Mr. Bob Grummit sat in the kitchen with his corduroy-clad legs stretchedon the fender. His wife's half-eaten dinner was getting cold on thetable; Mr. Grummit, who was badly in need of cheering up, emptied herhalf-empty glass of beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
"Come away, I tell you," he called. "D'ye hear? Come away. You'll belocked up if you don't."
He gave a little laugh at the sarcasm, and sticking his short pipe inhis mouth lurched slowly to the front-room door and scowled at his wifeas she lurked at the back of the window watching intently the furniturewhich was being carried in next door.
"Come away or else you'll be locked up," repeated Mr. Grummit. "Youmustn't look at policemen's furniture; it's agin the law."
Mrs. Grummit made no reply, but, throwing appearances to the winds,stepped to the window until her nose touched, as a walnut sideboard withbevelled glass back was tenderly borne inside under the personalsupervision of Police-Constable Evans.
"They'll be 'aving a pianner next," said the indignant Mr. Grummit,peering from the depths of the room.
"They've got one," responded his wife; "there's the end if it stickin'up in the van."
Mr. Grummit advanced and regarded the end fixedly. "Did you throw allthem tin cans and things into their yard wot I told you to?" hedemanded.
"He picked up three of 'em while I was upstairs," replied his wife. "I'eard 'im tell her that they'd come in handy for paint and things."
"That's 'ow coppers get on and buy pianners," said the incensed Mr.Grummit, "sneaking other people's property. I didn't tell you to throwgood 'uns over, did I? Wot d'ye mean by it?"
Mrs. Grummit made no reply, but watched with bated breath the triumphalentrance of the piano. The carman set it tenderly on the narrowfootpath, while P. C. Evans, stooping low, examined it at all points,and Mrs. Evans, raising the lid, struck a few careless chords.
"Showing off," explained Mrs. Grummit, with a half turn; "and she's gotfingers like carrots."
"It's a disgrace to Mulberry Gardens to 'ave a copper come and live init," said the indignant Grummit; "and to come and live next to me!--that's what I can't get over. To come and live next door to a man wothas been fined twice, and both times wrong. Why, for two pins I'd go inand smash 'is pianner first and 'im after it. He won't live 'ere long,you take my word for it."
"Why not?" inquired his wife.
"Why?" repeated Mr. Grummit. "Why? Why, becos I'll make the place too'ot to hold him. Ain't there enough houses in Tunwich without 'ima-coming and living next door to me?"
For a whole week the brain concealed in Mr. Grummit's bullet-shaped headworked in vain, and his temper got correspondingly bad. The day afterthe Evans' arrival he had found his yard littered with tins which herecognized as old acquaintances, and since that time they had travelledbackwards and forwards with monotonous regularity. They sometimes madeas many as three journeys a day, and on one occasion the heavens openedto drop a battered tin bucket on the back of Mr. Grummit as he was tyinghis bootlace. Five minutes later he spoke of the outrage to Mr. Evans,who had come out to admire the sunset.
"I heard something fall," said the constable, eyeing the pail curiously.
"You threw it," said Mr. Grummit, breathing furiously.
"Me? Nonsense," said the other, easily. "I was having tea in the parlourwith my wife and my mother-in-law, and my brother Joe and his younglady."
"Any more of 'em?" demanded the hapless Mr. Grummit, aghast at this listof witnesses for an alibi.
"It ain't a bad pail, if you look at it properly," said the constable."I should keep it if I was you; unless the owner offers a reward for it.It'll hold enough water for your wants."
Mr. Grummit flung indoors and, after wasting some time concoctingimpossible measures of retaliation with his sympathetic partner, wentoff to discuss affairs with his intimates at the Bricklayers' Arms. Thecompany, although unanimously agreeing that Mr. Evans ought to beboiled, were miserably deficient in ideas as to the means by which sucha desirable end was to be attained.
"Make 'im a laughing-stock, that's the best thing," said an elderlylabourer. "The police don't like being laughed at."
"'Ow?" demanded Mr. Grummit, with some asperity.
"There's plenty o' ways," said the old man.
"I should find 'em out fast enough if I 'ad a bucket dropped on my back,I know."
Mr. Grummit made a retort the feebleness of which was somewhat balancedby its ferocity, and subsided into glum silence. His back still ached,but, despite that aid to intellectual effort, the only ways he couldimagine of making the constable look foolish contained an almost certainrisk of hard labour for himself.
He pondered the question for a week, and meanwhile the tins--to thesecret disappointment of Mr. Evans--remained untouched in his yard. Forthe whole of the time he went about looking, as Mrs. Grummit expressedit, as though his dinner had disagreed with him.
"I've been talking to old Bill Smith," he said, suddenly, as he came inone night.
Mrs. Grummit looked up, and noticed with wifely pleasure that he waslooking almost cheerful.
"He's given me a tip," said Mr. Grummit, with a faint smile; "a coppermustn't come into a free-born Englishman's 'ouse unless he's invited."
"Wot of it?" inquired his wife. "You wasn't think of asking him in, wasyou?"
Mr. Grummit regarded her almost play-fully. "If a copper comes inwithout being told to," he continued, "he gets into trouble for it. Nowd'ye see?"
"But he won't come," said the puzzled Mrs. Grummit.
Mr. Grummit winked. "Yes 'e will if you scream loud enough," heretorted. "Where's the copper-stick?"
"Have you gone mad?" demanded his wife, "or do you think I 'ave?"
"You go up into the bedroom," said Mr. Grummit, emphasizing his remarkswith his forefinger. "I come up and beat the bed black and blue with thecopper-stick; you scream for mercy and call out 'Help!' 'Murder!' andthings like that. Don't call out 'Police!' cos Bill ain't sure aboutthat part. Evans comes bursting in to save your life--I'll leave thedoor on the latch--and there you are. He's sure to get into trouble forit. Bill said so. He's made a study o' that sort o' thing."
Mrs. Grummit pondered this simple plan so long that her husband began tolose patience. At last, against her better sense, she rose and fetchedthe weapon in question.
"And you be careful what you're hitting," she said, as they wentupstairs to bed. "We'd better have 'igh words first, I s'pose?"
"You pitch into me with your tongue," said Mr. Grummit, amiably.
Mrs. Grummit, first listening to make sure that the constable and hiswife were in the bedroom the other side of the flimsy wall, complied,and in a voice that rose gradually to a piercing falsetto told Mr.Grummit things that had been rankling in her mind for some months. Sheraked up misdemeanours that he had long since forgotten, and, notcontent with that, had a fling at the entire Grummit family, beginningwith her mother-in-law and ending with Mr. Grummit's youngest sister.The hand that held the copper-stick itched.
"Any more to say?" demanded Mr. Grummit advancing upon her.
Mrs. Grummit emitted a genuine shriek, and Mr. Grummit, suddenlyremembering himself, stopped short and attacked the bed withextraordinary fury. The room resounded with the blows, and the effortsof Mrs. Grummit were a revelation even to her husband.
"I can hear 'im moving," whispered Mr. Grummit, pausing to take breath.
"Mur--der!" wailed his wife. "Help! Help!"
Mr. Grummit, changing the stick into his left hand, renewed the attack;Mrs. Grummit, whose voice was becoming exhausted, sought a temporaryrelief in moans.
"Is--he----deaf?" panted the wife-beater, "or wot?"
He knocked over a chair, and Mrs. Grummit contrived another frenziedscream. A loud knocking sounded on the wall.
"Hel--lp!" moaned Mrs. Grummit.
"Halloa, there!" came the voice of the constable. "Why don't you keepthat baby quiet? We can't get a wink of sleep."
Mr. Grummit dropped the stick on the bed
and turned a dazed face to hiswife.
"He--he's afraid--to come in," he gasped. "Keep it up, old gal."
He took up the stick again and Mrs. Grummit did her best, but the hearthad gone out of the thing, and he was about to give up the task ashopeless when the door below was heard to open with a bang.
"Here he is," cried the jubilant Grummit. "Now!"
His wife responded, and at the same moment the bedroom door was flungopen, and her brother, who had been hastily fetched by the neighbours onthe other side, burst into the room and with one hearty blow sent Mr.Grummit sprawling.
"Hit my sister, will you?" he roared, as the astounded Mr. Grummit rose."Take that!"
Mr. Grummit took it, and several other favours, while his wife, tuggingat her brother, endeavoured to explain. It was not, however, until Mr.Grummit claimed the usual sanctuary of the defeated by refusing to risethat she could make herself heard.
"Joke?" repeated her brother, incredulously. "Joke?"
Mrs. Grummit in a husky voice explained.
Her brother passed from incredulity to amazement and from amazement tomirth. He sat down gurgling, and the indignant face of the injuredGrummit only added to his distress.
"Best joke I ever heard in my life," he said, wiping his eyes. "Don'tlook at me like that, Bob; I can't bear it."
"Get off 'ome," responded Mr. Grummit, glowering at him.
"There's a crowd outside, and half the doors in the place open," saidthe other. "Well, it's a good job there's no harm done. So long."
He passed, beaming, down the stairs, and Mr. Grummit, drawing near thewindow, heard him explaining in a broken voice to the neighboursoutside. Strong men patted him on the back and urged him gruffly to saywhat he had to say and laugh afterwards. Mr. Grummit turned from thewindow, and in a slow and stately fashion prepared to retire for thenight. Even the sudden and startling disappearance of Mrs. Grummit asshe got into bed failed to move him.
"The bed's broke, Bob," she said faintly.
"Beds won't last for ever," he said, shortly; "sleep on the floor."
Mrs. Grummit clambered out, and after some trouble secured thebedclothes and made up a bed in a corner of the room. In a short timeshe was fast asleep; but her husband, broad awake, spent the night indevising further impracticable schemes for the discomfiture of the foenext door.
He saw Mr. Evans next morning as he passed on his way to work. Theconstable was at the door smoking in his shirt-sleeves, and Mr. Grummitfelt instinctively that he was waiting there to see him pass.
"I heard you last night," said the constable, playfully. "My word! Goodgracious!"
"Wot's the matter with you?" demanded Mr. Grummit, stopping short.
The constable stared at him. "She has been knocking you about," hegasped. "Why, it must ha' been you screaming, then! I thought it soundedloud. Why don't you go and get a summons and have her locked up? Ishould be pleased to take her."
Mr. Grummit faced him, quivering with passion. "Wot would it cost if Iset about you?" he demanded, huskily.
"Two months," said Mr. Evans, smiling serenely; "p'r'aps three."
Mr. Grummit hesitated and his fists clenched nervously. The constable,lounging against his door-post, surveyed him with a dispassionate smile."That would be besides what you'd get from me," he said, softly.
"Come out in the road," said Mr. Grummit, with sudden violence.
"It's agin the rules," said Mr. Evans; "sorry I can't. Why not go andask your wife's brother to oblige you?"
He went in laughing and closed the door, and Mr. Grummit, after afrenzied outburst, proceeded on his way, returning the smiles of suchacquaintances as he passed with an icy stare or a strongly-worded offerto make them laugh the other side of their face. The rest of the day hespent in working so hard that he had no time to reply to the anxiousinquiries of his fellow-workmen.
He came home at night glum and silent, the hardship of not being able togive Mr. Evans his deserts without incurring hard labour having weighedon his spirits all day. To avoid the annoyance of the piano next door,which was slowly and reluctantly yielding up "The Last Rose of Summer"note by note, he went out at the back, and the first thing he saw wasMr. Evans mending his path with tins and other bric-a-brac.
"Nothing like it," said the constable, looking up. "Your missus gave 'emto us this morning. A little gravel on top, and there you are."
He turned whistling to his work again, and the other, after endeavouringin vain to frame a suitable reply, took a seat on an inverted wash-tuband lit his pipe. His one hope was that Constable Evans was going to tryand cultivate a garden.
The hope was realized a few days later, and Mr. Grummit at the backwindow sat gloating over a dozen fine geraniums, some lobelias andcalceolarias, which decorated the constable's plot of ground. He couldnot sleep for thinking of them.
He rose early the next morning, and, after remarking to Mrs. Grummitthat Mr. Evans's flowers looked as though they wanted rain, went off tohis work. The cloud which had been on his spirits for some time hadlifted, and he whistled as he walked. The sight of flowers in frontwindows added to his good humour.
He was still in good spirits when he left off work that afternoon, butsome slight hesitation about returning home sent him to theBrick-layers' firms instead. He stayed there until closing time, andthen, being still disinclined for home, paid a visit to Bill Smith, wholived the other side of Tunwich. By the time he started for home it wasnearly midnight.
The outskirts of the town were deserted and the houses in darkness. Theclock of Tunwich church struck twelve, and the last stroke was justdying away as he turned a corner and ran almost into the arms of the manhe had been trying to avoid.
"Halloa!" said Constable Evans, sharply. "Here, I want a word with you."
Mr. Grummit quailed. "With me, sir?" he said, with involuntary respect.
"What have you been doing to my flowers?" demanded the other, hotly.
"Flowers?" repeated Mr. Grummit, as though the word were new to him."Flowers? What flowers?"
"You know well enough," retorted the constable. "You got over my fencelast night and smashed all my flowers down."
"You be careful wot you're saying," urged Mr. Grummit. "Why, I loveflowers. You don't mean to tell me that all them beautiful flowers wotyou put in so careful 'as been spoiled?"
"You know all about it," said the constable, choking. "I shall take outa summons against you for it."
"Ho!" said Mr. Grummit. "And wot time do you say it was when I done it?"
"Never you mind the time," said the other.
"Cos it's important," said Mr. Grummit.
"My wife's brother--the one you're so fond of--slept in my 'ouse lastnight. He was ill arf the night, pore chap; but, come to think of it,it'll make 'im a good witness for my innocence."
"If I wasn't a policeman," said Mr. Evans, speaking with greatdeliberation, "I'd take hold o' you, Bob Grummit, and I'd give you thebiggest hiding you've ever had in your life."
"If you wasn't a policeman," said Mr. Grummit, yearningly, "I'd arfmurder you."
The two men eyed each other wistfully, loth to part.
"If I gave you what you deserve I should get into trouble," said theconstable.
"If I gave you a quarter of wot you ought to 'ave I should go to quod,"sighed Mr. Grummit.
"I wouldn't put you there," said the constable, earnestly; "I swear Iwouldn't."
"Everything's beautiful and quiet," said Mr. Grummit, trembling witheagerness, "and I wouldn't say a word to a soul. I'll take my solemndavit I wouldn't."
"When I think o' my garden--" began the constable. With a suddenmovement he knocked off Mr. Grummit's cap, and then, seizing him by thecoat, began to hustle him along the road. In the twinkling of an eyethey had closed.
Tunwich church chimed the half-hour as they finished, and Mr. Grummit,forgetting his own injuries, stood smiling at the wreck before him. Theconstable's helmet had been smashed and trodden on; his uniform was tornand covered with blood and dirt, and his goo
d looks marred for afortnight at least. He stooped with a groan, and, recovering his helmet,tried mechanically to punch it into shape. He stuck the battered relicon his head, and Mr. Grummit fell back--awed, despite himself.
"It was a fair fight," he stammered.
The constable waved him away. "Get out o' my sight before I change mymind," he said, fiercely; "and mind, if you say a word about this it'llbe the worse for you."
"Do you think I've gone mad?" said the other. He took another look athis victim and, turning away, danced fantastically along the road home.The constable, making his way to a gas-lamp, began to inspect damages.
They were worse even than he had thought, and, leaning against thelamp-post, he sought in vain for an explanation that, in the absence ofa prisoner, would satisfy the inspector. A button which was hanging by athread fell tinkling on to the footpath, and he had just picked it upand placed it in his pocket when a faint distant outcry broke upon hisear.
He turned and walked as rapidly as his condition would permit in thedirection of the noise. It became louder and more imperative, and criesof "Police!" became distinctly audible. He quickened into a run, andturning a corner beheld a little knot of people standing at the gate ofa large house. Other people only partially clad were hastening to-wardsthem. The constable arrived out of breath.
"Better late than never," said the owner of the house, sarcastically.
Mr. Evans, breathing painfully, supported himself with his hand on thefence.
"They went that way, but I suppose you didn't see them," continued thehouseholder. "Halloa!" he added, as somebody opened the hall door andthe constable's damaged condition became visible in the gas-light. "Areyou hurt?"
"Yes," said Mr. Evans, who was trying hard to think clearly. To gaintime he blew a loud call on his whistle.
"The rascals!" continued the other. "I think I should know the big chapwith a beard again, but the others were too quick for me."
Mr. Evans blew his whistle again--thoughtfully. The opportunity seemedtoo good to lose.
"Did they get anything?" he inquired.
"Not a thing," said the owner, triumphantly. "I was disturbed just intime."
The constable gave a slight gulp. "I saw the three running by the sideof the road," he said, slowly. "Their behaviour seemed suspicious, so Icollared the big one, but they set on me like wild cats. They had medown three times; the last time I laid my head open against the kerb,and when I came to my senses again they had gone."
He took off his battered helmet with a flourish and, amid a murmur ofsympathy, displayed a nasty cut on his head. A sergeant and a constable,both running, appeared round the corner and made towards' them.
"Get back to the station and make your report," said the former, asConstable Evans, in a somewhat defiant voice, repeated his story."You've done your best; I can see that."
Mr. Evans, enacting to perfection the part of a wounded hero, limpedpainfully off, praying devoutly as he went that the criminals might makegood their escape. If not, he reflected that the word of a policeman wasat least equal to that of three burglars.
He repeated his story at the station, and, after having his headdressed, was sent home and advised to keep himself quiet for a day ortwo. He was off duty for four days, and, the Tunwich Gazette havingdevoted a column to the affair, headed "A Gallant Constable," modestlysecluded himself from the public gaze for the whole of that time.
To Mr. Grummit, who had read the article in question until he could haverepeated it backwards, this modesty was particularly trying. Theconstable's yard was deserted and the front door ever closed. Once Mr.Grummit even went so far as to tap with his nails on the front parlourwindow, and the only response was the sudden lowering of the blind. Itwas not until a week afterwards that his eyes were gladdened by a sightof the constable sitting in his yard; and fearing that even then hemight escape him, he ran out on tip-toe and put his face over the fencebefore the latter was aware of his presence.
"Wot about that 'ere burglary?" he demanded in truculent tones.
"Good evening, Grummit," said the constable, with a patronizing air.
"Wot about that burglary?" repeated Mr. Grummit, with a scowl. "I don'tbelieve you ever saw a burglar."
Mr. Evans rose and stretched himself gracefully. "You'd better runindoors, my good man," he said, slowly.
"Telling all them lies about burglars," continued the indignant Mr.Grummit, producing his newspaper and waving it. "Why, I gave you thatblack eye, I smashed your 'elmet, I cut your silly 'ead open, I----"
"You've been drinking," said the other, severely.
"You mean to say I didn't?" demanded Mr. Grummit, ferociously.
Mr. Evans came closer and eyed him steadily. "I don't know what you'retalking about," he said, calmly.
Mr. Grummit, about to speak, stopped appalled at such hardihood.
"Of course, if you mean to say that you were one o' them burglars,"continued the constable, "why, say it and I'll take you with pleasure.Come to think of it, I did seem to remember one o' their voices."
Mr. Grummit, with his eyes fixed on the other's, backed a couple ofyards and breathed heavily.
"About your height, too, he was," mused the constable. "I hope for yoursake you haven't been saying to anybody else what you said to me justnow."
Mr. Grummit shook his head. "Not a word," he faltered.
"That's all right, then," said Mr. Evans. "I shouldn't like to be hardon a neighbour; not that we shall be neighbours much longer."
Mr. Grummit, feeling that a reply was expected of him, gave utterance toa feeble "Oh!"
"No," said Mr. Evans, looking round disparagingly. "It ain't good enoughfor us now; I was promoted to sergeant this morning. A sergeant can'tlive in a common place like this."
Mr. Grummit, a prey to a sickening fear, drew near the fence again. "A--a sergeant?" he stammered.
Mr. Evans smiled and gazed carefully at a distant cloud. "For my braverywith them burglars the other night, Grummit," he said, modestly. "Imight have waited years if it hadn't been for them."
He nodded to the frantic Grummit and turned away; Mr. Grummit, withoutany adieu at all, turned and crept back to the house.
BOB'S REDEMPTION