the devil drives’, and Phillip had sent the amount by return.
“Why not? Pa didn’t hesitate to ask you.” She looked out of the window. “They’re taking the tackle away.” There was a plume of steam by the row of elms.
“Didn’t even wait to hear about my telephone call. Did you give the wages to the bailiff last night? I must call at the bank and see what I have got in my account. Precious little I’m afraid. What a fool I was not to find out the cost of that ploughing beforehand . I thought it would be about eight bob an acre. Well, I’m off into Shakesbury, and then on to see the Boys.”
Billy had been listening to this conversation. He had not understood much of it, but had felt the anxiety in his father’s voice. The trundle of the traction engines came nearer.
“Iron Horsey goin’, Dad.” Billy thought they were his father’s engines, and grieved.
“Yes, how right you are. Well, Lucy, I’ll be going now.”
“Daddy come back?” said Billy, smitten with fear.
“Of course, darling.” How anxious he was whenever Phillip went away.
*
The Works were open, but silent. Ernest and Fiennes had gone to look at an aeroplane which had landed under the slopes of Whitesheet hill, and broken its air-screw; Tim was with Pansy, ‘his young woman’, said Pa, who offered him a bowl of Cox’s apples. Phillip took one and sat down.
After awhile Pa looked up and said briskly, with a kindly look, “Anything particular brings you here? All well at home, I hope?”
“Oh yes, sir. As a matter of fact I wondered if you would care to shoot with us in a month’s time? I don’t shoot, so you are welcome to my place. My uncle is coming and it will be partridge driving. It’s the first shoot this season.”
“They usually walk ’em up for the first shoot, I fancy. However , you know your business best. Unfortunately my legs won’t stand such walking nowadays, thank ’ee all the same. My shooting days are over. But give your Uncle my thanks for the invitation, won’t ’ee?”
He had finished the apple, eating it to the stalk, when Ernest and Fiennes walked in. Fiennes said, “Hullo, you here?” Ernest said nothing as they sat down, looking tired. Phillip asked Fiennes if Tim was likely to be in soon.
“Tim? I’ve no idea.”
The bell for the petrol pump rang outside. All sat still. After awhile Ernest muttered, “Bother.”
“Why does anyone want to come here on a Saturday?” said Fiennes. “Let them ring.”
The bell rang again. “I may as well go and see what’s wanted,” Phillip offered.
Ernest murmured something; Fiennes went on with his reading.
Phillip went out and saw ‘Mister’ sitting astride his pre-war worn-out 2-stroke motorbike known as the Onion. He recalled that ‘Mister’ had borrowed some cash from him once: dare he ask for it back? It was only £ 10, but that was something.
“Well, well, well,” said the thin asthmatic voice. “If it isn’t the very man I wanted to see. I was on the point of coming over to your place, to call on you and leave cards, don’t you know. How’s Lucy these days?”
“Oh, everything is all right, ‘Mister’.”
Had he come over to borrow more money from the Boys? Well, he wouldn’t be able to tap him. There was only £ 7odd in the bank.
“Who’s at home, anyone?”
“Pa, Ernest, and Fiennes. I really came over to see Tim.”
“You’ve heard the news, I suppose?”
“What news?”
“Why, about the Works. Haven’t you heard? The bank has told the Boys that it won’t meet any more cheques. And creditors are pressing, I fancy. Among other things, it’s a question of a judgment summons having been ignored. And that’s no joke, I can tell you.”
“What’s a judgment summons?”
“Well, a creditor has got a judgment against them, and if the money isn’t paid into court within a stipulated time, the questionof contempt arises. Then the bailiffs are put in. If they come here, they’ll take possession for a
“Why not? Pa didn’t hesitate to ask you.” She looked out of the window. “They’re taking the tackle away.” There was a plume of steam by the row of elms.
“Didn’t even wait to hear about my telephone call. Did you give the wages to the bailiff last night? I must call at the bank and see what I have got in my account. Precious little I’m afraid. What a fool I was not to find out the cost of that ploughing beforehand . I thought it would be about eight bob an acre. Well, I’m off into Shakesbury, and then on to see the Boys.”
Billy had been listening to this conversation. He had not understood much of it, but had felt the anxiety in his father’s voice. The trundle of the traction engines came nearer.
“Iron Horsey goin’, Dad.” Billy thought they were his father’s engines, and grieved.
“Yes, how right you are. Well, Lucy, I’ll be going now.”
“Daddy come back?” said Billy, smitten with fear.
“Of course, darling.” How anxious he was whenever Phillip went away.
*
The Works were open, but silent. Ernest and Fiennes had gone to look at an aeroplane which had landed under the slopes of Whitesheet hill, and broken its air-screw; Tim was with Pansy, ‘his young woman’, said Pa, who offered him a bowl of Cox’s apples. Phillip took one and sat down.
After awhile Pa looked up and said briskly, with a kindly look, “Anything particular brings you here? All well at home, I hope?”
“Oh yes, sir. As a matter of fact I wondered if you would care to shoot with us in a month’s time? I don’t shoot, so you are welcome to my place. My uncle is coming and it will be partridge driving. It’s the first shoot this season.”
“They usually walk ’em up for the first shoot, I fancy. However , you know your business best. Unfortunately my legs won’t stand such walking nowadays, thank ’ee all the same. My shooting days are over. But give your Uncle my thanks for the invitation, won’t ’ee?”
He had finished the apple, eating it to the stalk, when Ernest and Fiennes walked in. Fiennes said, “Hullo, you here?” Ernest said nothing as they sat down, looking tired. Phillip asked Fiennes if Tim was likely to be in soon.
“Tim? I’ve no idea.”
The bell for the petrol pump rang outside. All sat still. After awhile Ernest muttered, “Bother.”
“Why does anyone want to come here on a Saturday?” said Fiennes. “Let them ring.”
The bell rang again. “I may as well go and see what’s wanted,” Phillip offered.
Ernest murmured something; Fiennes went on with his reading.
Phillip went out and saw ‘Mister’ sitting astride his pre-war worn-out 2-stroke motorbike known as the Onion. He recalled that ‘Mister’ had borrowed some cash from him once: dare he ask for it back? It was only £ 10, but that was something.
“Well, well, well,” said the thin asthmatic voice. “If it isn’t the very man I wanted to see. I was on the point of coming over to your place, to call on you and leave cards, don’t you know. How’s Lucy these days?”
“Oh, everything is all right, ‘Mister’.”
Had he come over to borrow more money from the Boys? Well, he wouldn’t be able to tap him. There was only £ 7odd in the bank.
“Who’s at home, anyone?”
“Pa, Ernest, and Fiennes. I really came over to see Tim.”
“You’ve heard the news, I suppose?”
“What news?”
“Why, about the Works. Haven’t you heard? The bank has told the Boys that it won’t meet any more cheques. And creditors are pressing, I fancy. Among other things, it’s a question of a judgment summons having been ignored. And that’s no joke, I can tell you.”
“What’s a judgment summons?”
“Well, a creditor has got a judgment against them, and if the money isn’t paid into court within a stipulated time, the questionof contempt arises. Then the bailiffs are put in. If they come here, they’ll take possession for a
Similar Books
