“Which is?” hissed one of the stoats, as all the others, weasels and stoats alike, slid even nearer.
“‘Which is,” said the Water Rat grandly, before pausing for full effect, “high tea with Mr Badger himself at his own table!”
There was an awed gasp from most of the weasels and stoats, though not quite all, for one of the boldest of the stoats, scenting advantage, had the nerve to whisper, “… and?”
“And …” faltered the ‘Water Rat, desperately wondering what more he might offer, for this surely was concession enough, “and — a letter of forgiveness from Toad for past wrongs!”
There was another gasp of awe, though one last weasel, it seemed, remained unimpressed and held out for more.
“In addition to — ?” he dared add.
“In addition to not being driven out of the Wild Wood!” roared the Badger, at which they all fell back upon each other frightened out of their wits, the negotiations over.
After that, and with so great a prize on offer, the weasels and stoats were putty in the Rat’s paws as he, and the Badger, led them to the river bank and began the long search downstream from Rat’s house; while Mole’s Nephew led a smaller party by way of the bridge upstream to supplement the Otter’s work with the rabbits on the other side.
All that day they searched, leaving no sedge bank untouched, no piece of driftwood unturned, no old vole hole or tiny creek or gully unchecked. Then they started at first light the next day, calling a council to discuss matters only when it became increasingly obvious to all concerned that matters were worsening. “The river is still rising,” declared the ‘Water Rat, “and it will go on rising. We have hardly covered a quarter of the ground and yet if not by tonight, then certainly by tomorrow, all the places where poor Mole might have been washed up, and may even now be lying trapped and calling for help, or perhaps too weak now to call, will be flooded.”
“Which means,” said the Badger, “the worst!”
The Rat nodded his head gravely.
“It means that our friend, loved by us all,” and here even some of the weasels, and one or two of the stoats, looked genuinely sorry, “will be drowned.”
But as he said this there was another of those ominous roaring and splutterings which had been coming from the direction of distant Toad Hall for days past.
“What is that?” asked the Rat.
Badger shrugged, and the others shook their heads. “Just Toad, that’s all that is. Toad making a noisy nuisance of himself. Best to ignore it, whatever it is. Now, I ask you all, very seriously indeed, to consider very carefully our difficulty and to see if one of us — and there are many of us here — cannot come up with a solution. There must be a way of—”
The roaring sound was increasing, and fast.
“— there is certain to be —”
The roaring sound was beginning to shake the very trees.
“There must —”
The roaring sound was coming at them like thunder out of a clear sky, rolling and roaring and shaking and terrible, so that the Badger’s words were utterly drowned, and every weasel and stoat there, and many more besides, dived for cover as the Badger, ‘Water Rat, and Mole’s Nephew turned their startled gaze up-river.
But it was not up-river that they needed to look so much as above-river, a few feet above-river as it seemed, where a black shadow grew into a dark monster, and that monster into a wild roaring unstoppable rushing thing that flew, and sparked, and shattered its way through the air right past them and just above the swollen river itself.
From which monster, quite unmistakable even above that earth-shattering roar of engines and propellers and wind through wire, came the triumphant laugh of a creature all there thought and hoped they had long since seen the last of: an Ecstatic Toad.
Then Badger and Water Rat, the only two who dared to keep their eyes open — Mole’s Nephew yielding to instinct and diving to the ground — saw something more terrible than the braying laughter that they heard: they saw Toad himself waving at them as he roared demonically by, his eyes wide and wild, his mouth open, his hands raised in a salute of unutterable jubilation, as if to make sure that all knew what it was that was rushing by just out of reach, and frightening the wits out of every sensible animal for miles around.
Then he was gone as suddenly as he had come, away down-river, up higher into the sky, the roaring continuing about them after he had gone and then following after him and fading in his wake as he and the contraption which carried him rose in a steep climb into the air, higher and higher, and higher still, till it was nearly vertical. Then, astonishingly, and now out of earshot, it continued its mesmeric ascent till it slowly, magically, amazingly looped the loop and roared off to become a tiny speck.
All was silent when it had gone, and remained silent for a very long time after, as the Badger and the Rat stared open-mouthed into the distant and now empty sky, and Mole’s Nephew rose shakily to his feet once more.
Eventually first one and then another, and then a third weasel and stoat popped their cowardly heads out of whatever rabbit hole or bramble bush they had escaped into, or up from whatever tree root or mossy bank they had tried to hide behind.
Badger looked at Water Rat and Water Rat looked at Badger.
“Are you thinking what I am thinking, Badger?”
“I am thinking, Water Rat, that what goes up must unfortunately come down, and that when it does it would be as well if you and I were there to meet it. There to admonish it. And there to permit it to go up again for one purpose only, which is, in the little time we may have left, to help us search the rest of the river bank where Mole may be!”
The Rat could not have put it better himself, nor did he try to. When the Badger was in this mood there was no stopping him, and no wise animal would have tried.
“You weasels and stoats continue the search,” Water Rat ordered, “and report to Mole’s Nephew what you find. Mr Badger and I shall go to Toad Hall where —”
“— where,” said the Badger very grimly indeed, “we shall requisition this — this thing of Toad’s, and put it to proper use.
There was no more need of words or orders, for the weasels and stoats were very subdued by what they had seen and the thought that wise Mr Badger and bold Mr Rat might soon be part of it. ‘Without a backward glance, the two determined animals set off resolutely for Toad Hall.
IV
Up and Away
Much as Toad revelled in speed, power and control, there was one thing he liked even more: the opportunity to show off all three at once to his friends. The more awe-struck, admiring, and amazed they were the better he liked it, for though he never doubted that he was a clever Toad, he liked to remind those who knew him how very clever he was.
It had therefore added considerably to the excitements and pleasures of his first flight that fateful morning that as he roared along a few feet above the river, at an ever increasing speed, who should he see below him, and watching with what he imagined was the requisite awe, envy and admiration in their eyes, but the Badger, the Water Rat, Mole’s Nephew, and an assorted company of weasels and stoats.
As if this was not enough, his pride ballooned even more when, moments after waving so regally to his earth-bound friends, he saw the Otter and a large collection of rabbits on the other bank. The rabbits, who scattered in a satisfying way in all directions, were of little account, but Otter’s face was the very picture of open-mouthed amazement. This was most gratifying, and encouraged Toad to give him an extra wave for good measure, before dismissing all else from his mind but the one thing that really mattered, which was flying through the air as fast and loudly as his flying machine would take him.
Or, more accurately, as his pilot would take him, Mr Toad having found it necessary, for this first flight at least, to allow someone else to take the controls. Yet, despite this, as the machine roared up into the sky, leaving his friends so very far behind, Mr Toad could allow himself to settle back and contemplate with
pleasure the cunning and stratagems that had so dramatically transformed his dull and trammelled life into one that at last promised to be worthwhile once again.
The recent years had not been pleasant ones for Toad, ever since, in fact, his infatuation with a motor-car (reasonable), the subsequent trial for theft (grossly unfair), the long sentence in gaol (horrible), and his escape (brilliant), after which the Badger and the others had allowed him to keep his stolen liberty only on certain strict conditions, the essence of which came to this: that he must be forever more be a Good Toad.
In the long and irksome years since then he had lived quietly on his estate, and been kind and generous to those beneath him, almost to a fault. Nothing had been too much trouble for this new and good Toad, this reformed Toad, if it helped others and — well — and lulled all those around him, and especially those he was lucky enough to call his trusted friends, into the false belief that his old ways were done, and he was genuinely reformed!
There had been times when he had believed it himself, for knowing Toad as they did, and being well aware of the silent sacrifices and unspoken sufferings Toad must have endured to remain as sober and good as he had for so long, his friends had been generous in their continuing praise and flattery.
But in the dark of the night, when an animal might be permitted the odd dream or two, Toad had imagined all the exciting things he might do if only he did not need always to be good. Yes, he had dreamed, and he had longed, and he had yearned, for all those things he had given up — but even more for all those things he had never had time to try, or even known about to try, before — before he had become Good.
He might still have been good, and have ever continued to be so, had he not been sitting idly on his lawn one balmy day the previous autumn, expanding on his favourite theme, which was himself, to the Nephew.
Mole had sent to him for some education in the better things of life, when, suddenly, far off in the eastern sky but approaching with appealing speed, he had heard the drone of a machine.
“‘What’s that?” he had said aloud, his voice tremulous with anticipation, his eyes widening even as he felt his pulse quicken.
“Can it be what I think it is?” he muttered, screwing up his eyes against the pale sky.
“Is it coming over here?” he whispered, pacing back and forth and staring at the speck that grew bigger and louder by the moment.
It was and it did: a red and yellow flying machine which flew straight over the very lawn on which, but moments before, he had been frittering his dull and fettered life away. It came, it flew, it conquered; and it left in its noisy wake those firm resolutions to be good with which he had wrestled so successfully for so long, all broken and disregarded.
“I must! I shall! I need! I long!” he had cried, dancing about and waving his hands in exultation after the infernal machine which had come from nowhere to titillate and tease him and leave him knowing that he would be forever dissatisfied till he had one of his very own.
“You must what?” asked Mole’s Nephew, not understanding at all the change that had come over the great Mr Toad, nor being old or wise enough — as the Mole himself would have been — to see its dreadful significance.
“What?!” said Toad. “You still here? I had forgotten you were —” and realising immediately the danger he was in, he feigned something like a fainting fit, and muttered, “What must I do? I must not! I shall not! I need not! No, no, you young and impressionable mole, seek not what you cannot have. Be content with the simple blessings that life brings. I long for nothing, nothing at all, but peace and quiet, and — and such good things —”
Toad had then subsided into his chair and pretended the very opposite of what he felt and intended, for he knew it would do him no good if Mole’s Nephew guessed what was in his mind. He relieved himself of the youngster as soon as he could — claiming to feel ill, which was something near the truth, for he was ill with desire and yearning.
From that day Toad had begun to plot to acquire his own flying machine: first summoning those who knew about such things to Toad Hall and then sneaking away saying he must visit an ageing relative when, in fact, he went to the most exciting event of his life: an air show which concluded with an air race. He returned addicted, and began to plot more feverishly still, for he knew it would be no good simply to acquire a machine and start flying it. No, he must plan!
Plan he had, brilliantly, as he perceived it. His aged relative, now in terminal though lengthy decline, afforded him plenty of excuse to visit that aerodrome whereon the machine he had set his heart upon awaited him. There he had his first ecstatic flights as a passenger, and then, O bliss!, his first lessons, till finally, though not yet competent to fly, Toad acquired the wondrous machine, and arranged for it to be delivered to Toad Hall in the depth of winter, when he knew that the animals along the river would be in their miserable hovels and humble homes, and not interested in prying into his exciting business.
The machine had arrived in parts, to be assembled by a pilot-mechanic behind specially erected and camouflaged hessian baffles and shields in the greatest secrecy Here the engine had been fired, Toad’s pleasure in its glorious noise marred only slightly by the possibility that the Badger and the others would hear it. But they seemed not to have done, and his plans progressed unimpeded by their interference.
He came upon his first real set-back when he discovered that the wretched pilot-mechanic (as he now seemed to Toad) resolutely and adamantly refused to allow him to fly the machine himself till he had had more lessons.
“I order you to!” Toad said finally, after a variety of pleas and threats.
“It would be more than my life is worth, Mr Toad, and yours as well, to let you,” was the reply.
“But — but — the whole point of having it is that I, Toad of Toad Hall, should fly it and be seen to be flying it,” spluttered the exasperated Toad.
“I appreciate that,” said the pilot, who had dealt before with other customers like Toad who had more money than sense, and knew just the right combination of firmness and flattery that was required, “I understand that, Your Honour, but —”
Toad softened just a little, for he enjoyed very much being called “Your Honour”, though his brow began to furrow almost immediately when he reflected that “Your Honour” was generally used for Judges, and they were a species whose path he had crossed before, and wished never to cross again.
“But can’t you make an exception’ purred Toad, “seeing as I have very considerable experience with high-velocity motor-cars and —The pilot slowly shook his head, and leant close to Toad, like a fellow conspirator. “Look at it this way, Your Worship, if—”
Toad softened still more as the wise and sensible pilot-mechanic, a sterling sort of fellow when it came down to it, spoke those words “Your Worship” such as, Toad thought, might be applied to a Lord Mayor or a Bishop, or some such personage of the kind with whom Toad could very easily imagine himself mixing.
“If— ?” whispered Toad almost gently.
“If, as you rightly say, My Lord, if—”
Toad’s head swam. Toad’s chest swelled. Toad’s heart missed a beat as an extraordinary sensation came across him at those potent and wonderful words, “My Lord”. No sooner were they uttered than Toad fancied that they were true and that he was, he really was, Lord Toad of Toad Hall, but — but he shivered the sensation away from himself.
Then he sighed, and he sank back into the more sustainable dream that even if those magic words were not quite true, they were almost so. A Lord he certainly was in spirit, just as he felt he had always been. A Lord in all but name, and one day —
“— if,” continued the pilot—mechanic, “I were to let you fly this machine without further instruction, and supposing, just supposing, there was a regrettable occurrence, which is to say an accident, then it would not reflect well on you at all. Accidents involving flying machines tend to attract rather widespread, not to say national, interest. All the mor
e so if the personage who is the pilot is well known across the length and the breadth, as you undoubtedly are. There would be —”Toad’s mind swam again, and his hopes and spirits soared. Not so much at the notion of “length and breadth” (precisely what length and which breadth the pilot wisely refrained from saying) as from all the possibilities implicit in attracting the “national interest”. Here then, before him, within his reach, though not yet quite within his control, was a way of making rather more of an impression than a merely local one on inconsequential animals such as the Badger, and the Water Rat, and the Mole.
Here, in this shining and beautiful machine, whose sophisticated subtlety and splendid majesty was in such perfect harmony with the notion of Lord Toad of Toad Hall, Toad saw his future before him.
Not that he imagined for one moment that the national fame that was surely his due would come as a result of an accident. Rather, he said to himself, if such ordinary mortals as this — this young pilot — to whom accidents no doubt did happen, could talk of fame arising in that way, how much more lasting would fame be if it came about because he, Toad, had achieved something purposeful in his flying machine, like — and in a moment Toad had broken every flying record he could think of for height, speed, distance, endurance, and— “— and therefore, sir, Mr Toad, Lordship, it would be better if I showed you how to fly it properly before you attempt to do so yourself.”
“Tell me’ said Toad, in a quiet and conciliatory way, “would anyone on the ground know it was you who were flying the machine? Or might they possibly, seeing me in it, think it was me?”
“They might very well think it was you,” said the pilot judiciously, “especially if you were wearing the proper gear and looked the part and were, so to speak, prominent.”
“Prominent’ repeated Toad, puffing himself up once more and strutting alongside the machine.
“If you were to sit on a cushion or two, perhaps,” said the pilot, “and raise yourself up a bit, and I was to keep my head down as low as possible.”