At this point what the Rat should have done was pay more attention to the Mole, but being so entirely at home in the water, being so completely at ease there, he could not comprehend another’s distress at being dropped into such a welcoming (as he saw it) environment.
The Rat ignored the Mole and yelled, “Humphrey, listen to me. Move your arms and legs the way I showed you. Come on, now—swim.”
Poor Humphrey! Blind without his spectacles, deaf to instruction, frightened beyond reason, he churned at the water, actually propelling himself away from the bank and farther out toward the main current.
Mole said, “Ratty, I really do think—”
“Don’t worry, Moly. He’ll soon get used to it. It took you a while, remember?”
The Mole frowned. True, it had taken him a while to feel at home in the water, and now he was grateful to his friend for so expanding his horizons.
“Paddle, Humphrey!” cried the Rat, and then muttered in an aside to the Mole, “Whatever is wrong with the boy? I’ve never in my life seen such an awkward display.”
“P’raps we should both get in with him,” said Mole, “and—”
“Hulloo, hulloo,” came a call from the opposite shore.
“Oh, look,” said Ratty. “The otters are out.” Otter, Mrs. Otter, and their young son, Portly, were strolling along the far bank and waving.
What happened next took only a second, but note well, a second is all it takes. Rat and Mole waved to their friends, turning their gaze away from Humphrey for the briefest of moments—the time it takes to draw a single breath—and when they turned their attention back to him again, they saw nothing but an empty vest bobbing on the water.
Down sank the toad. Past the darting minnow, past the drowsing newt. Down and down he sank, past the stolid turtle, past the gaping trout. Cold water flooded his lungs. Black despair flooded his brain. Never before had he known such misery, such hopelessness. Poor little toad! But just as the water began to quench the ember of life within him, powerful paws seized him on both sides and shot him upward to the surface with such force that he broke the water like a leaping salmon. It was the Otter and Rat, grasping him tightly between them. They hustled him to the bank, where the Mole reached down and hauled him ashore like a sodden sack of potatoes.
Humphrey lay motionless, his eyelids tinged an ominous blue.
“We’ve got to warm him up!” cried Mole. “Put him in the sun! Get the blanket from the boat!”
They dragged him to a sunny spot and spread the blanket over him. The Rat chafed the small toad roughly to stimulate the flow of blood. Then Otter, who’d had experience with this type of situation, propped the small toad up and delivered a series of brisk thumps to his back, causing a remarkable fountain of water to gush forth from the diminutive body. Humphrey gasped and shuddered and opened his eyes. He blinked glassily at the circle of concerned faces looking down at him.
“Thank goodness,” sighed Mole. “We thought you were a goner.”
“Speak to us, boy,” commanded Otter. “Can you speak?”
“My-my-my vest came off,” clacked Humphrey.
“My fault, I’m afraid,” said a contrite Rat. “Please forgive me, Humphrey. I never should have put you in a vest that size. It was made to fit your uncle, who sports a much, er, wider silhouette. Thank goodness you were only under for a few seconds.”
Humphrey, a squashy, pulpy lump of misery, marveled at these words. Surely his ears were clogged with duckweed and he hadn’t heard right. He’d been under for a lifetime. Hadn’t he?
Rat went on, “Can you possibly forgive me?” He looked so downcast that Humphrey, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded. “Thank you, my boy,” said Ratty fervently. “Bless you.” He turned to Otter and said, “And thank you for your invaluable help.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Otter, bowing low. “I was glad to be of service. Well, I must be off. The family’s a-waiting. We’re taking the cub hunting dragonflies.” Otter dove into the water and swam with sinuous grace to the far bank, where his family stood watching. They headed on their way, Otter and Mrs. Otter holding Portly’s paws between them and swinging him off the ground, their young son giggling and shrieking in delight. What a pretty domestic picture they made! Which was not lost on the Rat, who stared at them with a wistful expression. And the Rat’s longing was not lost on the Mole, who felt a resonant pang of sympathy for his friend in his own soft heart.
Mole gathered up the oars and blanket while Ratty retrieved the cork vest. They loaded Humphrey into the boat for the return trip home.
“Never mind, old chap,” said Rat, stowing the gear. “I’m sure you’ll do better next time, and—”
Mole interrupted, “Ratty, I don’t think—”
The Rat went on. “We’ll do something about that vest, and I promise we’ll keep a closer eye on you tomorrow.”
“T-tomorrow?” croaked Humphrey in disbelief.
Ah. Tomorrow. Such a simple word taken on its face. Such an innocent word, really. Yet how Humphrey’s spirits plummeted upon hearing it, for it was now heavily laden with portentous meaning.
Should Ratty have foreseen the effect of this one simple word on his young charge? Perhaps. Probably. It’s hard to say. But when tomorrow came, as it inevitably does, Humphrey was gone. Gone from his bed, gone from his room, gone from Toad Hall.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Wild Wood
In which Humphrey and Sammy have an adventure that changes them forever.
Courage comes in many forms. For a smallish, defenseless toad, Humphrey evinced courage at the moment he and Sammy stepped into the Wild Wood. Of course, Humphrey knew better than to go there, but Sammy, who knew all the trails and passages and shortcuts, and whose mother was second cousin to the Chief Weasel, assured him that they would be safe together. So Humphrey stepped into the Wild Wood, pistol-less and cudgel-less, shielded by nothing more than the friendship of a small, bedraggled weasel. Is that not a form of courage? (Or, perhaps, stupidity?46)
Anyone from the Hall who had been up early enough could have traced the path the two left behind in the silvery dew, first to the gardener’s shed, and then straight to the Wild Wood. But no one saw them go. And by the time the cry of alarm went up, the sun’s warmth had long since erased their tracks.
They took turns pushing the gardener’s second-best wheelbarrow and talked of the glory of making the balloon fly again, to say nothing of the rich reward.
Sammy said, “What are you going to do with your half, Humphrey?”
“I’m going to buy a magnifying glass, I think, or a microscope if the funds will stretch that far. How about you, Sammy?”
“I think I’ll buy some winter boots for me brother and me to share, and perhaps a big hank of wool for me mam. Me mam knits up a storm.47 She has to, you see, what with there being so many of us and all.”
Humphrey fell silent and contemplated the yawning gap between full-time ownership of a magnifying glass and half-time ownership of a pair of boots. Then and there, he resolved that Sammy should have the entire reward, for he was a good-hearted toad and couldn’t bear the thought of his friend going barefoot every other day through the long snows of winter. It would be reward enough just to see the balloon soar again.
The sun was above the horizon when they passed a pair of hedgehogs walking to the shops. They gave Humphrey an odd look but said good morning politely enough. Then they passed a rabbit who cast nervous glances about him as he scurried by. This was not as bad a sign as it might have been in some other animal, for the rabbits were nervous at all times, whether there was good cause or not.48 Then they came upon the baker making her daily rounds, a comely rat with neat ears and silky fur, carrying a large basket filled with fragrant loaves and dainty cakes; she trailed about her the enticing scent of freshly baked bread, more alluring than the costliest perfume.
“Good morning, boys,” she said, scrutinizing the odd pair and their wheelbarrow.
“Good morning,
miss,” they murmured.
She passed them by and then turned around and called after Humphrey. “Young toad,” she said with an edge of concern, “does your mother know that you are in the Wild Wood?”
“My mother is in Italy, miss,” said Humphrey politely, which was, strictly speaking, true, although it dodged the real question.
“Italy! Good gracious. But who is looking after you?”
Sammy piped up, “It’s all right, miss. He’s with me.”
“That’s all well and good,” she said, “but you will be out by dark, won’t you? I, and others like me, have safe passage by day to sell our wares, but even we do not linger when the sun sets.”
Sammy placed his paw on Humphrey’s shoulder and said, “He’s me friend, miss. I’ll see no harm comes to him.”
“I am greatly relieved to hear it.” She reached into her basket and pulled out two currant scones. “Would you like these? I baked them fresh this morning.”
They thanked her politely and sat down to eat them. She went on her way, casting an uneasy glance or two over her shoulder at them.
They marched on and on, deeper and deeper into the wood, the wheelbarrow growing heavier and more ungainly by the hour. The brush grew thicker, and the beech and elm grew taller, until they came to the darkest heart of the forest where the boughs of the ancient oaks met overhead, blocking out the light. The air was cold and dark and still, and the underbrush was damp where the sunlight did not penetrate; Humphrey shivered and wished he was back at the Hall, or had at least worn warmer clothes. He was weary and chilled and then, to top it all off, managed to bark his shins against a tree root.
After a couple of wrong turns and frustrating about-faces, they finally came to the clearing where Sammy had last seen the balloon. And there it lay, crumpled against a stump. It was a sad sight indeed, a deflated rubbery skin puddled on the ground like a yellow pond. Its many lines were tangled in vicious snarls, and the wicker basket was partly smashed in.
Humphrey’s heart sank, for although Sammy had warned him, he hadn’t imagined it in such a sorry state. It was no longer noble or glorious; in fact, it was no longer recognizable as an airship. He circled the wreckage, muttering, “Oh, dear, oh, dear, what a shame. Another of Uncle Toad’s grand schemes come to grief. Still, we might be able to fix it once we get it home.”
“What about the pound?” Sammy said anxiously. “We’ll still get the pound, won’t we? Even though it’s a smash-up?”
“Yes,” said Humphrey, “we’ll still get the pound. Uncle Toad just wants it back. He didn’t say it had to be flyable.”
“You’re sure?” fretted Sammy, visions of new boots and woolly scarves dancing away just out of reach.
“Oh, yes, most generous is Uncle Toad. He’s never mean with his money.” He held up a section of the canopy and examined a long rip. “Hmm. I think this piece could be sewn together without too much difficulty. Now, that bit over there … that looks like another matter entirely.”
So intent was Humphrey on examining the pathetic remains that he did not notice two sharp wedge-shaped faces in the undergrowth, watching his every move with hard, calculating eyes.
“All right,” Humphrey said. “I think I’ve figured it out. We’ll have to cut some of these lines, roll the canopy up, put it in the wheelbarrow, and then put the basket on top. Good thing I’ve got my pocket knife.”
They bent to their task, and at that very moment, out from the bushes stepped the Chief Weasel and his hard-boiled henchman, the Under-Stoat.
“Hello, young Sammy,” purred the Chief. “Won’t you introduce us to your friend?”
Humphrey froze, his knees turned to jelly. His every instinct shrieked at him to flee, to run from there just as fast as his feet would carry him, but his legs would not obey. He stood rooted to the spot in primordial terror.
“Don’t be afraid,” crooned the Chief in silky insinuating tones. “You’re our guest here. We was just about to have us a bite of lunch, and we was so hoping you could join us. Sammy, do the honors and introduce us.”
Sammy squirmed uneasily. “Uh, Chief, this is my friend, Humphrey.”
“Ah, young Marster Humphrey. Pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m sure.” The Chief bowed.
The Under-Stoat sniggered nastily and said, “Yeah, ri’. Pleased.”
The Chief Weasel elbowed him and snapped, “Get our lunch, you, and look sharpish about it. I’m sure these young gentlemen are plenty fatigued from their long walk. And mind you don’t forget the tablecloth.” The Under-Stoat slunk into the brush and returned a moment later with a checkered cloth and a basket that he proceeded to unpack.
Humphrey found his voice and squeaked, “That’s—that’s most kind of you, sir, but I’m expected back at Toad Hall.”
“Is that right?” said the Chief Weasel in a casual sort of way. “Last I heard, your uncle was off at Cambridge. Here, come and sit down. There’s all sorts of good things to eat.”
Humphrey glanced tensely at Sammy, whose eyes were fastened on the meat pies and sausage rolls being spread before them, and said, “Don’t you think it’s time to go?”
Sammy said eagerly, “Let’s stay for a bite, Humphrey. That currant scone was an awful long time ago.” He plunked himself down.
Humphrey hesitated. His stomach agreed that the currant scone had indeed been an awfully long time ago. And although the stoat and weasel standing before him were the very ones he’d been warned about, they smiled warmly and exhibited concern that he feel at home. Sammy’s mother was second cousin to the Chief Weasel, was she not? And wouldn’t it be sheer rudeness to leave at that point? The food lay before him. His stomach cast the decisive vote by grumbling loudly. He sat down.
“Tuck in, you two.”49 The Chief smiled. He proved to be surprisingly good company, making engaging small talk and inquiring kindly about the Mole and the Rat and Mr. Badger and Professor Toad, and were they in good health, and how were they spending their time, and who was going on holiday, and exactly where and when. He also expressed great interest in the principles of lighter-than-air flight, asking many questions about how the balloon might possibly be fixed, and if Humphrey thought it could ever fly again.
Finally, when all had eaten their fill, Humphrey brushed the last crumbs from his lap and said, “Mr. Chief Weasel, thank you so much for lunch. But it’s time for us to be heading back. If you don’t mind, we’ll just load up the balloon and be on our way.”
“Ah. Well.” The Chief Weasel stroked his whiskers. “It’s about the balloon. There is something you can do for us.” His expression changed, and he pinioned Humphrey with an evil smile that made the toad’s blood run cold. “’Course, you’ll have to stay with us awhile.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The End of Professor Toad
In which Professor Toad is unmasked in a most violent and unfortunate manner.
It was one of those long, mauve twilights that magically lingers on, seemingly past its appointed time. The evening star, dallying in the purple wings, peeped out shyly, as if reluctant to nudge the day from the stage. The butterfly loitered on the vine; the bee yet tarried at the rose. A wren in the shrubbery warbled itself hoarse.
It should have been a perfect day. It had been a perfect day. Up until this point.
Professor Toad and the Master took a turn at their leisure around the Great Court, the gravel crunching underfoot, the soft air caressing their brows.
“As you know,” opined Toad, “Professor Newton was a great man. I’m not saying he was not. But I sometimes think his reputation has been a bit, well, inflated over the centuries, a bit burnished, if you will, by the passage of time. I myself believe…” he nattered on, for Toad, who had always loved the sound of his own voice, loved it even more now that he had actual opinions to express to an adoring public. The Master leaned in close (but not too close, for if ever there was a definition of an Englishman as a chinless wonder, Professor Toad was a most unlucky example) and breathed many enc
ouraging lines such as “Fascinating” and “D’you mean to say—?” and “Do go on.”
They were deep in a discussion of Newton’s Laws of Motion when the porter ran up brandishing a telegram.
“Professor Toad,” he said, “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir, but there’s a telegram marked ‘urgent’ for you.”
“Thank you, my good man,” said Toad. He opened it while the Master tactfully looked away and hummed to himself to afford the great man some degree of privacy.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Toad.
“Not bad news, I hope?” inquired the Master with concern.
“It’s a message from Toad Hall. It seems that my nephew, Humphrey, has disappeared. Dashed strange, this. It’s not like him to just wander off. He’s a good boy, a responsible boy.”
“You must go at once,” said the Master. “There’s still time to catch the last train.”
“Of course, of course,” agreed Professor Toad. “But what about the theoretical astrophysics seminar?”
The pair were so engrossed in their conversation that they wandered, without noticing, into one of those spontaneous games of undergraduate cricket which—although strictly forbidden—break out from time to time like a bad rash.50 North bowled a fast bowl with topspin that hurtled wildly off South’s bat (“Oh, well played!”) straight for the pair of academics. And although the students shouted a warning, and although the professors could have seen the ball coming if they’d been paying attention—alas!—such was not the case, and the cricket ball beaned Professor Toad on the head, knocking him sideways.
Poor Toad! Victim of the same physical laws he had just been discussing.51 He tumbled onto the grass and rolled several times, as those of portly build are wont to do. His cap flew in one direction, his glasses in another. The Master, appalled, called out to the students, “Hi, you! Out of here! I’ll deal with you lot later.” He turned to Toad and said, “Oh, Professor Toad, I am so sor—”
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