*III*
Templeton's road yacht had been for a week or two a fairly familiarobject in the neighbourhood, and the few country folk on foot whom itmet or passed in the first few minutes of its voyage graced it with nomore attention than was evinced by a stolid stare, a shake of the head,and a sort of prolonged sigh. A spectator of quicker mind--and he wouldneed to have been quick, for the pace was already great--might havetaken a fugitive interest in noting the facial expressions of thevehicle's three occupants. Templeton looked earnest and responsible:Eves wore only the shadow of his usual smile, for he was oppressed by ananxious doubt whether his former experiences of yachting would serve himin handling the sail of this novel craft. The wind was not only strongbut gusty, and at slight turns in the road the boom showed a tendency toswing out of his control and commit assault and battery on the person ofhis passenger. That gentleman, however, was evidently on the top ofenjoyment. Whatever his errand was, it was driven from his mind bysheer exhilaration. He lived wholly in the present. Peering overTempleton's shoulder at the speedometer, he reported with boyishexcitement the movements of the indicator--twenty, twenty-five, thirty:"Believe you me, it's thirty miles; the like of that, now!"
Approaching a sharp bend in the road, Templeton gradually throttled downuntil the speed was reduced to fifteen; and when, as the yacht roundedthe bend, the change of course caused the boom to swing over and knockthe Irishman's hat off, the genial stranger shouted with glee anddeclared that he was having the time of his life, begor.
Eves hauled in the mainsheet; the pace again rose to twenty-five; and amarked down-grade enabled Templeton to maintain that speed for a timewith the engine switched off. At the end of the dip, where the roadbent again, Templeton was faced by the first up-grade--a long straightstretch almost in the teeth of the wind. Some little distance from thefoot of the incline he switched on his engine, and took the ascent forthe most part on top, dropping to first about two hundred yards from thesummit. At this point the passenger, looking back along the road,exclaimed:
"There's a car in the wake of us."
"Overhauling us?" asked Eves.
"She's not, then. How would the likes of her?"
"She will, though. We shall have to slow down. Look ahead."
A heavy farm wagon drawn by three horses had appeared over the crest ofthe hill, and was lumbering down with skidpans adjusted, and occupyingthree-fourths of the roadway.
"It's the way we'd see a collision," said the Irishman, chortling. Theprospect had evidently no terrors for him. Eves, on the other hand, forall his delight in a rag, felt by no means easy in mind.
"Slow down, Bob," he cried, anxiously, at the same time hauling in thesheet until the sail stood almost parallel with the side of the vehicle.
Templeton made no reply; but knowing from experience that the road yachtwas a likely source of anxiety to horses he slowed down, at the imminentrisk of stopping entirely, and steered well into the hedge. The carterhurried to the leader's head and pulled in to his side of the road,giving only a gaping stare as the yacht grazed the off wheels of hiswagon and the hedge on the other side.
"As good a bit of steering as ever I saw," cried the Irishman. "Did youget a whiff of the mangolds?"
"I was expecting to be mangled," said Eves, grimly. "I say, Bob, thewind's dead ahead, and the sail's no bally good."
"Lower it, man, lower it," said Templeton. "We'll be all right at thenext turn."
The yacht was crawling painfully to the top of the hill when there camefrom behind the sound of a hooter. Eves and the Irishman looked back.A large car had just rounded the bend below, and was mounting the hillwith a great roaring and rattling, distinctly audible above the noise oftheir own straining engine.
"By George, Bob," cried Eves, "that green car that called at the garageis upon our heels."
"I hear it," said Templeton. "Couldn't mistake it: I'll give it room topass."
Before the yacht had gamed the top of the hill the following car,hooting continuously, closed with it and dashed past.
"I say, Bob," shouted Eves, "did you see who was in it?"
"No. Didn't look. Who is it?"
"Rabbit-skin and Noakes."
"Our Noakes?"
"Philemon, as sure as a gun."
"Our worthy mayor, evidently. Rummy!"
"What was that you said?" asked Eves, turning to the Irishman, who haduttered a sharp exclamation as the car ran by.
"It was what I don't care to repeat. The fellow you do be callingRabbit-skin has the rise got on me, and indeed I'm sorry I put you tothe trouble and all."
"Noakes, you mean?"
"I do not. Noakes is unbeknown to me. But by the look of it that carwill get to the camp by twelve o'clock, and we will not, and thenSaunders, him with the fur collar, will be the way of slipping in histender and I'll be left on the doorstep."
A light flashed on Eves.
"You're tendering for the camp waste?" he asked, quickly.
"I was. It was told me Saunders----"
"All right," Eves interrupted. Leaning over Templeton's shoulder hesaid: "I say, Bob, it's up to you, old man. You remember that telephonecall. Noakes and Rabbit-skin are in co. Tendering for the camp waste,you know. He mustn't get in first with a higher tender. Can you hustlea bit?"
"I daren't accelerate till we get to the top: daren't waste petrol. Butthen----"
The yacht panted slowly up the last few yards of the hill. When itreached the top, the green car, enveloped in a cloud of smoke, wasalready some three hundred yards ahead, racing along a straight levelstretch of road. It was clear that Saunders had recognised a businessrival in the Irishman, and was urging his car to its utmost speed.
At the summit a bend in the road had once more brought the wind on thebeam. Eves instantly hoisted the sail, and the yacht in a few momentsgathered way. The road here ran through an open down; there were nohedges to blanket the yacht; and on the high ground the wind blew withthe force of half a gale. Giving signs of the liveliest excitement, theIrishman, his hair flying in the wind, bent over the back of Templeton'sseat, and every few seconds shouted the indications of the speedometer,his voice growing louder as the figures mounted up."Ten--fourteen--eighteen--twenty"--he followed the pointer round thedial, and when it quivered on 33 he swung his arm round, uttering a wild"Hurroosh!" and was not a whit abashed when Templeton half turned arebuking face towards him and warned him of the risk of plungingoverboard.
There was, in truth, much reason for the man's ebullient spirits. Theengine was switched off: there was little or no vibration; the yacht, ashe afterwards declared, seemed to float along the road. Even when shehad a decided list to starboard, the near wheels leaving the ground, helaughed as he threw his long body to windward, hanging perilously overthe roadway, while Eves with mouth grim-set kept the bounding craft on abroad reach. It was soon apparent that she was more than holding herown with the long car ahead. The cloud of smoke came nearer and nearer,floating across the road to leeward like the trail from the funnel of atramp steamer.
The green car was running an erratic course more or less in the middleof the road. Within thirty or forty yards of her Templeton insistentlysounded his horn and drew over to the right, preparing to pass. Nextmoment he jammed on his brake hard, with an exclamation seldom heard onhis phlegmatic lips. So far from steering to his own side of the road,the driver of the car had also pulled across to the right, with theevident intention of blocking the passage. But for Templeton'spromptitude the bowsprit must inevitably have run into the hood of thecar. The jerk threw the Irishman heavily forward over the back of theseat, and when he recovered himself he broke into violent objurgation,which had no more effect on the occupants of the car than the stridentblasts of Templeton's horn. They did not even look round. Aturf-cutter on the moor scratched his head and gazed open-mouthed at thenovel spectacle, and on the other side two affrighted ponies gallopedwith tossing manes and tails through and ove
r the whins and gorse.
For the moment Templeton was baffled. Then Eves, leaning forward,shouted, to be heard above the roaring of the car:
"Pass her on the near side, Bob."
Templeton nodded, reserving for the future his criticism that, in thecircumstances, Eves might more properly have used a nautical term. Hechecked the pace still further until nearly fifty yards separated himfrom the obstructive car. Then, with his horn at full blast, hereleased the brake, and the yacht shot forward. As he had expected, thecar clung still more closely to the off side, leaving only the narrowestmargin between the wheels and the rough edge of the turf. Suddenly, witha turn of the wheel that caused the yacht to lurch giddily, he switchedon the engine and ran deftly into the open space on the near side. Ayell of delight broke from the Irishman.
"Sit down and be quiet," shouted Eves, "or we'll capsize yet."
Noakes had risen in the car, and was bawling in the ear of thechauffeur. The yacht had drawn level with the car's wind screen beforeTempleton's manoeuvre was appreciated. Now, attempting to counter it,the chauffeur, under Noakes's vehement prompting, edged towards the leftwith the object of forcing the lighter-built yacht into the ditch whichon this side parted the roadway from the moor. Perceiving the danger,Eves, with the capacity for rising to the occasion which haddistinguished him in former enterprises with his friend, instantly easedthe mainsheet: the boom swung out, and came into sharp contact, firstwith Noakes's head, then with the wind screen, which it shivered tofragments. The chauffeur, who had glanced round, ducked his head and inhis flurry gave way for a moment. That moment was long enough. Eveshauled in the sheet, and the yacht, under the dual impulse of engine andwind, shot forward and in a few seconds was clear.
"THE BOOM SWUNG OUT, AND CAME INTO SHARP CONTACT, FIRSTWITH NOAKES'S HEAD, THEN WITH THE WIND SCREEN."]
"Hurroosh!" yelled the Irishman, standing with difficulty erect in theswaying vehicle and looking back along the road. "Noakes, if that's thename of him, is after shaking his fist on us. I wouldn't say but he'scursing mighty fine, but sure I can't hear him for the noise of thecreature. Saunders and the driver-man might be having a shindy by thelooks of it. His head might be sore on him, and he'll not deserveit,--the man, I mean: I wouldn't be wasting a word of pity on Saundersif so be it was him."
Meanwhile, Templeton, knowing that his petrol would barely last out, hadslowed down.
"Tell me if they draw up with us," he called over his shoulder.
"I will, begor," said the Irishman. "She's after doing that same now,and smoking like a tug on the Liffey."
"He's driving her hard," added Eves.
"That's all right," said Templeton. "It's my turn now."
A bend in the road brought the wind only a few points on the port bow,and Templeton, sparing his petrol, allowed the yacht to lose way. Thegreen car, hooting angrily, and leaving a huge trail of smoke, rattledon at a great pace, and moment by moment lessened the distance betweenit and the yacht. But Eves and Templeton between them, by theirdexterous handling of steering wheel and sail, succeeded where theothers had failed. The road was effectively blocked; short of runningthe yacht down, with the risk of heavy casualties on both sides, as Evesremarked, Noakes and his friend had no means of preventing their Irishcompetitor from maintaining his lead and coming first to the winningpost.
For a full mile the yacht zigzagged from one side of the road to theother. Eves handled the sheet very smartly, but soon found it hopelessto attempt to cope at once with the gustiness of the wind and the suddenswerves of the yacht, and finally contented himself with letting theboom swing freely within a narrow circle, fearing every moment that alurch would capsize them all. Another turn in the road again gave themthe wind; the yacht darted forward on a straight course, and theIrishman reported in high glee that the green car, grunting like PatsyO'Halloran's pig and snorting like Mike Grady's bull, was droppingbehind as fast as she could run.
"What's the time?" Templeton called suddenly over his shoulder.
"Nine minutes to the hour," replied the Irishman, consulting his watch."Will we do it?"
Now that the exciting part of the race was apparently over, he hadbecome alive to business. Twelve o'clock was the hour named for thelodging of tenders with the camp commandant; "and with the likes of theArmy," he said, "you might be done if so be you was half a wink late.It's not that I've a word to say in favour of any matter of punctualityin the Army; but they're the way of making a mighty fuss over trifles.It was told me the name they put to it is red tape."
"We'll do it," said Templeton, "provided, first, the petrol lasts outthe hill ahead; second, there aren't any lorries in the way. But in anycase we must run it fine, you know. You don't want Noakes or Saundersto get in at all, I take it."
"Sorra a bit."
"Would they tender higher than you?" asked Eves.
"They might."
"What a pity we didn't give Noakes that message, Bob. Some one at thecamp wanted to give him the tip to cut his tender; there was no other tohand."
"The like of that, now, and me having the name of an honest man! Will Ihave time enough to write a word or two with the stump of a pencil? Ihave my tender in my pocket folded."
"Better let it alone; we'll keep Noakes off. He's still rattling along,Bob; do we get the wind up the hill?"
"I'm afraid not. The road takes an awkward turn; just ahead there, yousee. We'll have to rely on the petrol, and trust to luck."
The yacht rounded the turn, and the hill came in view--a short sharpspur about a quarter-mile in length. In a trice they dowsed the sails.Templeton switched on the engine, intending to rush the incline. Lookingbehind somewhat anxiously now, the Irishman declared that the green carwas barging on like a mad steam engine. Roaring like a furnace, itseemed to leap over the ground, overhauling the yacht yard by yard untilit was three-parts up the hill. Then the clamour suddenly ceased.
"Begor, she's stopped," cried the Irishman, exultantly.
"Big ends dropped off," said Templeton, grinning at Eves over hisshoulder. "I gave him fair warning."
The yacht topped the crest. On the moor to the left a vast assemblageof huts and tents broke upon the view. By the roadside was parked a rowof motor lorries. Here and there men were moving about. They staredand shouted to one another at the sight of the strange vehicle sailingtowards them, or rather running now merrily on the last gill of petrol.Templeton narrowly escaped colliding with the nearest lorry, then sloweddown and enquired the way to the commandant's office.
"You go in between them huts till you come to a swanky hut with a flagflying atop," replied the private addressed. "A rum turn-out, thishere."
Driving on to the moor, Templeton was checked by the sentry, to whom,however, the Irishman explained that he was Patrick O'Reilly, come totender for the camp waste.
"Pass: you'd better tender for the lot of us: we're all waste here,"said the sentry. "Perhaps if you offered to buy us up they'd demob."
"I don't like that," said Templeton, gravely, as he drove on. "It'ssubversive of discipline."
"Don't worry," said Eves with a smile. "He saluted all right. It's twominutes to twelve: we did jolly well, old man."
Templeton drew up at the commandant's hut. O'Reilly sprang out, andafter a brief colloquy with the sentry, who looked doubtfully at hisbare head and touzled hair, was allowed to enter. In five minutes hereturned, in animated converse with the colonel. That officer,acknowledging the punctilious salutes of Eves and Templeton, smiled atthe smutty face of the latter, and remarked:
"This is a queer contrivance of yours, my man. I thought Mr. O'Reillywas a lunatic when he told me he'd arrived in a yacht, without beingsick, and himself a bad sailor----"
"I am that," put in O'Reilly, parenthetically. "I wouldn't like to sayhow much the Irish Sea is owing me."
"But I see he's not so mad as I supposed," the colonel went on.
"Sure you'd be the better of a voyage in her yourself," said O'Reilly.
"None, sir," replied Eves, promptly. "It's the first, a brand-newinvention of my friend Templeton here, second lieutenant in theBlankshire Rifles. He's a repatriated prisoner of war, employing hisleave in working out ideas that germinated in captivity. That accountsfor his being improperly dressed."
"Indeed! Is this the Mr. Templeton who narrowly escaped gassing my oldfriend Colonel Beavis?"
"A pure accident, sir, due to the colonel's adventurous spirit and aloose screw. Templeton was very much cut up about it."
"Dry up!" growled Templeton in a fierce undertone.
"Well, I congratulate Mr. O'Reilly," said the colonel, his eyestwinkling. "I gather that but for Mr. Templeton's road yacht hewouldn't have got here till after twelve, and he seemed a little hurtwhen I told him that a few minutes are neither here nor there. One mustgive a time limit, of course; but I shouldn't have turned down a goodoffer that happened to arrive a few minutes late. But what's this?"
A crowd of privates, shouting vociferously, was approaching from thedirection of the road. A few words were distinguishable in the babel."This way, governor." "Two to one on the long un." And as the throngturned into the lane between the huts, among the khaki figures appearedPhilemon Noakes and his fur-coated companion, trotting along in feverishhaste. The soldiers fell back as they neared the commandant's hut, andthe two civilians advanced alone.
"Are you the colonel?" asked Noakes, panting.
"I am. You want to see me?"
"I'm the Mayor of Pudlington. This is my friend Ebenezer Saunders,who's come for to tender for the camp waste."
"As per advertisement," added Saunders.
There was something aggressive in each man's manner of speech. Thecolonel looked at his wrist watch.
"The time mentioned was twelve o'clock, gentlemen. It is now eightminutes past. You are eight minutes too late."
"You won't draw the line so tight," said Noakes. "A few minutes areneither here nor there in a matter of this sort, and as the Mayor ofPudlington----
"Excuse me, Mr. Mayor----"
"But it's all along o' this infernal machine," cried Noakes, angrily,throwing out his hand towards the road yacht. "It was on the wrong sideo' the road, and we couldn't pass it no-how; obstructing of the king'shighway: that's what it was; and as the Mayor of Pudlington I'll havethe law of them, that I will."
"Oh, come, Mr. Noakes," said Eves, pleasantly. "You tried that oncebefore, you know. You remember my friend Templeton, even if you'veforgotten me. As a matter of fact, sir," he added, turning to thecolonel, "they overdrove their car, and the big ends dropped off;otherwise--well, I shouldn't have been surprised if there'd been a bitof a scrap somewhere about the top of the hill."
"There would," said O'Reilly, decisively. "And what's more, it was thecar that blocked the road, and a mighty fine trouble we had, the waywe'd circumvent the creature."
"It's a scandal," cried Noakes.
"A regular low-down swindle," shouted the owner of the fur coat.
"That'll do, sir," said the colonel, sharply. "You'll be good enough toleave the camp--you and the Mayor of Pudlington."
Noakes threw at Eves a venomous glance--a glance in which wasconcentrated inextinguishable resentment for the unmasking he hadsuffered two years before. He made his way with Saunders back to theroad and disappeared.
"There's more in this than meets the eye," said the colonel, smiling."Will you gentlemen come into my hut and tell me something more of theMayor of Pudlington?"
"With pleasure, sir," replied Eves. "Come along, Bob."
"Really, I must be getting back," said Templeton. "There's the garage,you know. Besides----" He looked over his dirty overalls and grimyhands.
"Well, you'll have to get some petrol; while you're doing that I'llrelate what I know of the life history of Noakes. A splendid rag, oldman," he added, as he turned to follow the colonel.
*THE COLD WATER CURE*
Bright Ideas: A Record of Invention and Misinvention Page 12