The rabbits were held on the other side of the table by Club members, wearing red rosettes which said “STEWARD”. As one class was finished, Edward called out the numbers of the entries for the next, and the Ste he blew a kiss into the air.pawards went off to ihe pens to collect them. Mrs. Ledbetter was invaluable. She returned in an instant, always with the right rabbit, which was more than could be said for Mr. Simkiss. She held three rabbits at once, cradled on the table between her arms, stroking them expertly, so that they lay still, with their ears sleeked back and their eyes calm, only their noses moving. The girl in the flowered dress was at Miss Seeds’ end of the table. She only held one rabbit at a time, and by dint of letting it go and catching it as it moved forward, as a cat plays with a mouse, contrived to make the rabbit she held appear an intractable demon, controlled only by her skill.
“You naughty thing!” she kept saying to blowsy Angora, which was squatting like a log. “Keep still, you bad one.” It was too overfed and well-trained to want to do anything else, but by prodding and tweaking, she managed to make it move a step forward, when she clitched it back to her, stroking it feverishly and looking round in triumph.
“You can soon tell a rabbit that hasn’t been handled,” she said. “Be still, you wicked bunny!” The Angora went into a kind of coma, unmoved even when Miss Seeds pulled it forward by the ears and turned it upside down. It lay on its back, praying at her with front paws neatly together, and then squatted while she took liberties with its hips, blinking as if it were an old story. It knew it had won prizes at many shows and it knew it would win this one, which it did, returning to the toothy girl to be told as she carried it back to its pen that it was a wicked bun and didn’t deserve it——” Ah, scratch me, would you?”
When the first Havana Rex class came up, the toothy girl tried to hold one of her own rabbits, looking innocent until Edward discovered it. She handed it over to Mr. Marchmont and held another, trying to spoil its chances by making it leap in the air.
As each class was judged, Miss Hemming filled in award cards and the eager schoolboy dashed to fix them on the pens. Mr. Bell’s rabbits were getting a lot of cards. He occasionally moved away from the table to stand in front of them so that he could tell admirers who was the breeder, in case they could not read Miss Hemming’s writing.
At last it was the Flemish Adults. Freda lay, smug and enormous, between Mr. Marchmont’s terra-cotta sleeves, ears well back and great dewlap folded on the table. Edward had trained her ad nauseam to lie properly, and she was not letting him down. His heart swelled with pride as he looked at her covertly, terrified of giving away that she was his, for a small girl who had shrilled : “That’s my bunny!” had been severely reprimanded by Miss Seeds and almost got her rabbit disqualified.
“That’s a sizy rabbit,” said Allan Colley and hopped her over two others to the head of the line as if he were playing Halma. Edward’s eyes nearly came out of his head as rabbit after rabbit was sent back to its pen until only three remained. For the sake of the spectators, who were crowding round, some with cups of tea in their hands and their mouths full of Mrs. Bennett’s beetroot rolls, Allan Colley now delivered one of his little lectures. Size was paramount in a Flemish, he said. Edward’s heart leaped. But size was not everything. Edward’s heart sank a little but rose again as he said : “But this is a quite exceptionally large doe. She starts with a great advantage. If she has the quality——” He turned her up and round about, he prodded and fingered her like a butcher, he pulled her ears apart and stared her in the face——” and she has——” Edward wondered whether people he blew a kiss into the air.pa could see it written all over him that he had bred her. “On points,” Allan Colley pulled a panting brindle rabbit out of Mrs. Ledbetter’s arms, “On points, this one’s her equal, but——” he balanced them, one in each hand, Freda’s great front paw, which was as big as a dog’s, hanging limply down, “but there’s no question about which gets First.” He put Freda down, where she lay in perfect position. “That one First,” he said, and Edward could have died for him. He wrote “1st” very deeply against Freda’s number in the book and almost forgot to record the decision between second and third, it was so unimportant.
When they broke off for a quick snack at Mrs. Bennett’s counter, Edward wanted to talk to Allan Colley about Freda, but she was eligible now for Best Rabbit in Show, so he could not claim her yet.
It was the last class of the Show. All the First Prize winners of every breed were lined on the table and Allan Colley and Miss Seeds judged them together. Mr. Bell had two up there, a Chinchilla and a jazzy Dutch, and most of the others came from the big breeders who had sent by rail. Edward realised that the actual members of the Collis Park Club had not done very well. He heard Mr. Marchmont say : “Personally, I don’t think it’s right. They shouldn’t have let the outside competition in. The Iver Show was only for members.”
From Edward’s point of view, the quality of the competition only made Freda’s prize more glorious.
He had left his place on the judging side of the table and now stood with the crowd at one end, his lips dry, his fancy already racing ahead to himself taking home the cup and showing it to the family. He might even take it to the factory to show Wendy. Later, he would have it engraved ; he could see the spot on the mantelpiece where it would stand. Allan Colley liked Freda. He kept putting her up to the head of the line, and Miss Violet Seeds kept changing her for Mr. Bell’s Chinchilla, a gross-looking animal that could hardly breathe for its coat. Miss Seeds was a well-known Chinchilla breeder. It was soon obvious that it was between these two. One by one, the others were sent back to their pens until at last there were only Freda and the Chinchilla and an aristocratic Havana left on the table. The judges didn’t pay much more attention to the Havana.
Edward was aware of heavy breathing over his shoulder. “Looks like it’s you or me, old boy,” said Mr. Bell, his eyes like marbles behind the thick lenses.
“But you can’t win your own cup!” It had only just occurred to Edward.
“Can’t I? You watch me.”
That was the maddening part. He knew he was going to win. Even when Allan Colley and Miss Seeds were conferring together sotto voce and apparently arguing, and Edward could hardly breathe for suspense, Mr. Bell affected to turn away and light another small cigar. Miss Seeds was being didactic with a square-nailed forefinger. At last, Allan Colley shrugged his shoulders and stepped back, turning away as if he had no more interest. “Best Rabbit in the Show,” said Miss Seeds in a voice which Edward thought grating, “No. 66, the Chinchilla.”
“That lets him out if he hasn’t paid for it,” said Mrs Ledbetter to Miss Hemming, as Mr. Bell wrapped up his own cup again and bore it away. making the V sign. She untied her white apron, and called Mr. Ledbetter from the washing-up to help her box her own rabbits.
Mr. Bell had his car behind the thick lenses. p along outside and was going to give Allan Colley a lift, but Edward managed to catch the judge in a corner where he was taking off his overall.
“Oh, there you are, Ledward,” said Allan Colley. “I wanted to thank you for putting up such a good show. Thoroughly enjoyed myself. Not every club does so well the first time.”
“Thanks awfully,” said Edward. “I’m glad it went off all right. It was terribly good of you to come along. I say, excuse my bothering you, but that Flemish, the one that was runner-up for best rabbit——”
“Should have been first, if I’d had my way.”
“I bred her,” said Edward, blushing with pleasure.
“You did? Congratulations. Got any more like her, or is she just a fluke?”
“No, I’ve got some youngsters coming along that promise even better. I’m going all out for size, you know.”
“Good, good.” He seemed really interested. “You may be starting something really big, you never know. Concentrate on your stock’s best point ; that’s what I’m always saying, but people simply will try and get everything at once
and then wonder why they end up with nothing.”
“Oh, no,” said Edward smugly. “I’m concentrating on size.”
“Good man,” said Allan Colley. He had his jacket on now and they were walking towards the door, where Mr. Bell was holding forth to a few admirers.
“Who’s going to do the write-up?” asked Allan Colley casually.
“The write-up?”
“Yes, for the papers. Ought to put a bit in Backyard Breeding, you know. Give the Club a bit of a fillip.”
“Would they put it in?”
“Of course they would. I’ll see to that. You going to write it? Good. Send it along to the editor with a little note mentioning my name. They have an awful lot of stuff they can’t print, of course, but I‘ll see that this gets in. Keep it short.”
“About how long, and when should I—?” But they were at the door now and Mr. Bell had claimed Allan Colley with a hand on his arm and : “Come along, my dear chap, mustn’t let the horses get cold—fourteen of them—ha, ha, ha.”
Allan Colley allowed himself to be led away, looking back to smile good-bye at Edward.
Edward saw them off from the door and then, turning back into the hall, took off his overcoat and rolled up his sleeves and got down to the job of removing all traces of rabbit from the Victory Hall before the Boy Scouts moved in with their concert.
The conductress on the trolley-bus stared at Edward’s two big baskets. He held the one containing Freda on his knee and put the other on the seat beside him. The conductress was feeling chatty. The bus was almost empty and she was nearing the end of her run, so she lingered after punching Edward’s ticket.
“What you got in there, dead babies?”
“Rabbits,” said Edward, giving Freda’s basket a little pat. “Two in each.”
“Rabbit pie for supper, eh?” said the conductress, who had ginger curls and an impudent mouth.
Edward laughed. “No fear,” he said took a step nearer to her mother,uppa. “These are breeding stock. As a matter of fact, I’ve just come from a show with them.”
She asked it. “Win any prizes?”
“Didn’t do so bad on the whole. Got a First and she was runner-up for Best Rabbit in Show. Should have won it too.”
“Well, I say,” said the conductress, “I’m ever so glad. Did you breed them yourself?”
“Oh yes, that’s the whole point.”
“I had a cousin once,” she said, leaning on the back of the seat in front of him, “who used to breed mice for shows. Chocolate or something, he called them.”
“Oh yes, Self Chocolate,” said Edward, who had read of them in Backyard Breeding. “A very interesting Fancy, I believe.”
“Come again?” said the conductress.
“I said it was very interesting—the Mouse Fancy,” repeated Edward.
“Fancy that!” She laughed, and swinging herself on her hands, one on each side of the aisle, she launched herself down the bus to greet a pair of old women with nodding hats and loaded leather shopping bags.
The trees in Church Avenue were full of birds. No. Seven’s almond blossom was coming out. Even the pavements smelled different at this time of year as if the spring rains had cleansed them of contact with the soles of people’s shoes. Carrying his baskets home, Edward was still going over the high spots of his day. “You may be starting something big,” Allan Colley had said. He had liked them, definitely he had liked them. A man like Colley would not say that unless he meant it. He was the type to speak his mind. Bit of a rough diamond really. Fine chap, though. His thinking Freda the best in the Show made her the best, whether she had won the prize or not. Miss Violet Seeds indeed! He must get started at his report of the Show tonight if Colley was really going to get it into the paper for him. He saw himself writing it at the table after supper and being asked what he was doing. He might get some of those short stories of his sorted out and brought up to date. It was time some of them went out on the rounds again. It was only a question of luck, everyone knew that. Once you got a start, it was easy to sell stories. His luck had put him in the way of Allan Colley, and why should it stop there?
Humming under his breath, he put down the baskets on his doorstep, opened the door and lifted the baskets into the hall. Opening the lid of Freda’s, he took her out and held her fragile skull against his cheek, looking at their reflection in the mirror. E. L. P. Ledward and his champion Flemish Giant, Ledward Freda. No reason why she shouldn’t be a champion, one day. He was going to carry her into the sitting-room and hold her out to Dorothy saying : “Take a look at a first prize winner!”
There was no one in the sitting-room except Mr. Munroe, who was doing the children’s crossword in the evening paper, so Edward held, out Freda and said his piece to him.
“Well done, boy, well done,” he said. “That’s a fine rabbit if ever I saw one. I used to know a deal about rabbits, you know, when I was a lad.” Edward knew this, because his father-in-law told him so every time the subject cropped up, but he said : “Did you?” politely and began to tell him about the Show. People did not often tell Mr. Munroe things, because of his habit of digressive interruption, so he was pleased to have this attention from Edward and only remembered after into the blyhfive minutes why he was sitting alone here downstairs.
He jerked his head towards the ceiling. “Dorothy’s started,” he said. “Taken bad about three o’clock. I didn’t think she looked well lunch-time. I said to your mother-in-law——”
“But I thought it wasn’t till next week?”
“Ah, you don’t want to pay much att tragedy of th
Chapter 11
*
Now that his home had been turned into a temple of worship, whose god was Dorothy’s Poor Little Mite, now christened Donald Hector John, Edward spent more and more time in the garden in the lengthening summer evenings. When he got home from work, he always went first to visit the baby in his swinging cot with the regal canopy of muslin and bows with which, in spite of the washing, Dorothy would not dispense.
Donny was hairless, with a great pear-shaped head like his grandfather’s, tight polished skin and Dorothy’s circular, wide-open eyes. Edward’s heart warmed to him. He never could think of anything to say, but he would make friendly stabs, thrilling with pride if the fat hand clutched his finger or the china eyes seemed to recognise him. If Donny laughed, it would make Edward laugh, too, and he would look over his shoulder quickly in case anyone were coming in. If one of the women were with the baby when he paid his visit, Edward would affect indifference and say something like : “Gosh, isn’t he an ugly little brute?” which never failed to get a rise.
After tea, when every chair in the living-room had knitting on it and the kitchen was full of the smell of boiling nappies, Edward would go straight out to the garden and potter about while the clear evening air thickened imperceptibly into twilight until suddenly it was too dark to see and the dusk was full of imaginary wires stretched at the height of your knees. Going from hutch to hutch, with his basin of warm potatoes and bran and the sack of grass cuttings from the Lipmanns’ lawn, Edward was like a benevolent matron doing her round of the beds, with a kindly word for each and a longer sojourn with the favourites. Old Masterman, gross now and coarsening, was the patriarch. Many of his sons were stud bucks now in their own right, but he was still in his prime and his incestuous unions with various great-granddaughters and great-nieces were nearly always a success. When he died, Edward was going to have him stuffed, mounted in a naturalistic case perhaps, and honoured as the founder of the Ledward Strain, now well beyond the stage of dreams and experiments. Litter after litter contained rabbits of a size that bore out the careful mating. It was no longer a question of chance. Edward knew that, behind the thick lenses.“ly. He hadas Allan Colley had said, he had “got something.”
“You’ll all be famous one day,” he told a young mother, stirring the basin while she clamoured at the wire netting, fondly imagining that if she kept to one corner of the hutch
he wouldn’t notice the stirring nest in the other corner. “You’re making history,” he told her. “There you are, Kitty. Dinner’s served.” He spooned in some of the mixture through the little slot at the bottom of the wire—a patent device of his own—and moved to the next hutch without getting up from his squatting position. He had not been able to resist calling that doe after Kitty, although it seemed a bit crude. They had both carried themselves in the same inexpert way, as if they were looking for somewhere to deposit their burden.
When Edward had christened the rabbit, Kitty had already been out from the factory for two months, being stuffed with food and kept almost permanently horizontal by her mother, who was a great believer in putting up the legs. But her namesake in the hutch had beaten her to it. Reenie, who lived in the same road as Kitty, still had nothing to report.
Inspired by Freda’s success at the Collis Club Show, Edward took her and two of her descendants to a much larger show, an ambitious affair in aid of the Red Cross, held in marquees on Wimbledon Common.
Besides rabbits, there were dogs, cats, chickens, cavies, mice, vegatables, flowers ; it only wanted horses and cattle and brightly coloured farm machines to be a real Agricultural Show. Having penned his entries, Edward wandered about among the crowd, amassing a quantity of free literature from advertisers’ stalls.
The Flemish classes were not until after lunch, so he found the refreshment tent and edged his way apologetically through the crowd which hid the counter. But reaching the counter was only half-way to getting his glass of beer and a sandwich. The three hot girls on the other side were as impervious to his diffident request as programme girls at the theatre. Whenever one came his way, he suggested : “One Light and two cheese rolls, please, Miss,” until the words became meaningless through repetition.
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