Chương Chương 2 · THE OPEN ROAD

. THE OPEN ROAD

“Ratty,” said the Mole suddenly, one bright summer morning, “if you

please, I want to ask you a favour.”

The Rat was sitting on the river bank, singing a little song. He had

just composed it himself, so he was very taken up with it, and would

not pay proper attention to Mole or anything else. Since early morning

he had been swimming in the river, in company with his friends the

ducks. And when the ducks stood on their heads suddenly, as ducks will,

he would dive down and tickle their necks, just under where their chins

would be if ducks had chins, till they were forced to come to the

surface again in a hurry, spluttering and angry and shaking their

feathers at him, for it is impossible to say quite _all_ you feel when

your head is under water. At last they implored him to go away and

attend to his own affairs and leave them to mind theirs. So the Rat

went away, and sat on the river bank in the sun, and made up a song

about them, which he called

“DUCKS’ DITTY.”

All along the backwater,

Through the rushes tall,

Ducks are a-dabbling,

Up tails all!

Ducks’ tails, drakes’ tails,

Yellow feet a-quiver,

Yellow bills all out of sight

Busy in the river!

Slushy green undergrowth

Where the roach swim—

Here we keep our larder,

Cool and full and dim.

Everyone for what he likes!

_We_ like to be

Heads down, tails up,

Dabbling free!

High in the blue above

Swifts whirl and call—

_We_ are down a-dabbling

Uptails all!

“I don’t know that I think so _very_ much of that little song, Rat,”

observed the Mole cautiously. He was no poet himself and didn’t care

who knew it; and he had a candid nature.

“Nor don’t the ducks neither,” replied the Rat cheerfully. “They say,

‘_Why_ can’t fellows be allowed to do what they like _when_ they like

and _as_ they like, instead of other fellows sitting on banks and

watching them all the time and making remarks and poetry and things

about them? What _nonsense_ it all is!’ That’s what the ducks say.”

“So it is, so it is,” said the Mole, with great heartiness.

“No, it isn’t!” cried the Rat indignantly.

“Well then, it isn’t, it isn’t,” replied the Mole soothingly. “But what

I wanted to ask you was, won’t you take me to call on Mr. Toad? I’ve

heard so much about him, and I do so want to make his acquaintance.”

“Why, certainly,” said the good-natured Rat, jumping to his feet and

dismissing poetry from his mind for the day. “Get the boat out, and

we’ll paddle up there at once. It’s never the wrong time to call on

Toad. Early or late he’s always the same fellow. Always good-tempered,

always glad to see you, always sorry when you go!”

“He must be a very nice animal,” observed the Mole, as he got into the

boat and took the sculls, while the Rat settled himself comfortably in

the stern.

“He is indeed the best of animals,” replied Rat. “So simple, so

good-natured, and so affectionate. Perhaps he’s not very clever—we

can’t all be geniuses; and it may be that he is both boastful and

conceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady.”

Rounding a bend in the river, they came in sight of a handsome,

dignified old house of mellowed red brick, with well-kept lawns

reaching down to the water’s edge.

“There’s Toad Hall,” said the Rat; “and that creek on the left, where

the notice-board says, ‘Private. No landing allowed,’ leads to his

boat-house, where we’ll leave the boat. The stables are over there to

the right. That’s the banqueting-hall you’re looking at now—very old,

that is. Toad is rather rich, you know, and this is really one of the

nicest houses in these parts, though we never admit as much to Toad.”

They glided up the creek, and the Mole shipped his sculls as they

passed into the shadow of a large boat-house. Here they saw many

handsome boats, slung from the cross beams or hauled up on a slip, but

none in the water; and the place had an unused and a deserted air.

The Rat looked around him. “I understand,” said he. “Boating is played

out. He’s tired of it, and done with it. I wonder what new fad he has

taken up now? Come along and let’s look him up. We shall hear all about

it quite soon enough.”

They disembarked, and strolled across the gay flower-decked lawns in

search of Toad, whom they presently happened upon resting in a wicker

garden-chair, with a pre-occupied expression of face, and a large map

spread out on his knees.

“Hooray!” he cried, jumping up on seeing them, “this is splendid!” He

shook the paws of both of them warmly, never waiting for an

introduction to the Mole. “How _kind_ of you!” he went on, dancing

round them. “I was just going to send a boat down the river for you,

Ratty, with strict orders that you were to be fetched up here at once,

whatever you were doing. I want you badly—both of you. Now what will

you take? Come inside and have something! You don’t know how lucky it

is, your turning up just now!”

“Let’s sit quiet a bit, Toady!” said the Rat, throwing himself into an

easy chair, while the Mole took another by the side of him and made

some civil remark about Toad’s “delightful residence.”

“Finest house on the whole river,” cried Toad boisterously. “Or

anywhere else, for that matter,” he could not help adding.

Here the Rat nudged the Mole. Unfortunately the Toad saw him do it, and

turned very red. There was a moment’s painful silence. Then Toad burst

out laughing. “All right, Ratty,” he said. “It’s only my way, you know.

And it’s not such a very bad house, is it? You know you rather like it

yourself. Now, look here. Let’s be sensible. You are the very animals I

wanted. You’ve got to help me. It’s most important!”

“It’s about your rowing, I suppose,” said the Rat, with an innocent

air. “You’re getting on fairly well, though you splash a good bit

still. With a great deal of patience, and any quantity of coaching, you

may——”

“O, pooh! boating!” interrupted the Toad, in great disgust. “Silly

boyish amusement. I’ve given that up _long_ ago. Sheer waste of time,

that’s what it is. It makes me downright sorry to see you fellows, who

ought to know better, spending all your energies in that aimless

manner. No, I’ve discovered the real thing, the only genuine occupation

for a life time. I propose to devote the remainder of mine to it, and

can only regret the wasted years that lie behind me, squandered in

trivialities. Come with me, dear Ratty, and your amiable friend also,

if he will be so very good, just as far as the stable-yard, and you

shall see what you shall see!”

He led the way to the stable-yard accordingly, the Rat following with a

most mistrustful expression; and there, drawn out of the coach house

into the open, they saw a gipsy caravan, shining with newness, painted

a canary-yellow picked out with green, and red wheels.

“There you are!” cried the Toad, straddling and expanding himself.

“There’s real life for you, embodied in that little cart. The open

road, the dusty highway, the heath, the common, the hedgerows, the

rolling downs! Camps, villages, towns, cities! Here to-day, up and off

to somewhere else to-morrow! Travel, change, interest, excitement! The

whole world before you, and a horizon that’s always changing! And mind!

this is the very finest cart of its sort that was ever built, without

any exception. Come inside and look at the arrangements. Planned ’em

all myself, I did!”

The Mole was tremendously interested and excited, and followed him

eagerly up the steps and into the interior of the caravan. The Rat only

snorted and thrust his hands deep into his pockets, remaining where he

was.

It was indeed very compact and comfortable. Little sleeping bunks—a

little table that folded up against the wall—a cooking-stove, lockers,

bookshelves, a bird-cage with a bird in it; and pots, pans, jugs and

kettles of every size and variety.

“All complete!” said the Toad triumphantly, pulling open a locker. “You

see—biscuits, potted lobster, sardines—everything you can possibly

want. Soda-water here—baccy there—letter-paper, bacon, jam, cards and

dominoes—you’ll find,” he continued, as they descended the steps again,

“you’ll find that nothing what ever has been forgotten, when we make

our start this afternoon.”

“I beg your pardon,” said the Rat slowly, as he chewed a straw, “but

did I overhear you say something about ‘_we_,’ and ‘_start_,’ and

‘_this afternoon?_’”

“Now, you dear good old Ratty,” said Toad, imploringly, “don’t begin

talking in that stiff and sniffy sort of way, because you know you’ve

_got_ to come. I can’t possibly manage without you, so please consider

it settled, and don’t argue—it’s the one thing I can’t stand. You

surely don’t mean to stick to your dull fusty old river all your life,

and just live in a hole in a bank, and _boat?_ I want to show you the

world! I’m going to make an _animal_ of you, my boy!”

“I don’t care,” said the Rat, doggedly. “I’m not coming, and that’s

flat. And I _am_ going to stick to my old river, _and_ live in a hole,

_and_ boat, as I’ve always done. And what’s more, Mole’s going to stick

to me and do as I do, aren’t you, Mole?”

“Of course I am,” said the Mole, loyally. “I’ll always stick to you,

Rat, and what you say is to be—has got to be. All the same, it sounds

as if it might have been—well, rather fun, you know!” he added,

wistfully. Poor Mole! The Life Adventurous was so new a thing to him,

and so thrilling; and this fresh aspect of it was so tempting; and he

had fallen in love at first sight with the canary-coloured cart and all

its little fitments.

The Rat saw what was passing in his mind, and wavered. He hated

disappointing people, and he was fond of the Mole, and would do almost

anything to oblige him. Toad was watching both of them closely.

“Come along in, and have some lunch,” he said, diplomatically, “and

we’ll talk it over. We needn’t decide anything in a hurry. Of course,

_I_ don’t really care. I only want to give pleasure to you fellows.

‘Live for others!’ That’s my motto in life.”

During luncheon—which was excellent, of course, as everything at Toad

Hall always was—the Toad simply let himself go. Disregarding the Rat,

he proceeded to play upon the inexperienced Mole as on a harp.

Naturally a voluble animal, and always mastered by his imagination, he

painted the prospects of the trip and the joys of the open life and the

roadside in such glowing colours that the Mole could hardly sit in his

chair for excitement. Somehow, it soon seemed taken for granted by all

three of them that the trip was a settled thing; and the Rat, though

still unconvinced in his mind, allowed his good-nature to over-ride his

personal objections. He could not bear to disappoint his two friends,

who were already deep in schemes and anticipations, planning out each

day’s separate occupation for several weeks ahead.

When they were quite ready, the now triumphant Toad led his companions

to the paddock and set them to capture the old grey horse, who, without

having been consulted, and to his own extreme annoyance, had been told

off by Toad for the dustiest job in this dusty expedition. He frankly

preferred the paddock, and took a deal of catching. Meantime Toad

packed the lockers still tighter with necessaries, and hung nosebags,

nets of onions, bundles of hay, and baskets from the bottom of the

cart. At last the horse was caught and harnessed, and they set off, all

talking at once, each animal either trudging by the side of the cart or

sitting on the shaft, as the humour took him. It was a golden

afternoon. The smell of the dust they kicked up was rich and

satisfying; out of thick orchards on either side the road, birds called

and whistled to them cheerily; good-natured wayfarers, passing them,

gave them “Good-day,” or stopped to say nice things about their

beautiful cart; and rabbits, sitting at their front doors in the

hedgerows, held up their fore-paws, and said, “O my! O my! O my!”

Late in the evening, tired and happy and miles from home, they drew up

on a remote common far from habitations, turned the horse loose to

graze, and ate their simple supper sitting on the grass by the side of

the cart. Toad talked big about all he was going to do in the days to

come, while stars grew fuller and larger all around them, and a yellow

moon, appearing suddenly and silently from nowhere in particular, came

to keep them company and listen to their talk. At last they turned in

to their little bunks in the cart; and Toad, kicking out his legs,

sleepily said, “Well, good night, you fellows! This is the real life

for a gentleman! Talk about your old river!”

“I _don’t_ talk about my river,” replied the patient Rat. “You _know_ I

don’t, Toad. But I _think_ about it,” he added pathetically, in a lower

tone: “I think about it—all the time!”

The Mole reached out from under his blanket, felt for the Rat’s paw in

the darkness, and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll do whatever you like,

Ratty,” he whispered. “Shall we run away to-morrow morning, quite

early—_very_ early—and go back to our dear old hole on the river?”

“No, no, we’ll see it out,” whispered back the Rat. “Thanks awfully,

but I ought to stick by Toad till this trip is ended. It wouldn’t be

safe for him to be left to himself. It won’t take very long. His fads

never do. Good night!”

The end was indeed nearer than even the Rat suspected.

After so much open air and excitement the Toad slept very soundly, and

no amount of shaking could rouse him out of bed next morning. So the

Mole and Rat turned to, quietly and manfully, and while the Rat saw to

the horse, and lit a fire, and cleaned last night’s cups and platters,

and got things ready for breakfast, the Mole trudged off to the nearest

village, a long way off, for milk and eggs and various necessaries the

Toad had, of course, forgotten to provide. The hard work had all been

done, and the two animals were resting, thoroughly exhausted, by the

time Toad appeared on the scene, fresh and gay, remarking what a

pleasant easy life it was they were all leading now, after the cares

and worries and fatigues of housekeeping at home.

They had a pleasant ramble that day over grassy downs and along narrow

by-lanes, and camped as before, on a common, only this time the two

guests took care that Toad should do his fair share of work. In

consequence, when the time came for starting next morning, Toad was by

no means so rapturous about the simplicity of the primitive life, and

indeed attempted to resume his place in his bunk, whence he was hauled

by force. Their way lay, as before, across country by narrow lanes, and

it was not till the afternoon that they came out on the high-road,

their first high-road; and there disaster, fleet and unforeseen, sprang

out on them—disaster momentous indeed to their expedition, but simply

overwhelming in its effect on the after-career of Toad.

They were strolling along the high-road easily, the Mole by the horse’s

head, talking to him, since the horse had complained that he was being

frightfully left out of it, and nobody considered him in the least; the

Toad and the Water Rat walking behind the cart talking together—at

least Toad was talking, and Rat was saying at intervals, “Yes,

precisely; and what did _you_ say to _him?_”—and thinking all the time

of something very different, when far behind them they heard a faint

warning hum; like the drone of a distant bee. Glancing back, they saw a

small cloud of dust, with a dark centre of energy, advancing on them at

incredible speed, while from out the dust a faint “Poop-poop!” wailed

like an uneasy animal in pain. Hardly regarding it, they turned to

resume their conversation, when in an instant (as it seemed) the

peaceful scene was changed, and with a blast of wind and a whirl of

sound that made them jump for the nearest ditch, It was on them! The

“Poop-poop” rang with a brazen shout in their ears, they had a moment’s

glimpse of an interior of glittering plate-glass and rich morocco, and

the magnificent motor-car, immense, breath-snatching, passionate, with

its pilot tense and hugging his wheel, possessed all earth and air for

the fraction of a second, flung an enveloping cloud of dust that

blinded and enwrapped them utterly, and then dwindled to a speck in the

far distance, changed back into a droning bee once more.

The old grey horse, dreaming, as he plodded along, of his quiet

paddock, in a new raw situation such as this simply abandoned himself

to his natural emotions. Rearing, plunging, backing steadily, in spite

of all the Mole’s efforts at his head, and all the Mole’s lively

language directed at his better feelings, he drove the cart backwards

towards the deep ditch at the side of the road. It wavered an

instant—then there was a heartrending crash—and the canary-coloured

cart, their pride and their joy, lay on its side in the ditch, an

irredeemable wreck.

The Rat danced up and down in the road, simply transported with

passion. “You villains!” he shouted, shaking both fists, “You

scoundrels, you highwaymen, you—you—roadhogs!—I’ll have the law of you!

I’ll report you! I’ll take you through all the Courts!” His

home-sickness had quite slipped away from him, and for the moment he

was the skipper of the canary-coloured vessel driven on a shoal by the

reckless jockeying of rival mariners, and he was trying to recollect

all the fine and biting things he used to say to masters of

steam-launches when their wash, as they drove too near the bank, used

to flood his parlour-carpet at home.

Toad sat straight down in the middle of the dusty road, his legs

stretched out before him, and stared fixedly in the direction of the

disappearing motor-car. He breathed short, his face wore a placid

satisfied expression, and at intervals he faintly murmured “Poop-poop!”

The Mole was busy trying to quiet the horse, which he succeeded in

doing after a time. Then he went to look at the cart, on its side in

the ditch. It was indeed a sorry sight. Panels and windows smashed,

axles hopelessly bent, one wheel off, sardine-tins scattered over the

wide world, and the bird in the bird-cage sobbing pitifully and calling

to be let out.

The Rat came to help him, but their united efforts were not sufficient

to right the cart. “Hi! Toad!” they cried. “Come and bear a hand, can’t

you!”

The Toad never answered a word, or budged from his seat in the road; so

they went to see what was the matter with him. They found him in a sort

of a trance, a happy smile on his face, his eyes still fixed on the

dusty wake of their destroyer. At intervals he was still heard to

murmur “Poop-poop!”

The Rat shook him by the shoulder. “Are you coming to help us, Toad?”

he demanded sternly.

“Glorious, stirring sight!” murmured Toad, never offering to move. “The

poetry of motion! The _real_ way to travel! The _only_ way to travel!

Here to-day—in next week to-morrow! Villages skipped, towns and cities

jumped—always somebody else’s horizon! O bliss! O poop-poop! O my! O

my!”

“O _stop_ being an ass, Toad!” cried the Mole despairingly.

“And to think I never _knew!_” went on the Toad in a dreamy monotone.

“All those wasted years that lie behind me, I never knew, never even

_dreamt!_ But _now_—but now that I know, now that I fully realise! O

what a flowery track lies spread before me, henceforth! What

dust-clouds shall spring up behind me as I speed on my reckless way!

What carts I shall fling carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my

magnificent onset! Horrid little carts—common carts—canary-coloured

carts!”

“What are we to do with him?” asked the Mole of the Water Rat.

“Nothing at all,” replied the Rat firmly. “Because there is really

nothing to be done. You see, I know him from of old. He is now

possessed. He has got a new craze, and it always takes him that way, in

its first stage. He’ll continue like that for days now, like an animal

walking in a happy dream, quite useless for all practical purposes.

Never mind him. Let’s go and see what there is to be done about the

cart.”

A careful inspection showed them that, even if they succeeded in

righting it by themselves, the cart would travel no longer. The axles

were in a hopeless state, and the missing wheel was shattered into

pieces.

The Rat knotted the horse’s reins over his back and took him by the

head, carrying the bird cage and its hysterical occupant in the other

hand. “Come on!” he said grimly to the Mole. “It’s five or six miles to

the nearest town, and we shall just have to walk it. The sooner we make

a start the better.”

“But what about Toad?” asked the Mole anxiously, as they set off

together. “We can’t leave him here, sitting in the middle of the road

by himself, in the distracted state he’s in! It’s not safe. Supposing

another Thing were to come along?”

“O, _bother_ Toad,” said the Rat savagely; “I’ve done with him!”

They had not proceeded very far on their way, however, when there was a

pattering of feet behind them, and Toad caught them up and thrust a paw

inside the elbow of each of them; still breathing short and staring

into vacancy.

“Now, look here, Toad!” said the Rat sharply: “as soon as we get to the

town, you’ll have to go straight to the police-station, and see if they

know anything about that motor-car and who it belongs to, and lodge a

complaint against it. And then you’ll have to go to a blacksmith’s or a

wheelwright’s and arrange for the cart to be fetched and mended and put

to rights. It’ll take time, but it’s not quite a hopeless smash.

Meanwhile, the Mole and I will go to an inn and find comfortable rooms

where we can stay till the cart’s ready, and till your nerves have

recovered their shock.”

“Police-station! Complaint!” murmured Toad dreamily. “Me _complain_ of

that beautiful, that heavenly vision that has been vouchsafed me!

_Mend_ the _cart!_ I’ve done with carts for ever. I never want to see

the cart, or to hear of it, again. O, Ratty! You can’t think how

obliged I am to you for consenting to come on this trip! I wouldn’t

have gone without you, and then I might never have seen that—that swan,

that sunbeam, that thunderbolt! I might never have heard that

entrancing sound, or smelt that bewitching smell! I owe it all to you,

my best of friends!”

The Rat turned from him in despair. “You see what it is?” he said to

the Mole, addressing him across Toad’s head: “He’s quite hopeless. I

give it up—when we get to the town we’ll go to the railway station, and

with luck we may pick up a train there that’ll get us back to riverbank

to-night. And if ever you catch me going a-pleasuring with this

provoking animal again!”—He snorted, and during the rest of that weary

trudge addressed his remarks exclusively to Mole.

On reaching the town they went straight to the station and deposited

Toad in the second-class waiting-room, giving a porter twopence to keep

a strict eye on him. They then left the horse at an inn stable, and

gave what directions they could about the cart and its contents.

Eventually, a slow train having landed them at a station not very far

from Toad Hall, they escorted the spell-bound, sleep-walking Toad to

his door, put him inside it, and instructed his housekeeper to feed

him, undress him, and put him to bed. Then they got out their boat from

the boat-house, sculled down the river home, and at a very late hour

sat down to supper in their own cosy riverside parlour, to the Rat’s

great joy and contentment.

The following evening the Mole, who had risen late and taken things

very easy all day, was sitting on the bank fishing, when the Rat, who

had been looking up his friends and gossiping, came strolling along to

find him. “Heard the news?” he said. “There’s nothing else being talked

about, all along the river bank. Toad went up to Town by an early train

this morning. And he has ordered a large and very expensive motor-car.”