Small House of Everything
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
OVERLOOKED FILM: VAMPIRE OVER LONDON (1952)
Arthur Lucan (born Arthur Towle, 1885-1954) was a stage, music hall, and film actor with a fifty-five year career -- forty of them as Old Mother Riley, a popular character in England. Old Mother Riley was a charwoman, a laundress, a shopkeeper, or whatever profession would help spin the plot. Usually, some sort of mix-up or misunderstanding would be enough to start the plot -- in Vampire Over London it's a misdirected package.
Bela Lugosi plays a mad scientist known as The Vampire. His plan to rule the world includes a radar-controlled robot which has accidently been delivered to Old Mother Riley. The Vampire uses radar to get the robot back to his lair. The robot just happens to bring Old Mother Riley along. Slapstick and (sometimes) hilarity ensue.
Old Mother Riley evolved from characters Lucan created in his music hall acts. In 1913 he married fifteen-year-old Kitty McShane and his act soon incorporated Kitty and transformed into skits featuring Old Mother Riley "and her Daughter." Old Mother Riley shifted to films in 1936 with Stars on Parade. Sixteen more films followed. Popular? In 1941 Lucan (as his Old Mother Riley character) was voted the seond most popular film star in England.
Which begs the question: What is it with the English and their fondness for characters in drag?
Anyway, this was the last of the movies in the series. Lucan was planning on another film, Old Mother Riley's Trip to Mars, when he died. His relationship with Kitty had grown acrimonious to the point where their scenes in the penultimate Old Mother Riley movie had to be shot separately. Kitty was replaced for this final film.
And why was Lugosi in the film? According to a comment on IMDB, Lugosi needed the money to fly his wife and himself home following a unsuccssful London stage stint.
I remember catching a couple of Old Mother Riley films on television when I was a kid and not being impressed. But what the heck did I know? -- I was a kid. Vampire Over London may not be a great film, perhaps, but it has its entertaining moments.
(Also known as My Son the Vampire, Dracula's Desire, and Mother Riley Runs Wild; pre-release titles were Old Mother Riley Meets the Vampire, The Robot and the Vampire, and The Vampire and the Robot.)
http://archive.org/details/VampireOverLondon1952
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For more Overlooked Films, go VOTE today, then stop by sweetfreedom, Todd Mason's always-interesting blog.
Monday, November 5, 2012
INCOMING
- Isaac Asimov, The Tyrannosaurus Prescription and 100 Other Essays. Miscellaneous essays from all sources, including 20 from his column in SciQuest and 42 introductions and forewards that Asimov wrote for various books.
- Pierce Askegren, Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Afterimage. Television tie-in novel. Askegren was a local (well, D.C. area -- well, actually Northern Virginia) writer; another who left us far too soon.
- Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, The Bridge to Never Land. The fifth book in the authors' Starcatchers series, based on Peter Pan.
- Paul Cornell, Doctor Who: The Shadows of Avalon. Television tie-in novel featuring the eighth Doctor.
- George Harmon Coxe, The Jade Venus. A Kent Murdock mystery.
- Gordon R. Dickson, The Dragon in Lyonesse. Fantasy novel in the Dragon Knight series.
- "Tabor Evans" (house nme), Longarm and the Colorado Manhunt. Number 349 in this long-running adult western series.
- Gherbod Fleming, Gangrel. Gaming (Vampire: The Masquerade) tie-in novel of The Clan.
- Geronimo (as told to S. M. Barrett), Geronimo: His Own Story. Autobiography.
- "Brett Halliday" (Davis Dresser), When Dorinda Dances. A Mike Shayne mystery.
- Caroline Hart, Merry, Merry Ghost. A Bailey Ruth fantasy/mystery.
- "Iceberg Slim" (Robert Beck), Doom Fox. A ghetto crime novel.
- Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go. Lit'ry novel with SF overtones.
- Barry Letts, Doctor Who: The Paradise of Death. Television tie-in novel featuring the third Doctor, Sarah Jane Smith, and the Brigadier.
- Joseph M. Marshall III, The Journey of Crazy Horse: A Lokata History. Non-fiction.
- "J. D. Masters" (Simon Hawke, born Nicholas Yermakov), Target Steele. Sixth in the men's action-adventure series about a cyborg cop.
- Warren Murphy and James Mullaney, three books in The New Destroyer series: Dead Reckoning, Guardian Angel, and Killer Ratings. Men's action-adventure following the characters created by...
- ...Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir, twenty books in The Destroyer series: #1 Created, the Destroyer, #3 Chinese Puzzle, #5 Dr. Quake, #6 Death Therapy, #7 Union Bust, #8 Summit Chase, #9 Murder's Shield, #11 Kill or Cure, #12 Slave Safari, #20 Assassins' Play-Off, #26 In Enemy Hands, #27 The Last Temple, #28 Ship of Death, #30 Mugger Blood, #32 Mugger Blood, #32 Killer Chromosomes, #33 Voodoo Die, #36 Power Play, #40 Dangerous Games, #41 Firing Line, and #70 The Eleventh Hour. Men's action-adventure.
- "J. D. Robb" (Nora Roberts), Immortal in Death. Futuristic detective novel in the never-ending Eve Dallas series. Haven't read any of these, but I thought if I picked this one up. I'd get to it sooner or later.
- Harry Turtledove, American Empire: The Victorious Opposition (the fourth (I think) in this particular alternate history series) and Curious Notions (more alt history, Book Two of Crosstime Traffic).
- Charles G. West, Shoot-Out at Broken Bow. Western.
- Lady Wilde, Ancient Legends of Ireland. Folklore.
- Jim R. Woolard, Cold Moon. Packaged as a western novel, this is a frontier novel of the 1793 Shawnee war in Ohio.
And the following were ones Dawn contributed to the cause:
- Janice Hamrick, Death on Tour. Winner of the 2010 Mystery Writers of America/Minataur Books First Crime Novel.
- Kathy Reichs, Bones Are Forever. A Temperance Brennan mystery.
- Robert Sawyer, Mindscan. SF.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
HYMNTIME
Grrrr...I hate the ads imbedded into Youtube clips. Luckily what follows here helps bring my soul peace.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4MQew6h0qN0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4MQew6h0qN0
Saturday, November 3, 2012
WHAT WORKS FOR ME
From page 136 of The Stainless Steel Rat Goes to Hell (1996) by Harry Harrison
It was a lovely night. With their salamis at slope arms and in perfect step, the marines charged straight into Hell behind Sybil. My family followed.
Doesn't that paragraph make you want to keep reading to find out what the heck is going on?
BTW, this is a literal description of what was happening in this SF novel. Not an allegory. not a metaphor. Not a dream or a hallucination. My admitration for Harrison's work continues to grow.
It was a lovely night. With their salamis at slope arms and in perfect step, the marines charged straight into Hell behind Sybil. My family followed.
Doesn't that paragraph make you want to keep reading to find out what the heck is going on?
BTW, this is a literal description of what was happening in this SF novel. Not an allegory. not a metaphor. Not a dream or a hallucination. My admitration for Harrison's work continues to grow.
Friday, November 2, 2012
FORGOTTEN BOOK: THE DEAD BOY DETECTIVES
The Dead Boy Detectives by Jill Thompson (2005)
First introduced in Neil Gaiman's The Sandman: Season of Mists, Charles Rowland and Edwin Paine are young ghosts (ages 13 and 12, respectively) who form Rowland and Paine Detective Agency (home office: The Tree house, London, England). Artist and writer Jill Thompson used the two, plus Gaiman's character Death, in an earlier book Death: At Death's Door. Now they are back (with a cameo appearance by Death) in this manga digest.
Annika Abernathy, a 13-year-old student at the International Academy in Chicago, has written to the agency asking for their help in locating her missing roommate and best friend, Elizabeth. All the adults at the school are acting as if Elizabeth never existed -- something she feels is "ultra dodgy" and she fears the worst. Well, what young detective agency could resist that appeal?
The dead lads make it to Chicago and manage to find Annika and her friends Fiorenza, Michiko, and 6-year-old Frederika. Charles (who died in 1990) is gobsmacked when he sees Annika (she's quite a 13-year-old dish); Edwin (who died in 1916) is a bit more blase and eager to solve the mystery. The girls tell them they could stay at their boarding school while they investigate, forgetting to mention that it's an all-girls school. The girls solve this problem by raiding their closets and using their make-up and Charles and Edwin are transformed into a pair of exceptionally uncomfortable girls -- making them the only YA drag dead detectives (to my knowledge) in literature.
On to the investigation!
There are suspects a-plenty including les itches bay (three older bully-girls), young teacher Mr. Bourne (very snoggable, according to the girls), Ms. Caine (a world lit teacher who picked on Elizabeth), science teacher Mr. Drake (who loved to experiment), history teacher Professor Pimm (who was overly interested in Elizabeth's mysterious term paper), and the surly and prying janitor Mr. Jones. There were also clues a-plenty: hidden treasure, a torn diary, a briefcase full of photos of Elizabeth, a pile of receipts for Elizabeth's favorite food, and hidden panels all over the boarding school.
The investigation is complicated by no one knowing the boys are dead, and most not knowing the boys are boys -- causing some complications in a girls school. And the girls who do know that the boys are not girls are displaying a great deal of pubescent lust, making both dead boys very uncomfortable -- especially Edwin with his Edwardian/Georgian sensibilities.
I'm not that much of a manga fan, but I was entranced by The Dead Boy Detectives. The writing is smart and sassy, the artwork lends itself to the story, and the resolution is unexpected and quite satisfying.
Enjoyable and worth checking out.
First introduced in Neil Gaiman's The Sandman: Season of Mists, Charles Rowland and Edwin Paine are young ghosts (ages 13 and 12, respectively) who form Rowland and Paine Detective Agency (home office: The Tree house, London, England). Artist and writer Jill Thompson used the two, plus Gaiman's character Death, in an earlier book Death: At Death's Door. Now they are back (with a cameo appearance by Death) in this manga digest.
Annika Abernathy, a 13-year-old student at the International Academy in Chicago, has written to the agency asking for their help in locating her missing roommate and best friend, Elizabeth. All the adults at the school are acting as if Elizabeth never existed -- something she feels is "ultra dodgy" and she fears the worst. Well, what young detective agency could resist that appeal?
The dead lads make it to Chicago and manage to find Annika and her friends Fiorenza, Michiko, and 6-year-old Frederika. Charles (who died in 1990) is gobsmacked when he sees Annika (she's quite a 13-year-old dish); Edwin (who died in 1916) is a bit more blase and eager to solve the mystery. The girls tell them they could stay at their boarding school while they investigate, forgetting to mention that it's an all-girls school. The girls solve this problem by raiding their closets and using their make-up and Charles and Edwin are transformed into a pair of exceptionally uncomfortable girls -- making them the only YA drag dead detectives (to my knowledge) in literature.
On to the investigation!
There are suspects a-plenty including les itches bay (three older bully-girls), young teacher Mr. Bourne (very snoggable, according to the girls), Ms. Caine (a world lit teacher who picked on Elizabeth), science teacher Mr. Drake (who loved to experiment), history teacher Professor Pimm (who was overly interested in Elizabeth's mysterious term paper), and the surly and prying janitor Mr. Jones. There were also clues a-plenty: hidden treasure, a torn diary, a briefcase full of photos of Elizabeth, a pile of receipts for Elizabeth's favorite food, and hidden panels all over the boarding school.
The investigation is complicated by no one knowing the boys are dead, and most not knowing the boys are boys -- causing some complications in a girls school. And the girls who do know that the boys are not girls are displaying a great deal of pubescent lust, making both dead boys very uncomfortable -- especially Edwin with his Edwardian/Georgian sensibilities.
I'm not that much of a manga fan, but I was entranced by The Dead Boy Detectives. The writing is smart and sassy, the artwork lends itself to the story, and the resolution is unexpected and quite satisfying.
Enjoyable and worth checking out.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
TOAD'S ADVENTURES
Chapter VIII of The Wind in the Willows (1908) by Kenneth Grahame
TOAD'S ADVENTURES
When Toad found himself immured in a dank and noisome dungeon, and knew that all the grim darkness of a medieval fortress lay between him and the outer world of sunshine and well-metalled high walls where he had lately been so happy, disporting himself as if he had brought up every road in England, he flung himself at full length on the floor, and shed bitter tears, and abandoned himself to dark despair. 'This is the end of everythin,' (he said), 'at least it is the end of the career of Toad, which is the same thing; the popular and handsome Toad, the rich and hospitable Toad, the Toad so free and careless and debonair! How can I hope ever to be set at large again' (he said), 'who have been imprisoned so justly for stealing so handsome a motor-car in such an audacious manner, and for such lurid and imaginative cheek, bestowed upon such a number of fat, red-faced policemen!' (Here his sobs choked him.) 'Stupid animal that I was' (he said) 'now I must lanquish in this dungeon, till people who were proud to say they knew me, have forgotten the very name of Toad!' With lamentations such as these he passed his days and nights for several weeks, refusing his meals or intermediate light refreshments, though the grim and ancient gaoler, knowing that Toad's pockets were well-lined, frequently pointed out that many comforts, and indeed luxuries, could by arrangement be sent in -- at a price -- from outside.
Now the gaoler had a daughter, a pleasant wench and good-hearted, who assisted her father in the lighter duties of his post. She was particularly fond of animals, and, besides her canary, whose cage hung on a nail on the massive wall of the keep by day, to the great annoyance of prisoners who relished an after-dinner nap, and was shrouded in an antimacassar on the parlour table at night, she kept several piebald mice and a restless revolving squirrel. This kind-hearted girl, pitying the misery of Toad, said to her father one day, 'Father! I can't bear to see that beast so unhappy, and getting so thin! You let me have the managing of him. You know how fond of animals I am. I'll make him eat from my hand, and sit up, and do all sorts of things.'
Her father replied she could do what she liked with him. He was tired of Toad, and his sulks and his airs and his meanness. So that day she went on her errand of mercy, and knocked at the door of Toad's cell.
'Now, cheer up, Toad,' she said coaxingly, on entering, 'and sit up and dry your eyes and be a sensible animal. And do try to eat a bit of dinner. See, I've brought you some of mine, hot from the oven!'
It was bubble-and-sqeak, between two plates, and its fragrance filled the narrow cell. The penetrating smell of cabbage reached the nose of Toad as he lay prostrate in his misery on the floor, and gave him the idea for a moment that perhaps life was not such a blank and desperate thing as he had imagined. But still he wailed, and kicked his legs, and refused to be comforted. So the wise girl retired for the time, but, of course, a good deal of the smell of cabbage remained behind, as it will do, and Toad, between his sobs, sniffed and reflected, and gradually began to think new and insoiring thoughts: of chivalry, and poetry, and deeds still to be done; of broad meadows and cattle browsing in them; of kitchen gardens, and straight herb-borders, and warm snap-dragon beset by bees; and of the comforting clink of dishes set down on the table at Toad Hall, and the scrape of chair-legs on the floor as every one pulled himself close up to his work. The air of the narrow cell took a rosy tinge; he began to think of his friends, and how they would surely be able to do something; of lawyers, and how they would have enjoyed his case, and what an ass he had been not to get in a few; and lastly, he thought of his own great cleverness and resource, and all that he was capable of if he put his great mind to it; and the cure was almost complete.
When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like hony from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. Toad sat up on end once more, dried his eyes, sipped his tea and munched his toast, and soon began talking freely about himself, and his doings there, and how important he was, and what a lot of his friends thought of him.
The gaoler's daughter saw that the topic was doing him as much good as the tea, as indeed it was, and encouraged him to go on.
'Tell me about Toad Hall,' said she. 'It sounds beautiful.'
'Toad Hall,' said the Toad proudly, 'is an eligible self-contained gentleman's residence, very unique; dating in part from the fourteenth century, but replete with every modern convenience. Up-to-date sanitation. Five minutes from church, post-office, and golf-links. Suitable for --'
'Bless the animal,' said the girl, laughing, 'I don't want to take it. Tell me something real about it. But first wait until I fetch you some more tea and toast.'
She tripped away, and presently returned with a fresh trayful; and Toad, pitching into the toast with avidity, his spirits quite restored to their usual level, told her about the boat-house, and the fish-pond, and the old walled kitchen-garden; and about the pig styes, and the stables, and the pigeon-house, and the hen-house; and about the dairy, and the wash-house, and the china-supboards, and the linen-presses (she like that bit especially); and about the banqueting hall, and the fun they had there when the other animals were gathered round the table and Toad was at his best, singing songs, telling stories, carrying on generally. Then she wanted to know about his animal-friends, and was very interested in all he had to tell her about them and how they lived, and what they did to pass their time. Of course, she did not say she was fond of animals as pets, because she had the sense to see that Toad would be extremely offended. When she said good-night, having filled his water-jug and shaken up his straw for him, Toad was very much the same sanguine, self-satisfied animal that he had been of old. He sang a little song of two, of the sort he used to sing at his dinner-parties, and had an excellent night's rest and the pleasantest of dreams.
They had many interesting talks together, after that, as the dreary days went on; and the goaler's daughter grew very sorry for Toad, and thought it a great shame that a poor little animal should be locked up in prison for what seemed to her a very trivial offence. Toad, of course, in his vanity, thought that her interest in him proceeding from a growing tenderness; and he could not help half-regretting that the social gulf between them was so very wide, for she was a comely lass, an evidently admired him very much.
One morning the girl was very thoughful, and answered at random,and did not seem to Toad to be paying the proper attention to his witty sayings and sparkling comments.
'Toad,' she said presently, 'just listen, please. I have an aunt who is a washerwoman.'
'There, there,' said Toad graciously and affably, 'never mind; think no more about it. I have sereval aunts who ought to be washerwomen.'
'Do be quiet for a minute, Toad,' said the girl. 'You talk too much, that's your chief fault, and I'm trying to think, and you hurt my head. As I said, I have an aunt who's a washerwoman; she does the washing for all the prisoners in this castle -- we try to keep any paying business of that sort in the family, you understand. She takes out the washing on Monday morning, and brings it back on Friday evening. This is a Thursday. Now, this is what occurs to me: you're very rich -- at least you're always telling me so -- and she's very poor. A few pounds wouldn't make any difference to you, and it would mean a lot to her. Now, I think if she were properly approached -- squared, I believe is the word you animals use --you could come to some arrangement by which she would let you have her dress and bonnet and so on, and you could escape from the castle as the official washerwoman. You're very alike in many respects -- particularly about the figure.'
'We're not,' said the Toad in a huff. 'I have a very elegant figure -- for what I am.'
'So has my aunt,' said the girl, 'for what she is. But have it your own way. You horrid, proud, ungrateful animal, when I'm sorry for you, and trying to help you!'
'Yes, yes, that's all right; thank you very much indeed,' said Toad hurriedly. But look here! you surely wouldn't have Mr. Toad, of Toad Hall, going going around the country disguised as a washerwoman!'
'Then you can stop here as a Toad,' replied the girl with much spirit. 'I suppose you want to go off in a coach-and-four!'
Honest Toad was always ready to admit himself in the wrong. 'You are a good, kind, clever girl,' he said, 'and I am indeed a proud and stupid toad. Introduce me to your worthy aunt, if you would be so kind, and I have no doubt that the excellent lady and I will be able to arrange terms satisfactory to both parties.'
Next evening the girl ushered her aunt into Toad's cell, bearing his week's washing pinned up in a towel. The old lady had been prepared beforehand for the interview, and sight of several gold sovereigns that Toad had thoughfully placed on the table in full view practically completed the matter abd left little further to discuss. In return for his cash, Toad received a cotton print gown, an apron, a shawl, and a rusty black bonnet; the only stipulation the old lady made being that she should be gagged and bound and dumped in a corner. By this not very convincing artifice, she explained, aided by picturesque fiction which she could supply herself, she hoped to retain her situation, in spite of the suspicious appearance of things.
Toad was delighted with the suggestion. It would enable him to leave the prison in some style, and with his reputation for being a desperate and dangerous fellow untarnished; and he readily helped the gaoler's daughter to make her aunt appear as much as possible the victim of circumstance over which she had no control.
'Now it's your turn, Toad,' said the girl. Take off that coat and waistcoat of yours; you're fat enough as it is.'
Shaking with laughter, she proceeded to 'hook-and-eye' him into the cotton print gown, arranged the shawl in a professional fold, and tied the strings of the rusty bonnet under his chin.
'You're the very image of her," she giggled, 'only I'm sure you never looked half so respectable in all your life before. Now, goodbye Toad, and good luck. Go straight down the way you came up; and if anyone says anything to you, as they probably will, being but men, you can chaff back a bit, of course, but remember you're a widow woman, quite alone in the world, with a character to lose.'
With a quaking heart, but as firm a footstep he could command, Toad set forth cautiously on what seemed to be a most hare-brained and hazardous undertaking; but he was soon agreeably surprised to find how easy everything was made for him, and a little humbled at the thought that both his popularity and the sex that seemed to inspire it, were really another's. The washerwoman's squat figure in its familiar cotton print seemed a passport for every barred door and grim gateway; even when he hesitated, uncertain as the right turning to take, he found himself helped out of his difficulty by the warder at the next gate, anxious to be off to his tea, summoning him to come along sharp and not keep him waiting there all night. The chaff and the humourous sallies to which he was subjected, and to which, of course, he had to provide prompt and effective reply, formed, indeed, his chief danger; for Toad was an animal with a strong sense of his own dignity, and the chaff was mostly (he though) was poor and clumsy, and the humour of the sallies entirely lacking. Hoever, he kept his temper, though with great difficulty, suited his retorts to his temper and his supposed character, and did his best not to overstep the limits of good taste.
It seemed hours before he crossed the last courtyard, rejected the pressing invitations from the last guardroom, and dodged the outspread arms of the last warder, pleading with simulated passion for just onefarewell embrace. But at last he heard the wicket-gate in the great outer door click behind him, felt the fresh air of the outer world upon his anxious brow, and knew the he was free!
Dizzy with the easy success of his daring exploit, he walked quickly towards the lights of town, not knowing in the least what he should do next, only quite certain of one thing, that he should remove himself as quickly as possible from the neighbourhood where the lady he was forced to represent was so well-known and so popular a character.
As he walked along, considering, his attention was caught by some red and green lights a little way off, to one side of the town, and the sound of the puffing and snorting of engines and the banging of shunted trucks fell on his ear. 'Aha!' he thought, 'this is a piece of luck! A railway station is the thing I want most in the whole world at this moment; and what's more, I needn't go through the town to get it, and shan't have to support this humiliating character by repartees which, though thoroughly effective, do not assist one's sense of self-respect.'
He made his way to the station accordingly, consulted a time-table, and found that a train, bound more or less in the direction of his home, was due to start in half-an-hour. 'More luck!' said Toad, his spirits rising rapidly, and went off to the booking-office to buy his ticket.
He gave the name of the station that he knew to be the nearest to the village of which Toad Hall was the principal feature, and mechanically put his fingers, in search of the necessary money, where his waistcoat pocket should have been. But here the cotton gown, which had nobly stood by him so far, and which he had basely forgotten, intervened and frustrated his efforts. In a sort of nightmare he struugled with the strange uncanny thing that seemed to hold his hands, turn all muscular strivibgs to water, and laugh at him all the time; while other travellers, forming up in a line behind, waitedwith impatience, making suggestions of more or less value and comments of more or less stringency and point. At last -- somehow -- he never rightly understood how -- he burst the barriers, attained the goal, arrived at where all waistcoat pockets are eternally situated, and found -- not only no money, but no pocket to hold it, and no waistcoat to hold the pocket!
To his horror he recollected that he had left both coat and waistcoat behind him in his cell, and with them his pocket-book, money, keys, watch, matches, pencil-case -- all that makes life worth living, all that distinquished the many-pocketed animal, the lord of creation, from the inferior one-pocketed or no-pocketed productions that hop or trip about permissively, unequipped for the real contest.
In his misery he made one desperate effort to carry the thing off -- a blend of the Squire and the College Don -- he said, 'Look here! I find I've left my purse behind. Just give me that ticket, will you, and I'll send the money on to-morrow. I'm well-known in these parts.'
The clerk stared at him and the rusty black bonnet a moment, and then laughed. 'I should think you were pretty well known in these parts,' he said, 'if you've tried this game on often. Here, stand away from the window, please, madam; you're obstructing the other passengers!'
An old gentleman who had been prodding him in the back for some moments here thrust him away, and, what was worse, addressed him as his good woman, which angered Toad more than anything that had occured that evening.
Baffled and full of despair, he wandered blindly down the platform where the train was standing, and tears trickled down each side of his nose. It was hard, he thought, to be within sight of safety and almost of home, and to be baulked by the want of a few wretched shillings an by the pettiflogging mistrustfulness of paid officials. Very soon his escape would be discovered, the hunt would be up, he would be caught, reviled, loaded with chains, dragged back again to prison, and bread-and-water and straw; his guards and penalties would be doubled; and O! what sarcastic remarks the girl would make! What was to be done? He was not swift of foot; his figure was unfortunately recognizable. Could he not squeeze under the seat of a carriage? He had seen this method adopted by schoolboys, when the journey-money provided by thoughtful parents had been diverted to other and better ends. As he pondered, he found himself opposite the engine, which was being oiled, wiped, and gently caressed by its affectionate driver, a burly man with an oil-can in one hand and a lump of cotton-waste in the other.
'Hullo, mother!' said the engine-driver, 'what's the trouble? You don't look particularly cheerful.'
'O, sir, said Toad, crying afresh, 'I am a poor unhappy washerwoman, and I've lost all my money, and I can't pay for a ticket, and I must get home to-night somehow, and whatever I am to do I don't know. O dear, o dear!'
'That's a bad business indeed,' said the engine-driver reflectively. 'Lost your money -- and can't get home -- and got some kids, too, waiting for you, I dare say?'
'Any amount of them,' sobbed Toad. 'And they'll be hungry -- and playing with matches -- and upsetting lamps, the little innocents! -- and quarreling, and going on generally. O dear, o dear!'
'Well, I'll tell you what I'll do,' said the good engine-driver. 'You're a washerwoman to your trade, says you. Very well, that's that. And I'm an engine-driver as you well may see, and there's no denying it's terribly dirty work. Uses up a power of shirts, it does, till my missus is fair tired of washing 'em. If you'll wash a few shirts for me when you get home, and send 'em along, I'll give you a ride on my engine. It's against the Company's regulations, but we're not so very particular in these out-of-the-way parts.'
The Toad's misery turned into rapture as he eagerly scrambled up into the cab of the engine. Of course, he had never washed a shirt in his life, and couldn't if he tried and, anyhow, he wasn't going to begin; but he thought, 'When I get safely home to Toad Hall, and have money again, and pockets to put it in, I will send the engine-driver enough to pay for quite a quantity of washing, and that will be the same thing, or better.'
The guard waved his welcome flag, the engine-driver whistled in cheerful response, and the train moved out of the station. As the speed increased, and Toad could see on either side of him real fields, and trees, and hedges, and cows, and horses, all flying past him, and as he thought how every minute was bringing him nearer to Toad Hall, and sympathetic friends, and money to chink in his pocket, and a soft bed to sleep in, and good things to eat, and praise and admiration at the recital of his adventures and his unsurpassing cleverness, he began to skip up and down and shout and sing snatches of song, to the great astonishment of the engine-driver, who had come across washerwomen before, at long intervals, but never one at all like this.
They had covered many and many a mile, and Toad was already considering what he would have for supper as soon as he got home, when he noticed that the engine-driver, with a puzzled expression on his face, was leaning on the side of the engine and listening hard. Then he saw him climb on to the coals and gaze out over the top of the train; then he returned and said to Toad: 'It's very strange; we're on the last train running in this direction to-night, yet I could be sworn that I heard another following us!'
Toad ceased his frivolous actions at once. He became grave and depressed, and a dull pain in the lower part of his spine, communicating itself to his legs, made him want to sit down and try deperately not to think of all the possibilities.
By this time the moon was shining brightly, and the engine-driver, steadying himself on the coal, could command a view of the line behind him for a long distance.
Presently he called out, 'I can see it clearly now! It is an engine, on our rails, coming along at a great pace! It looks as if we were being pursued!'
The miserable Toad, crouching in the coal-dust, tried hard to think of something to do, with dismal want of success.
'They are gaining on us fast!' cried the engine-driver. "And the engine is crowded with the queerest lot of people! Men like ancient warders, waving halberds; policemen in their helmuts, waving truncheons; and shabbily-dressed men in pot-hats, obvious and unmistakable plain-clothes detectives even at this distance, waving revolvers and walking-sticks; all waving, and all shouting the same thing -- "Stop, stop, stop!"'
Then Toad fell on his knees among the coals and, raising his clasped paws in supplication, cried, 'Save me, only save me, dear kind Mr. Engine-driver, and I will confess everything! I am not the simple washerwoman I seem to be! I have no children waiting for me, innocent or otherwise! I am a toad -- the well-known and popular Mr. Toad, a landed proprietor; I have just escaped, by my great daring and cleverness, from a loathsome dungeon into which my enemies had flung me; and if those fellows on that engine recapture me, it will be chains and bread-and-water and straw and misery once more for poor, unhappy, innocent Toad!'
The engine-driver looked down upon him very sternly, and said, 'Now tell the truth; what were you put in prison for?'
'It was nothing very much,' said poor Toad, colouring deeply. I only borrowed a motorcar while the owners were at lunch; they had no need of it at the time. I didn't mean to steal it, really; but people -- especially magistrates -- take such harsh views of thoughtlessness and high-spirited actions.'
The engine-driver looked very grave and said, 'I fear that you have indeed been a wicked toad, and by rights I ought to give you up to offended justice. But you are evidently in sore trouble and distress, so I will not desert you. I don't hold with motor-cars, for one thing; and I don't hold with being ordered about by policemen when I'm on my own engine, for another. And the sight of an animal in tears always makes me feel queer and soft-hearted. So cheer up, Toad! I'll do my best, and we may beat them yet!'
They piled on more coals, shovelling furiously; the furnace roared, the sparks flew, the engine leapt and swung, , but still their pursuers slowly gained. The engine-driver, with a sigh, wiped his brow with a handful of cotton-waste, and said, 'I'm afraid it's no good, Toad. You see, they are running light, and they have the better engine. There's just one thing left for us to do, and it's your only chance, so attend very carefully to what I tell you. A short way ahead of us is a long tunnel, and on the other side of that the line passes through a thick wood. Now, I will put on all the speed I can while we are running through the tunnel, but the other fellows will slow down a bit, naturally, for fear of an accident. When we are through, I will shut off steam and put on brakes as hard as I can, and the moment it's safe to do so you must jump and hide in the wood, before they get through the tunnel and see you. Then I will go full speed ahead again, and they can chase me if they like, and as far as they like. Now mind and be ready to jump when I tell you!'
They piled on more coal, and the train shot into the tunnel, and the engine rushed and roared and rattled, till at least they shot out at the other end into fresh air and the peaceful moonlight, and saw the wood lying dark and helpful on either side of the line. The driver shut off steam and put on brakes, the Toad got down on the step, and as the train slowed down to almost a walking pace he heard the driver call out, 'Now, jump!'
Toad jumped, rolled down a short embankment, picked himself up unhurt, scrambled into the wood and hid.
Peeping out, he saw his train get up speed again and disappear at a great pace. Then out of the tunnel burst the pursuing engine, roaring and whistling, her motley crew waving their various weapons and shouting, 'Stop! stop! stop!' When they were past , the Toad had a hearty laugh -- for the first time since he was thrown in prison.
But he soon stopped laughing when he came to consider that it was now very late and dark and cold, and he was in an unknown wood, with no money and no chance of supper, and still far from friends and home; and the dead silence of everything, after the roar and rattle of the train, was something of a shock. He dared not leave the shelter of the trees, so he struck into the wood, with the idea of leaving the railway as far as possible behind him.
After so many weeks within walls, he found the wood strange and unfriendly and inclined, he thought, to make fun of him. Night-jars, sounding their mechanical rattle, made him think that the wood was full of searching warders, closing in on him. An owl, swooping noiselessly towards him, brushed his shoulder with its wing, making him jump with the horrid certainty that it was a hand; then flitted off, moth-like, laughing its low ho! ho! ho! which Toad thought was in very poor taste. Once he met a fox, who stopped, looked him up and down in a sarcastic sort of way, and said, 'Hullo, washerwoman! Half a pair of socks and a pillow-case short this week! Mind it doesn't occur again!' and swaggered off. Toad looked about for a stone to throw at him, but could not succeed in finding one, which vexed him more than anything. At last, cold, hungry, and tired out, he sought the shelter of a hollow tree, where with branches and dead leaves he made himself as comfortable a bed as he could, and slept soundly till the morning.
TOAD'S ADVENTURES
When Toad found himself immured in a dank and noisome dungeon, and knew that all the grim darkness of a medieval fortress lay between him and the outer world of sunshine and well-metalled high walls where he had lately been so happy, disporting himself as if he had brought up every road in England, he flung himself at full length on the floor, and shed bitter tears, and abandoned himself to dark despair. 'This is the end of everythin,' (he said), 'at least it is the end of the career of Toad, which is the same thing; the popular and handsome Toad, the rich and hospitable Toad, the Toad so free and careless and debonair! How can I hope ever to be set at large again' (he said), 'who have been imprisoned so justly for stealing so handsome a motor-car in such an audacious manner, and for such lurid and imaginative cheek, bestowed upon such a number of fat, red-faced policemen!' (Here his sobs choked him.) 'Stupid animal that I was' (he said) 'now I must lanquish in this dungeon, till people who were proud to say they knew me, have forgotten the very name of Toad!' With lamentations such as these he passed his days and nights for several weeks, refusing his meals or intermediate light refreshments, though the grim and ancient gaoler, knowing that Toad's pockets were well-lined, frequently pointed out that many comforts, and indeed luxuries, could by arrangement be sent in -- at a price -- from outside.
Now the gaoler had a daughter, a pleasant wench and good-hearted, who assisted her father in the lighter duties of his post. She was particularly fond of animals, and, besides her canary, whose cage hung on a nail on the massive wall of the keep by day, to the great annoyance of prisoners who relished an after-dinner nap, and was shrouded in an antimacassar on the parlour table at night, she kept several piebald mice and a restless revolving squirrel. This kind-hearted girl, pitying the misery of Toad, said to her father one day, 'Father! I can't bear to see that beast so unhappy, and getting so thin! You let me have the managing of him. You know how fond of animals I am. I'll make him eat from my hand, and sit up, and do all sorts of things.'
Her father replied she could do what she liked with him. He was tired of Toad, and his sulks and his airs and his meanness. So that day she went on her errand of mercy, and knocked at the door of Toad's cell.
'Now, cheer up, Toad,' she said coaxingly, on entering, 'and sit up and dry your eyes and be a sensible animal. And do try to eat a bit of dinner. See, I've brought you some of mine, hot from the oven!'
It was bubble-and-sqeak, between two plates, and its fragrance filled the narrow cell. The penetrating smell of cabbage reached the nose of Toad as he lay prostrate in his misery on the floor, and gave him the idea for a moment that perhaps life was not such a blank and desperate thing as he had imagined. But still he wailed, and kicked his legs, and refused to be comforted. So the wise girl retired for the time, but, of course, a good deal of the smell of cabbage remained behind, as it will do, and Toad, between his sobs, sniffed and reflected, and gradually began to think new and insoiring thoughts: of chivalry, and poetry, and deeds still to be done; of broad meadows and cattle browsing in them; of kitchen gardens, and straight herb-borders, and warm snap-dragon beset by bees; and of the comforting clink of dishes set down on the table at Toad Hall, and the scrape of chair-legs on the floor as every one pulled himself close up to his work. The air of the narrow cell took a rosy tinge; he began to think of his friends, and how they would surely be able to do something; of lawyers, and how they would have enjoyed his case, and what an ass he had been not to get in a few; and lastly, he thought of his own great cleverness and resource, and all that he was capable of if he put his great mind to it; and the cure was almost complete.
When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like hony from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries. Toad sat up on end once more, dried his eyes, sipped his tea and munched his toast, and soon began talking freely about himself, and his doings there, and how important he was, and what a lot of his friends thought of him.
The gaoler's daughter saw that the topic was doing him as much good as the tea, as indeed it was, and encouraged him to go on.
'Tell me about Toad Hall,' said she. 'It sounds beautiful.'
'Toad Hall,' said the Toad proudly, 'is an eligible self-contained gentleman's residence, very unique; dating in part from the fourteenth century, but replete with every modern convenience. Up-to-date sanitation. Five minutes from church, post-office, and golf-links. Suitable for --'
'Bless the animal,' said the girl, laughing, 'I don't want to take it. Tell me something real about it. But first wait until I fetch you some more tea and toast.'
She tripped away, and presently returned with a fresh trayful; and Toad, pitching into the toast with avidity, his spirits quite restored to their usual level, told her about the boat-house, and the fish-pond, and the old walled kitchen-garden; and about the pig styes, and the stables, and the pigeon-house, and the hen-house; and about the dairy, and the wash-house, and the china-supboards, and the linen-presses (she like that bit especially); and about the banqueting hall, and the fun they had there when the other animals were gathered round the table and Toad was at his best, singing songs, telling stories, carrying on generally. Then she wanted to know about his animal-friends, and was very interested in all he had to tell her about them and how they lived, and what they did to pass their time. Of course, she did not say she was fond of animals as pets, because she had the sense to see that Toad would be extremely offended. When she said good-night, having filled his water-jug and shaken up his straw for him, Toad was very much the same sanguine, self-satisfied animal that he had been of old. He sang a little song of two, of the sort he used to sing at his dinner-parties, and had an excellent night's rest and the pleasantest of dreams.
They had many interesting talks together, after that, as the dreary days went on; and the goaler's daughter grew very sorry for Toad, and thought it a great shame that a poor little animal should be locked up in prison for what seemed to her a very trivial offence. Toad, of course, in his vanity, thought that her interest in him proceeding from a growing tenderness; and he could not help half-regretting that the social gulf between them was so very wide, for she was a comely lass, an evidently admired him very much.
One morning the girl was very thoughful, and answered at random,and did not seem to Toad to be paying the proper attention to his witty sayings and sparkling comments.
'Toad,' she said presently, 'just listen, please. I have an aunt who is a washerwoman.'
'There, there,' said Toad graciously and affably, 'never mind; think no more about it. I have sereval aunts who ought to be washerwomen.'
'Do be quiet for a minute, Toad,' said the girl. 'You talk too much, that's your chief fault, and I'm trying to think, and you hurt my head. As I said, I have an aunt who's a washerwoman; she does the washing for all the prisoners in this castle -- we try to keep any paying business of that sort in the family, you understand. She takes out the washing on Monday morning, and brings it back on Friday evening. This is a Thursday. Now, this is what occurs to me: you're very rich -- at least you're always telling me so -- and she's very poor. A few pounds wouldn't make any difference to you, and it would mean a lot to her. Now, I think if she were properly approached -- squared, I believe is the word you animals use --you could come to some arrangement by which she would let you have her dress and bonnet and so on, and you could escape from the castle as the official washerwoman. You're very alike in many respects -- particularly about the figure.'
'We're not,' said the Toad in a huff. 'I have a very elegant figure -- for what I am.'
'So has my aunt,' said the girl, 'for what she is. But have it your own way. You horrid, proud, ungrateful animal, when I'm sorry for you, and trying to help you!'
'Yes, yes, that's all right; thank you very much indeed,' said Toad hurriedly. But look here! you surely wouldn't have Mr. Toad, of Toad Hall, going going around the country disguised as a washerwoman!'
'Then you can stop here as a Toad,' replied the girl with much spirit. 'I suppose you want to go off in a coach-and-four!'
Honest Toad was always ready to admit himself in the wrong. 'You are a good, kind, clever girl,' he said, 'and I am indeed a proud and stupid toad. Introduce me to your worthy aunt, if you would be so kind, and I have no doubt that the excellent lady and I will be able to arrange terms satisfactory to both parties.'
Next evening the girl ushered her aunt into Toad's cell, bearing his week's washing pinned up in a towel. The old lady had been prepared beforehand for the interview, and sight of several gold sovereigns that Toad had thoughfully placed on the table in full view practically completed the matter abd left little further to discuss. In return for his cash, Toad received a cotton print gown, an apron, a shawl, and a rusty black bonnet; the only stipulation the old lady made being that she should be gagged and bound and dumped in a corner. By this not very convincing artifice, she explained, aided by picturesque fiction which she could supply herself, she hoped to retain her situation, in spite of the suspicious appearance of things.
Toad was delighted with the suggestion. It would enable him to leave the prison in some style, and with his reputation for being a desperate and dangerous fellow untarnished; and he readily helped the gaoler's daughter to make her aunt appear as much as possible the victim of circumstance over which she had no control.
'Now it's your turn, Toad,' said the girl. Take off that coat and waistcoat of yours; you're fat enough as it is.'
Shaking with laughter, she proceeded to 'hook-and-eye' him into the cotton print gown, arranged the shawl in a professional fold, and tied the strings of the rusty bonnet under his chin.
'You're the very image of her," she giggled, 'only I'm sure you never looked half so respectable in all your life before. Now, goodbye Toad, and good luck. Go straight down the way you came up; and if anyone says anything to you, as they probably will, being but men, you can chaff back a bit, of course, but remember you're a widow woman, quite alone in the world, with a character to lose.'
With a quaking heart, but as firm a footstep he could command, Toad set forth cautiously on what seemed to be a most hare-brained and hazardous undertaking; but he was soon agreeably surprised to find how easy everything was made for him, and a little humbled at the thought that both his popularity and the sex that seemed to inspire it, were really another's. The washerwoman's squat figure in its familiar cotton print seemed a passport for every barred door and grim gateway; even when he hesitated, uncertain as the right turning to take, he found himself helped out of his difficulty by the warder at the next gate, anxious to be off to his tea, summoning him to come along sharp and not keep him waiting there all night. The chaff and the humourous sallies to which he was subjected, and to which, of course, he had to provide prompt and effective reply, formed, indeed, his chief danger; for Toad was an animal with a strong sense of his own dignity, and the chaff was mostly (he though) was poor and clumsy, and the humour of the sallies entirely lacking. Hoever, he kept his temper, though with great difficulty, suited his retorts to his temper and his supposed character, and did his best not to overstep the limits of good taste.
It seemed hours before he crossed the last courtyard, rejected the pressing invitations from the last guardroom, and dodged the outspread arms of the last warder, pleading with simulated passion for just onefarewell embrace. But at last he heard the wicket-gate in the great outer door click behind him, felt the fresh air of the outer world upon his anxious brow, and knew the he was free!
Dizzy with the easy success of his daring exploit, he walked quickly towards the lights of town, not knowing in the least what he should do next, only quite certain of one thing, that he should remove himself as quickly as possible from the neighbourhood where the lady he was forced to represent was so well-known and so popular a character.
As he walked along, considering, his attention was caught by some red and green lights a little way off, to one side of the town, and the sound of the puffing and snorting of engines and the banging of shunted trucks fell on his ear. 'Aha!' he thought, 'this is a piece of luck! A railway station is the thing I want most in the whole world at this moment; and what's more, I needn't go through the town to get it, and shan't have to support this humiliating character by repartees which, though thoroughly effective, do not assist one's sense of self-respect.'
He made his way to the station accordingly, consulted a time-table, and found that a train, bound more or less in the direction of his home, was due to start in half-an-hour. 'More luck!' said Toad, his spirits rising rapidly, and went off to the booking-office to buy his ticket.
He gave the name of the station that he knew to be the nearest to the village of which Toad Hall was the principal feature, and mechanically put his fingers, in search of the necessary money, where his waistcoat pocket should have been. But here the cotton gown, which had nobly stood by him so far, and which he had basely forgotten, intervened and frustrated his efforts. In a sort of nightmare he struugled with the strange uncanny thing that seemed to hold his hands, turn all muscular strivibgs to water, and laugh at him all the time; while other travellers, forming up in a line behind, waitedwith impatience, making suggestions of more or less value and comments of more or less stringency and point. At last -- somehow -- he never rightly understood how -- he burst the barriers, attained the goal, arrived at where all waistcoat pockets are eternally situated, and found -- not only no money, but no pocket to hold it, and no waistcoat to hold the pocket!
To his horror he recollected that he had left both coat and waistcoat behind him in his cell, and with them his pocket-book, money, keys, watch, matches, pencil-case -- all that makes life worth living, all that distinquished the many-pocketed animal, the lord of creation, from the inferior one-pocketed or no-pocketed productions that hop or trip about permissively, unequipped for the real contest.
In his misery he made one desperate effort to carry the thing off -- a blend of the Squire and the College Don -- he said, 'Look here! I find I've left my purse behind. Just give me that ticket, will you, and I'll send the money on to-morrow. I'm well-known in these parts.'
The clerk stared at him and the rusty black bonnet a moment, and then laughed. 'I should think you were pretty well known in these parts,' he said, 'if you've tried this game on often. Here, stand away from the window, please, madam; you're obstructing the other passengers!'
An old gentleman who had been prodding him in the back for some moments here thrust him away, and, what was worse, addressed him as his good woman, which angered Toad more than anything that had occured that evening.
Baffled and full of despair, he wandered blindly down the platform where the train was standing, and tears trickled down each side of his nose. It was hard, he thought, to be within sight of safety and almost of home, and to be baulked by the want of a few wretched shillings an by the pettiflogging mistrustfulness of paid officials. Very soon his escape would be discovered, the hunt would be up, he would be caught, reviled, loaded with chains, dragged back again to prison, and bread-and-water and straw; his guards and penalties would be doubled; and O! what sarcastic remarks the girl would make! What was to be done? He was not swift of foot; his figure was unfortunately recognizable. Could he not squeeze under the seat of a carriage? He had seen this method adopted by schoolboys, when the journey-money provided by thoughtful parents had been diverted to other and better ends. As he pondered, he found himself opposite the engine, which was being oiled, wiped, and gently caressed by its affectionate driver, a burly man with an oil-can in one hand and a lump of cotton-waste in the other.
'Hullo, mother!' said the engine-driver, 'what's the trouble? You don't look particularly cheerful.'
'O, sir, said Toad, crying afresh, 'I am a poor unhappy washerwoman, and I've lost all my money, and I can't pay for a ticket, and I must get home to-night somehow, and whatever I am to do I don't know. O dear, o dear!'
'That's a bad business indeed,' said the engine-driver reflectively. 'Lost your money -- and can't get home -- and got some kids, too, waiting for you, I dare say?'
'Any amount of them,' sobbed Toad. 'And they'll be hungry -- and playing with matches -- and upsetting lamps, the little innocents! -- and quarreling, and going on generally. O dear, o dear!'
'Well, I'll tell you what I'll do,' said the good engine-driver. 'You're a washerwoman to your trade, says you. Very well, that's that. And I'm an engine-driver as you well may see, and there's no denying it's terribly dirty work. Uses up a power of shirts, it does, till my missus is fair tired of washing 'em. If you'll wash a few shirts for me when you get home, and send 'em along, I'll give you a ride on my engine. It's against the Company's regulations, but we're not so very particular in these out-of-the-way parts.'
The Toad's misery turned into rapture as he eagerly scrambled up into the cab of the engine. Of course, he had never washed a shirt in his life, and couldn't if he tried and, anyhow, he wasn't going to begin; but he thought, 'When I get safely home to Toad Hall, and have money again, and pockets to put it in, I will send the engine-driver enough to pay for quite a quantity of washing, and that will be the same thing, or better.'
The guard waved his welcome flag, the engine-driver whistled in cheerful response, and the train moved out of the station. As the speed increased, and Toad could see on either side of him real fields, and trees, and hedges, and cows, and horses, all flying past him, and as he thought how every minute was bringing him nearer to Toad Hall, and sympathetic friends, and money to chink in his pocket, and a soft bed to sleep in, and good things to eat, and praise and admiration at the recital of his adventures and his unsurpassing cleverness, he began to skip up and down and shout and sing snatches of song, to the great astonishment of the engine-driver, who had come across washerwomen before, at long intervals, but never one at all like this.
They had covered many and many a mile, and Toad was already considering what he would have for supper as soon as he got home, when he noticed that the engine-driver, with a puzzled expression on his face, was leaning on the side of the engine and listening hard. Then he saw him climb on to the coals and gaze out over the top of the train; then he returned and said to Toad: 'It's very strange; we're on the last train running in this direction to-night, yet I could be sworn that I heard another following us!'
Toad ceased his frivolous actions at once. He became grave and depressed, and a dull pain in the lower part of his spine, communicating itself to his legs, made him want to sit down and try deperately not to think of all the possibilities.
By this time the moon was shining brightly, and the engine-driver, steadying himself on the coal, could command a view of the line behind him for a long distance.
Presently he called out, 'I can see it clearly now! It is an engine, on our rails, coming along at a great pace! It looks as if we were being pursued!'
The miserable Toad, crouching in the coal-dust, tried hard to think of something to do, with dismal want of success.
'They are gaining on us fast!' cried the engine-driver. "And the engine is crowded with the queerest lot of people! Men like ancient warders, waving halberds; policemen in their helmuts, waving truncheons; and shabbily-dressed men in pot-hats, obvious and unmistakable plain-clothes detectives even at this distance, waving revolvers and walking-sticks; all waving, and all shouting the same thing -- "Stop, stop, stop!"'
Then Toad fell on his knees among the coals and, raising his clasped paws in supplication, cried, 'Save me, only save me, dear kind Mr. Engine-driver, and I will confess everything! I am not the simple washerwoman I seem to be! I have no children waiting for me, innocent or otherwise! I am a toad -- the well-known and popular Mr. Toad, a landed proprietor; I have just escaped, by my great daring and cleverness, from a loathsome dungeon into which my enemies had flung me; and if those fellows on that engine recapture me, it will be chains and bread-and-water and straw and misery once more for poor, unhappy, innocent Toad!'
The engine-driver looked down upon him very sternly, and said, 'Now tell the truth; what were you put in prison for?'
'It was nothing very much,' said poor Toad, colouring deeply. I only borrowed a motorcar while the owners were at lunch; they had no need of it at the time. I didn't mean to steal it, really; but people -- especially magistrates -- take such harsh views of thoughtlessness and high-spirited actions.'
The engine-driver looked very grave and said, 'I fear that you have indeed been a wicked toad, and by rights I ought to give you up to offended justice. But you are evidently in sore trouble and distress, so I will not desert you. I don't hold with motor-cars, for one thing; and I don't hold with being ordered about by policemen when I'm on my own engine, for another. And the sight of an animal in tears always makes me feel queer and soft-hearted. So cheer up, Toad! I'll do my best, and we may beat them yet!'
They piled on more coals, shovelling furiously; the furnace roared, the sparks flew, the engine leapt and swung, , but still their pursuers slowly gained. The engine-driver, with a sigh, wiped his brow with a handful of cotton-waste, and said, 'I'm afraid it's no good, Toad. You see, they are running light, and they have the better engine. There's just one thing left for us to do, and it's your only chance, so attend very carefully to what I tell you. A short way ahead of us is a long tunnel, and on the other side of that the line passes through a thick wood. Now, I will put on all the speed I can while we are running through the tunnel, but the other fellows will slow down a bit, naturally, for fear of an accident. When we are through, I will shut off steam and put on brakes as hard as I can, and the moment it's safe to do so you must jump and hide in the wood, before they get through the tunnel and see you. Then I will go full speed ahead again, and they can chase me if they like, and as far as they like. Now mind and be ready to jump when I tell you!'
They piled on more coal, and the train shot into the tunnel, and the engine rushed and roared and rattled, till at least they shot out at the other end into fresh air and the peaceful moonlight, and saw the wood lying dark and helpful on either side of the line. The driver shut off steam and put on brakes, the Toad got down on the step, and as the train slowed down to almost a walking pace he heard the driver call out, 'Now, jump!'
Toad jumped, rolled down a short embankment, picked himself up unhurt, scrambled into the wood and hid.
Peeping out, he saw his train get up speed again and disappear at a great pace. Then out of the tunnel burst the pursuing engine, roaring and whistling, her motley crew waving their various weapons and shouting, 'Stop! stop! stop!' When they were past , the Toad had a hearty laugh -- for the first time since he was thrown in prison.
But he soon stopped laughing when he came to consider that it was now very late and dark and cold, and he was in an unknown wood, with no money and no chance of supper, and still far from friends and home; and the dead silence of everything, after the roar and rattle of the train, was something of a shock. He dared not leave the shelter of the trees, so he struck into the wood, with the idea of leaving the railway as far as possible behind him.
After so many weeks within walls, he found the wood strange and unfriendly and inclined, he thought, to make fun of him. Night-jars, sounding their mechanical rattle, made him think that the wood was full of searching warders, closing in on him. An owl, swooping noiselessly towards him, brushed his shoulder with its wing, making him jump with the horrid certainty that it was a hand; then flitted off, moth-like, laughing its low ho! ho! ho! which Toad thought was in very poor taste. Once he met a fox, who stopped, looked him up and down in a sarcastic sort of way, and said, 'Hullo, washerwoman! Half a pair of socks and a pillow-case short this week! Mind it doesn't occur again!' and swaggered off. Toad looked about for a stone to throw at him, but could not succeed in finding one, which vexed him more than anything. At last, cold, hungry, and tired out, he sought the shelter of a hollow tree, where with branches and dead leaves he made himself as comfortable a bed as he could, and slept soundly till the morning.
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