and didn’t see anybody about, so I dropped the rucksack down on to the ground and half-slid, half-fell down after it. I reached the ground more or less inverted in a flurry of hay, and sat there for a bit trying to get it out of my ears.
At that point somebody shouted: ‘Oy!’
I looked round, and there was a stocky-looking young man in breeches and gaiters striding up the field. From the first I disliked the look of him. He was one of those flamboyantly sharp young fellows that you sometimes find in the bar of a country pub; I suppose every village has one or two like him. He would be the local Don Juan, the crack billiard-player, the acknowledged authority on last year’s musical comedy, the smart lad of the village. I looked at him with misgiving.
‘Here comes trouble,’ I thought. And I wasn’t ready for trouble. I hadn’t made any plans.
‘Oy!’ he said again. ‘Coom on aht of that.’
I got to my feet and picked up my rucksack. By this time he was quite close.
‘Coom on,’ he said. ‘You git on aht o’ this. What the ruddy ’ell’s the game? Hey? I seen you. You was up on top o’ the stack. Hey?’
‘Right you are,’ I said. ‘I’ll move on.’
He stepped in front of me. ‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘You don’t catch me like that.’ He laughed. ‘Not likely. What’s the game? Hey?’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ve been sleeping here. That’s all.’
He took me up at once. ‘No, you wasn’t,’ he said. ‘You was up on top o’ that stack. I seen you slide down.’
‘Damn it,’ I said, ‘I was sleeping on top of the stack.’
That seemed to amuse him. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You was, was you. You can’t come it over me like that.’ Then, as luck would have it, he caught sight of the rucksack. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ he said. ‘Coom on. Let’s ’ave a look.’
I stepped back a pace. ‘You can leave that alone,’ I said. ‘It’s no business of yours.’ I didn’t want him to see the convict clothes in the bag.
‘Ho,’ said he, ‘so that’s it. D’you reckon I don’t know what you’ve got in that bag? Hey? D’you think I don’t know the game. I’ll tell you what you’ve got there. One o’ my Plymouth cockerels. That’s what you got there. One o’ my Plymouth cockerels. The one as had his leg trapped, so’s you got him easy. That’s what you got there. Hey?’
It was absurd. To show that I was not responsible for the missing cockerel I had only to open my bag, and that was precisely what I could not do. It became evident to me that I was in a corner; that I could only get out of this absurd situation by laying a red herring. I must see that it was a good one.
I moved over to pick up my cap; as I did so it occurred to me to walk with a pronounced limp.
‘Hey …’ he cried, and stopped short. I thought Icould detect a note of uncertainty in that ‘Hey’, and smiled to myself. I crammed the cap on my head and turned to him again. He looked undecided and furtive; the colour was not so high in his beastly face as it had been. For a moment I felt quite sorry for him. Then I dropped my bag.
‘What do you mean by that?’ I said.
The stuffing seemed to have fallen out of him all of a sudden. ‘I didn’t mean nothing,’ he said.
I moved a little closer to him. ‘Oh yes, you did,’ I said. ‘Now suppose you think a bit, and tell me just what you did mean.’ I eyed him carefully. He was a bigger man than I, but I could see that he wasn’t going to give me much trouble.
He didn’t answer, so I asked him again.
‘I seen about you in the paper,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t mean you no harm.’
‘That’s as it may be,’ I said very softly. ‘But you weren’t very hospitable, were you?’
Then I hit him. Looking back upon it now, I think that was the dirtiest thing I did in the whole business, if not in my life. He hadn’t a notion what was coming to him. He was peering forward at me as they always do when you
At that point somebody shouted: ‘Oy!’
I looked round, and there was a stocky-looking young man in breeches and gaiters striding up the field. From the first I disliked the look of him. He was one of those flamboyantly sharp young fellows that you sometimes find in the bar of a country pub; I suppose every village has one or two like him. He would be the local Don Juan, the crack billiard-player, the acknowledged authority on last year’s musical comedy, the smart lad of the village. I looked at him with misgiving.
‘Here comes trouble,’ I thought. And I wasn’t ready for trouble. I hadn’t made any plans.
‘Oy!’ he said again. ‘Coom on aht of that.’
I got to my feet and picked up my rucksack. By this time he was quite close.
‘Coom on,’ he said. ‘You git on aht o’ this. What the ruddy ’ell’s the game? Hey? I seen you. You was up on top o’ the stack. Hey?’
‘Right you are,’ I said. ‘I’ll move on.’
He stepped in front of me. ‘No, you don’t,’ he said. ‘You don’t catch me like that.’ He laughed. ‘Not likely. What’s the game? Hey?’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ve been sleeping here. That’s all.’
He took me up at once. ‘No, you wasn’t,’ he said. ‘You was up on top o’ that stack. I seen you slide down.’
‘Damn it,’ I said, ‘I was sleeping on top of the stack.’
That seemed to amuse him. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You was, was you. You can’t come it over me like that.’ Then, as luck would have it, he caught sight of the rucksack. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’ he said. ‘Coom on. Let’s ’ave a look.’
I stepped back a pace. ‘You can leave that alone,’ I said. ‘It’s no business of yours.’ I didn’t want him to see the convict clothes in the bag.
‘Ho,’ said he, ‘so that’s it. D’you reckon I don’t know what you’ve got in that bag? Hey? D’you think I don’t know the game. I’ll tell you what you’ve got there. One o’ my Plymouth cockerels. That’s what you got there. One o’ my Plymouth cockerels. The one as had his leg trapped, so’s you got him easy. That’s what you got there. Hey?’
It was absurd. To show that I was not responsible for the missing cockerel I had only to open my bag, and that was precisely what I could not do. It became evident to me that I was in a corner; that I could only get out of this absurd situation by laying a red herring. I must see that it was a good one.
I moved over to pick up my cap; as I did so it occurred to me to walk with a pronounced limp.
‘Hey …’ he cried, and stopped short. I thought Icould detect a note of uncertainty in that ‘Hey’, and smiled to myself. I crammed the cap on my head and turned to him again. He looked undecided and furtive; the colour was not so high in his beastly face as it had been. For a moment I felt quite sorry for him. Then I dropped my bag.
‘What do you mean by that?’ I said.
The stuffing seemed to have fallen out of him all of a sudden. ‘I didn’t mean nothing,’ he said.
I moved a little closer to him. ‘Oh yes, you did,’ I said. ‘Now suppose you think a bit, and tell me just what you did mean.’ I eyed him carefully. He was a bigger man than I, but I could see that he wasn’t going to give me much trouble.
He didn’t answer, so I asked him again.
‘I seen about you in the paper,’ he muttered. ‘I didn’t mean you no harm.’
‘That’s as it may be,’ I said very softly. ‘But you weren’t very hospitable, were you?’
Then I hit him. Looking back upon it now, I think that was the dirtiest thing I did in the whole business, if not in my life. He hadn’t a notion what was coming to him. He was peering forward at me as they always do when you
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