Read Online The Willows at Christmas by William Horwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Horwood
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astonishment.
Toad looked greatly relieved to see him and, grabbing him by his lapel, pulled him abruptly into the nearby pantry and shut the back door.
“Mole, O dear, dear Mole!” he cried in a piteous voice. “You should not be here, but now you are, now you are…
But Toad could say no more.
The knife fell from one hand and the potato from the other and he slumped at the Mole’s feet, weeping loudly and crying out, “I cannot stand it another moment. Mrs Fleshe has given Miss Bugle the morning off and made me work here in the kitchen in her place! I can’t return upstairs till I have peeled these twelve pounds of potatoes to her satisfaction. She is coming to inspect my work at noon and it is taking so long, so long…”
Toad’s tears got the better of him once more and he could only sit at the Mole’s feet and weep.
“But, Toad,” cried the concerned Mole, picking up the knife and half-peeled potato. “Are you not master of this establishment and able to decide who does the kitchen work?”
“I am, and yet I am not!” whispered Toad. “For fifty weeks of the year I am, and for two weeks I most definitely am not.”
“Why don’t we talk about it while I help you?” said the sensible and generous Mole, donning an apron that hung from a nearby hook and taking up a second kitchen knife. “After all, twelve pounds of potatoes is not much really. It will take no time at all.”
“Not much?” cried Toad, his face brightening.
He rose to his feet and watched admiringly as the Mole began to peel the potatoes with a speed and expertise that came from long practice.
“My word, Mole,” cried Toad, taking off his apron and bringing forward a kitchen chair so that he might sit and watch, “you certainly know what you’re doing, don’t you? But then I suppose that I, Toad of Toad Hall, am accustomed to thinking on a higher plane than vegetables, and with my time and energies so much occupied with the complex affairs of the estate, I cannot seriously be expected to do such work… Goodness me, you really are an expert!”
“It’s very kind of you to say so, Toad,” said the Mole with pleasure, working even harder at Toad’s task and unaware of the look of indolent satisfaction that had overtaken Toad’s so recently grief-stricken face. “But it wouldn’t take me a moment to show you how potatoes should be peeled.”
A look of alarm overtook his friend’s face.
“No, no!” he spluttered. “Don’t let me slow you down, old chap. You’ve got a good head of steam up, if I may say so, and after all, twelve pounds of potatoes is nothing very much at all. Instead, let me busy myself with the more humble task of finding us both a glass of sherry to keep us busy at our work.”
Toad disappeared, leaving the Mole working hard. He tripped gaily down the scullery passage and thence to his wine cellar where he spent not a little time tasting the many fine sherries, finally choosing an excellent fino, which he judged just right to keep the Mole at his kitchen work.
By the time he returned, the Mole had as good as finished peeling the potatoes.
“Now,” said Toad rather unconvincingly, “you were saying that you might teach me.”
“I was indeed,” said the Mole, “and I have kept by these last few so that I can show you —”The last few?” said Toad, making no move to help his friend Mole. “Won’t it be so much quicker if you finish them off yourself and teach me potato peeling another time?”
As the Mole did so, Toad supped his sherry with evident pleasure and continued to bemoan his fate. Then, when the Mole had finished the potatoes, put them in a large pan and covered them with water, Toad suddenly burst into tears once more.
“O, Mole, I am so very wretched and miserable.”
“But, Toad,” said the perplexed Mole. “Your task is done and it is nowhere near twelve o’clock.”
“That is true,” whispered Toad brokenly, “but Mrs Ffleshe never does things by halves.
Toad looked greatly relieved to see him and, grabbing him by his lapel, pulled him abruptly into the nearby pantry and shut the back door.
“Mole, O dear, dear Mole!” he cried in a piteous voice. “You should not be here, but now you are, now you are…
But Toad could say no more.
The knife fell from one hand and the potato from the other and he slumped at the Mole’s feet, weeping loudly and crying out, “I cannot stand it another moment. Mrs Fleshe has given Miss Bugle the morning off and made me work here in the kitchen in her place! I can’t return upstairs till I have peeled these twelve pounds of potatoes to her satisfaction. She is coming to inspect my work at noon and it is taking so long, so long…”
Toad’s tears got the better of him once more and he could only sit at the Mole’s feet and weep.
“But, Toad,” cried the concerned Mole, picking up the knife and half-peeled potato. “Are you not master of this establishment and able to decide who does the kitchen work?”
“I am, and yet I am not!” whispered Toad. “For fifty weeks of the year I am, and for two weeks I most definitely am not.”
“Why don’t we talk about it while I help you?” said the sensible and generous Mole, donning an apron that hung from a nearby hook and taking up a second kitchen knife. “After all, twelve pounds of potatoes is not much really. It will take no time at all.”
“Not much?” cried Toad, his face brightening.
He rose to his feet and watched admiringly as the Mole began to peel the potatoes with a speed and expertise that came from long practice.
“My word, Mole,” cried Toad, taking off his apron and bringing forward a kitchen chair so that he might sit and watch, “you certainly know what you’re doing, don’t you? But then I suppose that I, Toad of Toad Hall, am accustomed to thinking on a higher plane than vegetables, and with my time and energies so much occupied with the complex affairs of the estate, I cannot seriously be expected to do such work… Goodness me, you really are an expert!”
“It’s very kind of you to say so, Toad,” said the Mole with pleasure, working even harder at Toad’s task and unaware of the look of indolent satisfaction that had overtaken Toad’s so recently grief-stricken face. “But it wouldn’t take me a moment to show you how potatoes should be peeled.”
A look of alarm overtook his friend’s face.
“No, no!” he spluttered. “Don’t let me slow you down, old chap. You’ve got a good head of steam up, if I may say so, and after all, twelve pounds of potatoes is nothing very much at all. Instead, let me busy myself with the more humble task of finding us both a glass of sherry to keep us busy at our work.”
Toad disappeared, leaving the Mole working hard. He tripped gaily down the scullery passage and thence to his wine cellar where he spent not a little time tasting the many fine sherries, finally choosing an excellent fino, which he judged just right to keep the Mole at his kitchen work.
By the time he returned, the Mole had as good as finished peeling the potatoes.
“Now,” said Toad rather unconvincingly, “you were saying that you might teach me.”
“I was indeed,” said the Mole, “and I have kept by these last few so that I can show you —”The last few?” said Toad, making no move to help his friend Mole. “Won’t it be so much quicker if you finish them off yourself and teach me potato peeling another time?”
As the Mole did so, Toad supped his sherry with evident pleasure and continued to bemoan his fate. Then, when the Mole had finished the potatoes, put them in a large pan and covered them with water, Toad suddenly burst into tears once more.
“O, Mole, I am so very wretched and miserable.”
“But, Toad,” said the perplexed Mole. “Your task is done and it is nowhere near twelve o’clock.”
“That is true,” whispered Toad brokenly, “but Mrs Ffleshe never does things by halves.
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