Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S.: A Story of the Great War

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XIV

  BUTTERFLY

  "I SAY, pater."

  "Eh?" ejaculated Peter Barcroft without looking up from his work,which happened to be revising a proof.

  "I saw Betty Deringhame last night. I forgot to tell you," beganBilly as a "preliminary canter" to the recital of his raid-nightadventure.

  "More fool you," grumbled his parent.

  "I beg your pardon----" began the flight-sub, rather taken aback notby his sire's brusqueness, for Barcroft Senior when engaged in thenon-creative work of proof-reading was like a bear with a sore head,but by the off-hand manner in which he had received the announcementof the girl's name.

  "Look here!" exclaimed Peter, throwing down his pen and incidentallybespattering with ink the long, narrow sheet of printed matter. "Whyon earth you want me to preach you a homily on the evils ofbetting----"

  "Betting?" interrupted Billy. "I said nothing about betting. What Isaid was: 'I--saw--Betty--Deringhame--last--night.'"

  Peter swung round in his revolving chair, and raised his eyebrows inmild surprise.

  "Did you?" he asked. "My mistake, but why did you murmur that mostinteresting news into my deaf ear? What's she doing in this part?"

  Billy duly reported the state of affairs.

  "Jolly hard lines on the girl and her mother, too," was his parent'sverdict. "Of course women of all classes are making munitions now,and all praise to them for doing it. I am not referring to that, butto the fact that Mrs. Deringhame has had a come-down in life. Didyou ever hear how it occurred?"

  "No," replied the young officer. "You see, I really didn't like toask Betty, and she's too jolly brave to whine over her troubles."

  "Sit down and fill your pipe," continued Barcroft Senior. "Nomatches? Hang it, there were three or four boxes on my desk thismorning. Here, never mind, use a spill."

  Billy laid a restraining hand upon his father's arm.

  "Don't use your precious proofs, pater," he observed.

  "Bless my soul! You were only just in time, my boy. Another secondand that printed stuff would have been mingling in the form of smokewith the Lancashire atmosphere. Ah, yes; we were discussing theDeringhames. The same old tale, Billy: an inexperienced woman and arascally lawyer. Not that all lawyers are rascals, you understand,but the profession contains a high percentage of rogues who, but fortheir knowledge of the law and of how far to go without oversteppingthe lawyer made laws of the land, would be doing time. This chap wasa cute one. He persuaded Mrs. Deringhame to invest most of hercapital in certain concerns of which he was a sort of sleepingpartner. In five years he had literally done her out of a cool 6,000pounds; and then, pretending to set matters right, he prevailed uponher to mortgage her house at Alderdene. Nominally he was her agent;in reality he was agent for the mortgagee, who was himself. You seethe move?"

  "Then, when war broke out, he drew in the mortgage, bringing anexcuse that tightness of money necessitated the step. Mrs.Deringhame was unable at short notice to meet the demand. In vainshe pleaded for time. Her last remnant of capital vanished into therogue's clutches."

  "The rotter!" ejaculated Billy indignantly. "And what is thebounder's name. Do you happen to know?"

  "Yes," replied Mr. Barcroft. "Let me see--yes I have it: AntoniusGrabb, of the firm of Grabb and Gott, of Ely Place."

  "By Jupiter!" muttered Billy.

  Mr. Barcroft raised his eyebrows enquiringly, but his son made nofurther audible comment. He had made the unpleasing discovery thatthe man who had wronged Betty and her mother was Bobby Kirkwood'suncle, and when, in the natural course of events the aforementioneduncle died, the A.P., should he be still surviving, would benefitconsiderably under the will of Antonius Grabb.

  "By the bye," said Peter abruptly changing the subject. "Seenanything of Entwistle?"

  "Met him coming from the bath-room half an hour ago; he was limpinga good deal," replied Billy. "I don't suppose it will be long beforehe's down."

  "I've a job for you, my boy," continued Peter. "They've justtelephoned through to say that Entwistle's car won't be able tofetch him. My perambulating box of tricks and petrol is out ofaction somewhere in the hills. So I want you to drive our guest inthe trap to Barborough. I'd go myself if it weren't for theseconfounded proofs. That idiot of a comp, will persist in printing'stem' for 'stern.' The drive will do you good--blow some of lastnight's cobwebs away."

  "Steady, pater," protested Billy with a hearty laugh. "I am no handat driving horseflesh. Give me something in the motor line and I'mall there."

  "You'll be all right with Butterfly," declared Barcroft Senior."She's the steadiest-footed quadruped that ever stepped it out inshafts. A perfect gem, and the envy of the countryside."

  He spoke with conviction, but the good character bestowed upon theanimal was based simply upon hearsay. "Butterfly" was a newimportation, having joined the establishment of Ladybird Fold only aweek previously, and during that period she had either rusticated inthe adjoining meadow or in her stable.

  The flight-sub walked across the study to the open window. Without,hill and dale were bathed in the autumnal sunlight, and, havingreviled the neighbourhood of Tarleigh in the darkness of theprevious night, Billy felt compelled to render ample reparation toits charms as revealed by the light of day.

  For miles there was a succession of hills and valleys, until thevista was terminated by the frowning Pennines. The country was wellwooded, except for the grassy moorlands and bare yet picturesqueoutlines of the pikes and fells. Here and there were signs of humanhabitation in the form of well-built stone cottages, while in someof the steeper valleys could be discerned the chimneys and roofs ofvarious mills and bleaching works. Nor did these lofty "stacks"disfigure the landscape. They seemed to harmonise with nature. Theonly blot in the vista was perhaps the line of electric cables withwhich the Zeppelin's observation car had so nearly collided withdisastrous result on the previous night.

  In the middle distance a haze of smoke through which a regularforest of factory chimneys could be dimly discerned marked theposition of Barborough. Distance had lent not exactly enchantmentbut a discreet contrast to the rural outlook, and while taking inthe panoramic effect with its attendant peacefulness Billy Barcroftcould hardly realise that eight hours previously a cowardlynight-raider had been hurling down her death-dealing missiles uponthis portion of Britannia's sea-girt domain.

  "Right-o, pater!" he exclaimed. "I'll risk it."

  He spoke feelingly. The perils of his profession he regarded withequanimity. It was his choice, and he had no cause to regret it. Butthe idea of driving a quadruped of sorts along those steep roads andthrough the crowded streets of Barborough filled him with genuineapprehension.

  "Hang it!" he soliloquised. "There's no cut-out on a gee-gee. I knowhow to stop an engine right enough, but a horse has a brain of itsown and can be jolly erratic when it wants to. What on earthpossessed the governor to go in for a quadruped when he has arattling good car?"

  Just at that moment the harmony of the morning was interrupted bythe high-pitched voice of Mrs. Carter engaged in animatedconversation with Mrs. Sarah Crumpet, the D.T.--otherwise DomesticTreasure--who "did" for Andrew Norton, Esquire.

  Although the two ladies were at a side door that opened directlyinto the scullery their voices could be heard with astoundingclearness.

  "Eh! An' tha' found tha bed not slept upon?" she exclaimed. "Mr.Norton may ha' been called away a-purpose."

  "Nay, that 'e wur not, Jane," declared Mrs. Crumpet. "I'm a-tellin'on ye, sitha'. Mr. Norton 'e meant to come back, for the whisky wason th' table."

  "Methinks he looks to my employer for his nightcap," remarked Mrs.Carter with asperity.

  "An' I was so overcome like," continued Sarah ignoring theinsinuation, "that I simply 'ad to 'ave a drop-the first time I ever'ad a chance up yonder."

  "'As 'e paid thee thy brass?" enquired the sympathetic Mrs. Carter.

  "Ay, that 'e did, thanks be. But it seems most strange-like, thisbusiness."

  "
I'll tell th' master," asserted Mrs. Carter as the other womanwalked away. "An' sitha', if you're feelin' out o' sorts again, Mrs.Crumpet, now's your chance afore the bottle's locked up."

  With this parting injunction the "help" of Ladybird Fold shut thedoor and made her way to the study.

  "Yes, I know," said Mr. Barcroft when the Little Liver Pill had dulyreported the absence of Mr. Norton. "He was here last night and leftin a hurry before I returned; I'll stroll across in the course ofthe forenoon. Ah, good morning, Entwistle; how's that foot?"

  "Better, thanks," replied his guest. "Gives me a bit of a twingewhen I set it to ground. Well, what's the morning's news?"

  "Papers not in yet, not that I expect any enlightenment on thesubject of the raid in the Press report. There are all sorts ofrumours flying about, as is to be expected. But it will be all rightsome day--when we tackle the business properly. These Zeps. willcome once too often. It's a mystery to me that they haven't summedup the results and come to the conclusion that these haphazard raidsaren't worth the candle."

  "Unless it is to divert the attention of the German people from theWestern Front," remarked Entwistle.

  "Quite possible," agreed Peter. "Now to breakfast. I'm sorry yourcar couldn't come to fetch you--not that I want to lose you exactly,although I have a batch of proofs in hand," he added bluntly. "Youunderstand? Billy will drive you into Barborough."

  "And what do you think of the measures taken to combat the Zeppelinmenace?" enquired Entwistle addressing himself to Billy. Theflight-sub shook his head.

  "I'm afraid I cannot venture an opinion," he replied. "Both branchesof the Air Service are doing their level best--they cannot do more."

  "You won't be able to draw Billy, Entwistle," added his parent witha laugh. "Even I cannot get him to talk shop."

  "Pity some military men I know aren't like him," said the vet."Nowadays it's either too much shop or too much official reticence.The middle path seems to have been lost sight of. But any more ofthe mystery of your friend Andrew Norton? I couldn't help hearingyour housekeeper holding forth just now."

  "Can't understand it," replied Barcroft Senior. "Why Norton shouldbolt out of my house and desert his own all night is a completepuzzle. I can only put forward the theory that the Zep. raid madehim lose his mental balance--and he's a fellow with a steady head, Ifancy. If he doesn't put in an appearance before lunch time I feelit is my duty to report the circumstances to that pillar ofintelligence the Tarleigh police sergeant."

  "And possibly get yourself arrested on suspicion," chuckledEntwistle. "Norton was last seen in this house, remember."

  "It would be an experience that would afford practical knowledge asfar as my work is concerned," decided Peter. "Nothing like real lifeto work into a plot, you know."

  Breakfast over, Entwistle and the flight-sub went out into thegarden for the time-honoured matutinal pipe until it was time forPeter's guest to take his departure.

  "Come along, Billy," shouted his father. "Bear a hand at gettingButterfly harnessed." The flight-sub was in mufti. His uniform hadbeen damaged beyond repair during his toil amidst the ruins of thatdevastated street in Barborough. A scar across his cheek and severallivid weals on the back of his hands testified to his laboursamongst the burning debris.

  Somewhat proudly Peter threw open the doors of the combinedcoach-house and stable. Within was a small governess cart and asleek and obviously overfed donkey.

  "Allow me to introduce you to Butterfly," he announced. "Warrantedto be quiet in harness and a thoroughly good trotter."

  Billy said not a word. He had contemplated with considerablemisgivings the imposed task of driving a spirited mare through apopulous district; but those doubts were as naught compared with theprospect of piloting a humble "moke" through traffic in a strangetown.

  "Thank goodness I'm in mufti!" he soliloquised with a deep-drawnsigh. "'The condemned man walked firmly to the scaffold' sort offeeling. Well, here goes; no one is likely to know me in this show."

  Putting the animal into the shafts was an evolution that requiredthe utmost tact on the part of Barcroft Senior and much nauticalskill on the part of his son. It was their first attempt in thisdirection.

  "Get her this way while I hold the shafts," exclaimed Peter. "Geeup, old lady."

  Butterfly obeyed and took up a position athwart the hawse of thecraft, as Billy expressed it.

  "Round with her," continued Barcroft Senior. "I can't hold theseinfernal shafts up all day."

  Putting his shoulders to the donkey's hind quarters Billy succeededin "slewing the boat's stern round."

  "Easy astern!" he shouted in ringing nautical tones.

  Surprised beyond measure, Butterfly turned her head to take stock ofthis unusual type of groom, with the result that the flight-sub'sface received a good buffet from the animal's nose. Simultaneouslythe brass trappings of the harness rasped Peter's hand.

  "Confound it!" he roared, relaxing his grasp and allowing one shaftto fall with a clatter upon the cobbles. "The brute's barked myknuckles."

  Then, reasoning that the damage afforded a sufficient excuse to"knock off" his professional labours he held his peace on the natureof his injuries.

  "Warranted quiet in harness," quoted Billy as his parent cautiouslyretrieved the shaft. "My word, pater, there's not much room betweenthe dock-gates. Think she'll take it?"

  "Ought to," replied Barcroft Senior dubiously. "Now, have anothershot. I wish the brute had a reverse gear."

  By dint of mingled coaxing and physical force Butterfly was backedbetween the shafts. Then both men regarded the result of theirtriumph with chastened looks.

  "Strikes me we've missed this sling arrangement on the starboardside," remarked Billy. "That leather thing ought to be round theshaft. She'll have to forge ahead a bit."

  "Right-o!" assented his parent. "Gee-up. Oh, dash it all! That's mytoe this time."

  For Butterfly, in "forging ahead" had brought her hind hoof heavilyupon Peter's foot, which happened to be encased in a carpet slipper.

  At length the evolutions arrived at a state that found the donkey inthe shafts. Father and son stood back to admire their handiwork andto puzzle out the way to adjust the seemingly chaotic tangle ofharness.

  "Why not ask Entwistle?" suggested the flight-sub. "He's a vet. Heought to know how this gear is rove."

  Mr. Barcroft shook his head. He did not like to admit defeat.

  "Can't ask him to hobble out here with that sprained ankle of his,"he said. "Unfortunately I'm not used to the job."

  "So I should imagine, pater," added Billy pointedly. "Well, we'vegot to get on with the business. I'll make sure that everything'slashed up securely. That's the main point. If it isn't right itcan't be helped."

  The task of harnessing completed Butterfly was led out of thestable, an operation that nearly resulted in Peter being pinnedagainst the door-post by one of the wheels.

  "She's perfectly docile now she's in the trap," he decided as thedonkey walked demurely round to the front of the house. "That'sright, Entwistle. Another hour will see you safely home. Good-bye,don't forget to look me up at any time. Up you get, Billy."

  "Thanks, I'm not having any at present," decided the flight-sub."I'll lead her down the narrow lane until we get to the high-road.Now, then, my hearty; easy ahead once more."

  Downhill the donkey walked sedately; Billy's confidence showed signsof returning as he led the sure-footed animal along therough-surfaced track. Just as it joined the main road there was ashort, steep rise.

  "Jump in," exclaimed Entwistle; "she'll take it all right."

  "I'll give her a chance," demurred the flight-sub. "My weight willmake a difference. Now, then, old lady; show us what you can do."

  Butterfly rose nobly to the occasion. So did the shafts, for theanimal walked away leaving the governess-cart in a state of mostunstable equilibrium. By dint of hanging on to one of the shaftsBilly saved his companion from being deposited upon the ground,while Butterfly, having parted company with the tr
ap, stopped andsurveyed the antics of the still oscillating conveyance.

  "Never knew a reef-knot to slip like that before," exclaimed Billy,regarding the trailing traces.

  "It would be better if the traces were made fast in the orthodoxmanner, I fancy," suggested Entwistle, alighting from the cart andlimping to the shafts. "There, that's the way--although it's notdone navy fashion."

  Along the main road Butterfly showed no signs of "speed-form."Downhill she walked slowly; uphill she plodded with even less haste,and since it was all either up or down progress was far from swift.

  "I'll have to have another shave when we get to Barborough,"remarked Billy with an emphasis on the "when." "I scraped at eightthis morning, but at this rate I'll have cultivated a beard beforeButterfly lands us at your place."

  "The first mile," commented Entwistle, pointing to a milestone."Twenty minutes fifteen seconds. Some record that."

  A short distance beyond Blackberry Cross the donkey's manoeuvresbegan to cause Billy additional alarm. Without any apparent reasonButterfly would describe a semi-circle, keeping her eyes fixed uponsomething in the road.

  "Starboard, you blighter!" roared the amateur driver, tugging at oneof the reins. "You'll have us in the ditch in half a shake."

  "Peculiar--very," remarked the vet.

  "A very peculiar craft in all respects," added Billy. "She's notused to this style of yoke-line. Steady, you swab! You're swingingto port again."

  "I've twigged it," announced, Entwistle. "She's jibbing at thosemanholes. They seem to irritate her. We'll have to be jolly carefulwhen we get to the tram-lines or she'll try conclusions with a car.I tell you what: while you are in Barborough----"

  "If we ever get there," muttered Billy.

  "You ought to get that brute shod. She may do better on the metallicroads."

  Two hours later Butterfly and party were in the thickest part of thetraffic. To the flight-sub it was a sort of nightmare. Tram aftertram had to be stopped to enable the erratic animal to pass, while acrowd of urchins (practically all the unwashed of Barborough, Billythought) tailed on to the "Dead March in Saul" procession andcontributed rounds of applause as Barcroft steered the donkeythrough the traffic mostly by means of his shoulders directedagainst the animal's ribs.

  "Come in," said Entwistle as the party finally drew up outside thevet's house. "Put your steed in the stable and stop and have lunch."

  "Thanks all the same," said Billy. "I must be getting back, or itwill be dark before I see Ladybird Fold again."

  The two men said good-bye, and Barcroft, leading the animal, set offon the return journey.

  "I'll leave the moke at a blacksmith's, and while the thing's beingshod I may as well call and see Betty," he decided, and proceeded toput his plan into execution by enquiring of one of the attendantthrong--he suffered their presence with equanimity by thistime--where a shoesmith was to be found.

  "Fine animal, sir," remarked the smith. "Best I've seen for a longtime. Won't hurry, eh? Well, p'raps 'tes not being shod. How longwill it take? Say half an hour."

  Billy deliberated. It was not much use going to "Mill View" if hehad to be back in thirty minutes. On the other hand he could easilyput up the animal at Two Elms and save time on the return journey.Besides, curiosity prompted him to watch the forthcoming operation.

  The smith was a powerfully-built fellow from his waist upwards. Hischest was of enormous depth, his breast and arm muscles stood outlike the gnarled trunk of a tree. But his lower limbs were so thinthat they seemed incapable of supporting the bulky "upperworks."

  Butterfly submitted graciously to the initial stages of theoperation, but when it came to shoeing the off-side fore-foot sheexhibited signs of obstinacy.

  "I'll have to throw her, sir," declared the smith. "Stand aside abit."

  Bending he gripped the donkey's legs and applied his huge bulk toher ribs. Like a felled ox Butterfly fell.

  "Keep 'er 'ead down, sir," cautioned the smith. "I won't be long."

  At length the last shoe was nailed on and filed smooth. Billy hadhad about enough of it, for the pungent smell of the forge was farfrom pleasant. But not so Butterfly. Apparently smarting under theindignity she refused to rise.

  The smith applied a leather strap, but unavailingly. He gripped herhead and tried to lever it up. The donkey lashed out, narrowlymissing Billy's shins.

  "Dunno as 'ow I seed such a brute afore," said the smith, scratchinghis head. "Look 'ere, sir; do you 'old her tail and pull, and I'lltackle her 'ead. Now, up you come."

  Butterfly did. With a series of frantic kicks she regained her feet,sent the astonished smith flying in one direction and Billy inanother.

  For some seconds the flight-sub was too dazed to take any activeinterest in the sequence of events, but when at length he picked himself up and ran to the smithy door, Butterfly's heels were justvisible as at a good fifteen miles an hour she disappeared round thecorner of the street.