The Wind in the Willows
windows, up the chimney, anywhere to get out of reach of those terrible
sticks.
The affair was soon over. Up and down, the whole length of the hall,
strode the four Friends, whacking with their sticks at every head that
showed itself; and in five minutes the room was cleared. Through the
broken windows the shrieks of terrified weasels escaping across the
lawn were borne faintly to their ears; on the floor lay prostrate some
dozen or so of the enemy, on whom the Mole was busily engaged in
fitting handcuffs. The Badger, resting from his labours, leant on his
stick and wiped his honest brow.
“Mole,” he said,” “you’re the best of fellows! Just cut along outside
and look after those stoat-sentries of yours, and see what they’re
doing. I’ve an idea that, thanks to you, we shan’t have much trouble
from _them_ to-night!”
The Mole vanished promptly through a window; and the Badger bade the
other two set a table on its legs again, pick up knives and forks and
plates and glasses from the _débris_ on the floor, and see if they
could find materials for a supper. “I want some grub, I do,” he said,
in that rather common way he had of speaking. “Stir your stumps, Toad,
and look lively! We’ve got your house back for you, and you don’t offer
us so much as a sandwich.” Toad felt rather hurt that the Badger didn’t
say pleasant things to him, as he had to the Mole, and tell him what a
fine fellow he was, and how splendidly he had fought; for he was rather
particularly pleased with himself and the way he had gone for the Chief
Weasel and sent him flying across the table with one blow of his stick.
But he bustled about, and so did the Rat, and soon they found some
guava jelly in a glass dish, and a cold chicken, a tongue that had
hardly been touched, some trifle, and quite a lot of lobster salad; and
in the pantry they came upon a basketful of French rolls and any
quantity of cheese, butter, and celery. They were just about to sit
down when the Mole clambered in through the window, chuckling, with an
armful of rifles.
“It’s all over,” he reported. “From what I can make out, as soon as the
stoats, who were very nervous and jumpy already, heard the shrieks and
the yells and the uproar inside the hall, some of them threw down their
rifles and fled. The others stood fast for a bit, but when the weasels
came rushing out upon them they thought they were betrayed; and the
stoats grappled with the weasels, and the weasels fought to get away,
and they wrestled and wriggled and punched each other, and rolled over
and over, till most of ’em rolled into the river! They’ve all
disappeared by now, one way or another; and I’ve got their rifles. So
_that’s_ all right!”
“Excellent and deserving animal!” said the Badger, his mouth full of
chicken and trifle. “Now, there’s just one more thing I want you to do,
Mole, before you sit down to your supper along of us; and I wouldn’t
trouble you only I know I can trust you to see a thing done, and I wish
I could say the same of every one I know. I’d send Rat, if he wasn’t a
poet. I want you to take those fellows on the floor there upstairs with
you, and have some bedrooms cleaned out and tidied up and made really
comfortable. See that they sweep _under_ the beds, and put clean sheets
and pillow-cases on, and turn down one corner of the bed-clothes, just
as you know it ought to be done; and have a can of hot water, and clean
towels, and fresh cakes of soap, put in each room. And then you can
give them a licking a-piece, if it’s any satisfaction to you, and put
them out by the back-door, and we shan’t see any more of _them_, I
fancy. And then come along and have some of this cold tongue. It’s
first rate. I’m very pleased with you, Mole!”
The goodnatured Mole picked up a stick, formed his prisoners up in a
line on the floor, gave them the order “Quick march!” and led his squad
off to the upper floor. After a time, he appeared again, smiling, and
said that every room was ready, and as clean as a new pin. “And I
didn’t have to lick them, either,” he added. “I thought, on the whole,
they had had licking enough for one night, and the weasels, when I put
the point to them, quite agreed with me, and said they wouldn’t think
of troubling me. They were very penitent, and said they were extremely
sorry for what they had done, but it was all the fault of the Chief
Weasel and the stoats, and if ever they could do anything for us at any
time to make up, we had only got to mention it. So I gave them a roll
a-piece, and let them out at the back, and off they ran, as hard as
they could!”
Then the Mole pulled his chair up to the table, and pitched into the
cold tongue; and Toad, like the gentleman he was, put all his jealousy
from him, and said heartily, “Thank you kindly, dear Mole, for all your
pains and trouble tonight, and especially for your cleverness this
morning!” The Badger was pleased at that, and said, “There spoke my
brave Toad!” So they finished their supper in great joy and
contentment, and presently retired to rest between clean sheets, safe
in Toad’s ancestral home, won back by matchless valour, consummate
strategy, and a proper handling of sticks.
The following morning, Toad, who had overslept himself as usual, came
down to breakfast disgracefully late, and found on the table a certain
quantity of egg-shells, some fragments of cold and leathery toast, a
coffee-pot three-fourths empty, and really very little else; which did
not tend to improve his temper, considering that, after all, it was his
own house. Through the French windows of the breakfast-room he could
see the Mole and the Water Rat sitting in wicker-chairs out on the
lawn, evidently telling each other stories; roaring with laughter and
kicking their short legs up in the air. The Badger, who was in an
arm-chair and deep in the morning paper, merely looked up and nodded
when Toad entered the room. But Toad knew his man, so he sat down and
made the best breakfast he could, merely observing to himself that he
would get square with the others sooner or later. When he had nearly
finished, the Badger looked up and remarked rather shortly: “I’m sorry,
Toad, but I’m afraid there’s a heavy morning’s work in front of you.
You see, we really ought to have a Banquet at once, to celebrate this
affair. It’s expected of you—in fact, it’s the rule.”
“O, all right!” said the Toad, readily. “Anything to oblige. Though why
on earth you should want to have a Banquet in the morning I cannot
understand. But you know I do not live to please myself, but merely to
find out what my friends want, and then try and arrange it for ’em, you
dear old Badger!”
“Don’t pretend to be stupider than you really are,” replied the Badger,
crossly; “and don’t chuckle and splutter in your coffee while you’re
talking; it’s not manners. What I mean is, the Banquet will be at
night, of course, but the invitations will have to be written and got
off at once, and you’ve got to write ’em. Now, sit down at that
table—there’s stacks of letter-paper on it, with ‘Toad Hall’ at the top
in blue and gold—and write invitations to all our friends, and if you
stick to it we shall get them out before luncheon. And _I’ll_ bear a
hand, too; and take my share of the burden. _I’ll_ order the Banquet.”
“What!” cried Toad, dismayed. “Me stop indoors and write a lot of
rotten letters on a jolly morning like this, when I want to go around
my property, and set everything and everybody to rights, and swagger
about and enjoy myself! Certainly not! I’ll be—I’ll see you——Stop a
minute, though! Why, of course, dear Badger! What is my pleasure or
convenience compared with that of others! You wish it done, and it
shall be done. Go, Badger, order the Banquet, order what you like; then
join our young friends outside in their innocent mirth, oblivious of me
and my cares and toils. I sacrifice this fair morning on the altar of
duty and friendship!”
The Badger looked at him very suspiciously, but Toad’s frank, open
countenance made it difficult to suggest any unworthy motive in this
change of attitude. He quitted the room, accordingly, in the direction
of the kitchen, and as soon as the door had closed behind him, Toad
hurried to the writing-table. A fine idea had occurred to him while he
was talking. He _would_ write the invitations; and he would take care
to mention the leading part he had taken in the fight, and how he had
laid the Chief Weasel flat; and he would hint at his adventures, and
what a career of triumph he had to tell about; and on the fly-leaf he
would set out a sort of a programme of entertainment for the
evening—something like this, as he sketched it out in his head:—
SPEECH. . . . BY TOAD.
(There will be other speeches by TOAD during the evening.)
ADDRESS. . . BY TOAD
SYNOPSIS—Our Prison System—the Waterways of Old England—Horse-dealing,
and how to deal—Property, its rights and its duties—Back to the Land—A
Typical English Squire.
SONG. . . . BY TOAD.
(Composed by himself.)
OTHER COMPOSITIONS. BY TOAD
will be sung in the course of the evening by the. . . COMPOSER.
The idea pleased him mightily, and he worked very hard and got all the
letters finished by noon, at which hour it was reported to him that
there was a small and rather bedraggled weasel at the door, inquiring
timidly whether he could be of any service to the gentlemen. Toad
swaggered out and found it was one of the prisoners of the previous
evening, very respectful and anxious to please. He patted him on the
head, shoved the bundle of invitations into his paw, and told him to
cut along quick and deliver them as fast as he could, and if he liked
to come back again in the evening, perhaps there might be a shilling
for him, or, again, perhaps there mightn’t; and the poor weasel seemed
really quite grateful, and hurried off eagerly to do his mission.
When the other animals came back to luncheon, very boisterous and
breezy after a morning on the river, the Mole, whose conscience had
been pricking him, looked doubtfully at Toad, expecting to find him
sulky or depressed. Instead, he was so uppish and inflated that the
Mole began to suspect something; while the Rat and the Badger exchanged
significant glances.
As soon as the meal was over, Toad thrust his paws deep into his
trouser-pockets, remarked casually, “Well, look after yourselves, you
fellows! Ask for anything you want!” and was swaggering off in the
direction of the garden, where he wanted to think out an idea or two
for his coming speeches, when the Rat caught him by the arm.
Toad rather suspected what he was after, and did his best to get away;
but when the Badger took him firmly by the other arm he began to see
that the game was up. The two animals conducted him between them into
the small smoking-room that opened out of the entrance-hall, shut the
door, and put him into a chair. Then they both stood in front of him,
while Toad sat silent and regarded them with much suspicion and
ill-humour.
“Now, look here, Toad,” said the Rat. “It’s about this Banquet, and
very sorry I am to have to speak to you like this. But we want you to
understand clearly, once and for all, that there are going to be no
speeches and no songs. Try and grasp the fact that on this occasion
we’re not arguing with you; we’re just telling you.”
Toad saw that he was trapped. They understood him, they saw through
him, they had got ahead of him. His pleasant dream was shattered.
“Mayn’t I sing them just one _little_ song?” he pleaded piteously.
“No, not _one_ little song,” replied the Rat firmly, though his heart
bled as he noticed the trembling lip of the poor disappointed Toad.
“It’s no good, Toady; you know well that your songs are all conceit and
boasting and vanity; and your speeches are all self-praise
and—and—well, and gross exaggeration and—and——”