, however, who broke the silence at last. He could not stand this scrutiny any longer. ‚ÄúLike a doll, mate?‚Äù he asked, with dubious good-fellowship in his tone and glance.
‚ÄúLike a doll!‚Äù the large man spat out in contempt. ‚ÄúDo I look as if I wanted a bloody doll, do I now, do I?‚Äù Then, suddenly appallingly, he became as angry as a goaded bull. ‚ÄúWhere‚Äôs that‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù and he proceeded to apply a number of words to the absent Joby that shocked Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, accustomed as he was to most of them. ‚ÄúWhere is ‚Äôe? d‚Äôy‚Äôear?‚Äù And he brought his huge fist down on the stall so that every stork and monkey and policeman hanging there started dancing, and then he leaned forward and pushed his face nearer to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd‚Äôs.
‚ÄúWell,‚Äù he roared, ‚Äúwot d‚Äôyer say, yer silly-looking‚ÅÝ‚Äî?‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd kept perfectly still and quiet. This, he knew, was Jim Summers. It couldn‚Äôt be anyone else but Jim Summers. He remembered everything he had heard about Jim Summers. And he tried to think, and it was difficult. ‚ÄúNow I‚Äôll tell yer whattam going ter do, people,‚Äù came the voice on the right. ‚ÄúAnd it isn‚Äôt oilcloth I‚Äôm selling yer.‚Äù Joby might be back any minute. Meanwhile, he wasn‚Äôt here, and Jim Summers undoubtedly was. ‚ÄúWhen Mis‚Äëter Wal‚Äëters of Bris‚Äëtol,‚Äù the left boomed steadily, ‚Äúcame to me and gave me these envelopes‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd looked Jim Summers in the eye.
“He’s not here,” he muttered.
“Can’t I see ’e’s not here! I’m asking where ’e is. Yer not a bloody stuck pig, are yer? Yer can talk, can’t yer? This is ’is stall, isn’t it?”
Still Mr.¬ÝOakroyd made no reply.
“I’d like ter give yer something uttud make yer open yer mouth,” said the angry Summers, looking very ugly. “Well, I can wait ’ere a bit.”
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd found his voice now. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs not a bit o‚Äô good your doing that, mate. Joby Jackson‚Äôs not here.‚Äù
“Ar d’yer mean ’e’s not ’ere,” cried the other contemptuously. “This is ’is stall, isn’t it? Think I don’t know it!”
‚ÄúAy, but‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMr.¬ÝOakroyd fumbled, then hurried on‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúyou see, I‚Äôve bowt it off on him.‚Äù
“Oh, since when?”
‚ÄúYesterda‚Äô,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd. ‚ÄúI took it on mesen, so you won‚Äôt find him here, mate.‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝSummers looked puzzled. Not being a man of intellect, he took some time to arrange his ideas. Then suddenly he shook himself, banged the stall again, and shouted: ‚Äú‚Ää‚ÄôE‚Äôs been seen ‚Äôere this morning. You bought this? You‚Äôve ‚Äôell as like, yer rotten little liar.‚Äù
“Here, here, here, here! Less of it, less of it. What’s it all about, eh?” This was the policeman with the ginger moustache, the one who apparently did not like markets and fairs. Now he looked very severe indeed.
“I come ’ere asking for a feller,” growled Summers, “and this feller ’ere says ’e don’t know where the feller is and says that this stall ’ere is ’is and I was telling im it wasn’t ’cos I knew it belonged to this other feller, d’yer see?”
“Well, I don’t see what you’ve got to make such a lot of noise about,” said the policeman. “Either it’s his or it isn’t, and one way or the other, it don’t seem to me to be much o’ your business.”
“I was only telling ’im I knew it wasn’t, d’yer see?”
“All right, all right, I know what you was doing,” cried the policeman angrily. “And I say it don’t seem to me to be much o’ your business.”
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs right,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd put in, feeling it was about time he said something. It was, however, a very unfortunate move. The policeman, who up to now had been eyeing Summers very suspiciously, transferred his unpleasant stare to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd himself, who did not find it easy to meet it.
“Well, it may be none of his business,” said the policeman, still staring, “but it’s my business all right. If you ask me, there’s something a bit queer here. Now you say this here outfit belongs to you and not to this other feller he’s talking so much about?”
‚ÄúAy,‚Äù replied Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, hesitating. ‚ÄúIn a manner o‚Äô speaking, you might say‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“What d’you mean ‘in a manner o’ speaking’?” the policeman demanded. “ ’Ere, let’s have a look at your licence.”
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd stared back at the policeman, open-mouthed. He knew nothing about licences, had no idea what a licence would look like, how much it cost, where it would be obtained. All that he did know, with a sickening certainty, was that he ought to have a licence, if his story were to be believed, and that he could not think how to begin to explain why he hadn‚Äôt one.
“ ’E’s got no licence,” said Summers triumphantly.
‚ÄúWho‚Äôs talking to you?‚Äù the policeman demanded angrily. Then he turned to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd again and repeated, with maddening deliberation: ‚ÄúLet‚Äôs have a look at your licence.‚Äù
Fortunately for Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, the policeman‚Äôs high-handed methods were too much for Jim Summers, whose temper was always uncertain and who disliked the Force. At that moment he might have been compared to a smoking volcano. He pushed his face between the other two, and repeated, very slowly and ominously: ‚ÄúI said ‚Äò‚Ää‚ÄôE‚Äôs got no licence.‚Äô‚Ää‚Äù
“And I say ‘Who’s talking to you?’ ” cried the policeman, giving him a push. “You get back a bit.”
“And ’oo the bloody ’ell d’you think you are?” shouted Summers, raising a huge fist. “Touch me again, yer ginger pig, and I’ll flatten yer.”
“Another word and you’ll come along with me,” retorted the policeman, stepping back.
“ ’Ello, ’ello! What’s the row?” It was Joby, and with him was a short, thickset, smiling man.
At the sight of Joby‚Äôs companion, Summers gave a roar. ‚ÄúMuss, yer‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù He rushed at him but both Joby and the policeman threw themselves in the way, and the next moment they were all so many whirling arms and legs. Instantly the crowd surged round and its pressure drove them against the stall which rocked with the fight. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, at the other side and cut off from the combatants, could do nothing but try to keep the stall in place. A shower of rubber birds and monkeys descended upon the battlefield. Crack! went the stall and another shower of dolls fell, so that Mr.¬ÝOakroyd began sweeping those that were left into the boxes at the back, and then, crawling underneath, contrived to pick up a number of those that had fallen. He returned to hold on and sway with the stall. He had undertaken ‚Äúto mind t‚Äôstall‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîas he told himself‚ÅÝ‚Äîand what he could do, he did. There was no room for him in the fight, even if he had wished to join it. The redoubtable Summers, having sent little Tommy Muss into the dust, given Joby a black eye, and battered the policeman, was now being overpowered. The policeman had had time to blow his whistle, which brought his colleague from the other end of the marketplace, and the two of them secured the person of James Summers and finally marched him away, followed by the cheers and hoots of the crowd.
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd immediately came round to the front of the stall and began picking up the remainder of the fallen toys, while Joby and his friend gasped and swore and wiped their faces and dusted their clothes.
“ ’Ere, didn’t take any names, did ’e?” asked Joby, still panting for breath.
‚ÄúHe didn‚Äôt take mine,‚Äù said Mr.¬ÝOakroyd.
‚ÄúWe‚Äôre off then. What d‚Äôyer say, Tommy? If they wants us for the witness-box, they must find us, see. ‚ÄôEre, get this stuff away, sharp as yer can. Come on, Tommy. That‚Äôs right, George. Sharp‚Äôs the word, or we‚Äôll never do it. But they‚Äôve got ter get ‚Äôim ter the station, see.‚Äù He turned to look at those members of the crowd that were still lingering about. ‚ÄúNar then,‚Äù he cried, ‚Äúit‚Äôs all over this time. No more performances today, people. Out o‚Äô the way, you lads.‚Äù And the linoleum merchant and the friend of Mr.¬ÝWalters of Bristol, taking advantage of the fact that a crowd was already assembled at their elbows, roared out their patter again and drew all but the most obstinate of the spectators into their audiences.
“I’ll get the van, see,” said Joby, “and run it as near as I can, just round the Johnny Horner. Soon as yer ’ear me toot, run with as much o’ the stuff as yer can carry. Get the stall down, George, and anything that’s broken bad, leave it.” And he hurried off.
‚ÄúA troublesome business, Mr.¬ÝMuss,‚Äù boomed a voice above them as they packed the things.
“ ’Lo Professor!” said Tommy, looking up. “ ’Ow goes it? We’re sliding out.”
‚ÄúQuite right, quite right, Mr.¬ÝMuss,‚Äù replied the Professor. ‚ÄúI should do the same myself, have done before today. Very inconvenient these police-court affairs. Besides, if you go into the box, it creates a prejudice against you in the profession. Not that Summers doesn‚Äôt deserve whatever he gets‚ÅÝ‚Äîa hooligan, a tough, Mr.¬ÝMuss‚ÅÝ‚Äîthese low types are a disgrace to the road. They can‚Äôt carry their beer, that‚Äôs the trouble.‚Äù
“There goes the old van,” cried Tommy. “Now then, Professor, you don’t know us, do you?”
“I’ve never seen you in my life before,” the Professor replied gravely. “And I’ll drop a word to the boys. Summers won’t give names, of course, because you’d be hostile witnesses, though I doubt if he’s the sense to see that. I’ll keep an eye on these things for you.”
Two hurried journeys each were enough. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd was hustled into the back, the other two sitting in front; and they rattled out of Ribsden as fast as the van would take them. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd had no idea where they were going and his backward vision of the town and the road that followed it told him nothing. The long day, the excitement of the fight, the hasty departure, had left him rather tired, and after the first few dramatic minutes of the escape from Ribsden he gradually sank into a doze, lying full length on one of the bunks. When, finally, they stopped and he struggled out, he had not the faintest notion of the distance they had come or the time they had been on the road. He found they were standing in a long village street, outside a small public-house. The landlord came to the door.
“The wife in, Joe?” cried Tommy.
“Yuss, she is. ’Ad ’er tea some time back though,” replied the landlord.
“Tell ’er I’m ’ere. ’Alf a minute, though, I’m coming in.” And Tommy, giving a wink to the other two, went inside.
Joby passed the wink on to Mr.¬ÝOakroyd with the undamaged eye ‚ÄúTommy‚Äôs got the tart in there,‚Äù he remarked. ‚ÄúBeen there two days, see. ‚ÄôE came into Ribsden on chance of finding me there, but didn‚Äôt think ‚Äôe‚Äôd find Jim Summers there. What ‚Äôappened, George?‚Äù
Mr.¬ÝOakroyd related his adventures with Mr.¬ÝSummers and the officious policeman, and, when he had done, Tommy emerged from the public-house, followed by a gaudy youngish woman several inches taller than himself.
‚ÄúWhat-how, Jowby!‚Äù she cried, waving a hand. ‚ÄúAll the best! I wish I‚Äôd bin there to see. ‚ÄôE‚Äôs got what ‚Äôe wanted, ‚Äôasn‚Äôt ‚Äôe, the swine? Gor!‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut you got an eye. You want a bit o‚Äô stike on thet eye, down‚Äôt ‚Äôe, Tommy? Come in and ‚Äôave one while I getcher a bit o‚Äô stike.‚Äù
“What about it, Joby?” added Tommy. “Coming in now? The old box of tricks be all right there.”
“No, I’ll pull ’er out, Tommy, and find a place for ’er. Going to kip in ’er tonight, see. ’Sides, me and George’ll ’ave to see what the damage is and try to straighten up if we’re working that place tomorrer. See yer later, Tommy.”
“I’ll be ’ere,” said Tommy.
‚ÄúGet in front, George,‚Äù said Joby, climbing in again. And off they went down the long street. ‚ÄúTommy‚Äôs joining up again tomorrer, see, and the tart‚Äôs follering on, doing the palm business. She‚Äôs all right, but a ‚Äôole night with the two of them together‚ÅÝ‚Äîwith ‚Äôer sitting on ‚Äôis knee and slapping ‚Äôim and drinking ‚Äôis beer‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äôud get on my ruddy nerves.‚Äù
‚ÄúI dare say. She looks nowt i‚Äô my line,‚Äù Mr.¬ÝOakroyd remarked dispassionately.
Joby halted at the last shop in the village, where he bought some food, and then they found a camping place by the side of the road, about a mile outside the village. There they repeated the programme of the previous evening, examining and putting in order the stock and the stall and then having a meal. But this time Joby went to the public-house, the one in which Tommy and his temporary bride were staying, unaccompanied by Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who said that he was too tired to move. It was true he was tired, but he was also feeling rather out of it. Joby‚Äôs pal had come back, and now, he knew, he was not really wanted. Tomorrow he would have to go on alone. ‚ÄúNay, I‚Äôll get to bed, Joby lad,‚Äù he said, and watched him walk down the road back to the village, but neither saw nor heard anything of Joby‚Äôs return, two hours later, so deep was this, his second‚ÅÝ‚Äîand probably his last‚ÅÝ‚Äînight of sleep in a caravan, with only a three-ply breadth between him and the stars.