Chapter 5
It was a bright morning in the early part of summer; the river had resumed its wonted banks and its accustomed pace, and a hot sun seemed to be pulling everything green and bushy and spiky up out of the earth towards him, as if by strings. The Mole and the Water Rat had been up since dawn, very busy on matters connected with boats and the opening of the boating season; painting and varnishing, mending paddles, repairing cushions, hunting for missing boat-hooks, and so on; and were finishing breakfast in their little parlour and eagerly discussing their plans for the day, when a heavy knock sounded at the door.
The Mole went to attend the summons, and the Rat heard him utter a cry of surprise. Then he flung the parlour door open, and announced with much importance, ‘Mr. Badger!’
This was a wonderful thing, indeed, that the Badger should pay a formal call on them, or indeed on anybody. He generally had to be caught, if you wanted him badly, as he slipped quietly along a hedgerow of an early morning or a late evening, or else hunted up in his own house in the middle of the Wood, which was a serious undertaking.
The Badger strode heavily into the room, and stood looking at the two animals with an expression full of seriousness. The Rat let his egg-spoon fall on the table-cloth, and sat open-mouthed.
‘This very morning,’ continued the Badger, taking an arm-chair, ‘as I learnt last night from a trustworthy source, another new and exceptionally powerful motor-car will arrive at Toad Hall on approval or return basis. At this very moment, perhaps, Toad is busy arraying himself in those singularly hideous habiliments so dear to him, which transform him from a good-looking Toad into an object which throws any decent-minded animal that comes across it into a violent fit. We must be up and doing, ere it is too late. You two animals will accompany me instantly to Toad Hall, and the work of rescue shall be accomplished.’
They reached the carriage-drive of Toad Hall to find, as the Badger had anticipated, a shiny new motor-car, of great size, painted a bright red (Toad’s favourite colour), standing in front of the house. As they neared the door it was flung open, and Mr. Toad, arrayed in goggles, cap, gaiters, and enormous overcoat, came swaggering down the steps, drawing on his gauntleted gloves.
The Badger strode up the steps. ‘Take him inside,’ he said sternly to his companions. Then, as the Toad was hustled through the door, struggling and protesting, he turned to the chauffeur in charge of the new motor-car.
One fine morning the Rat, whose turn it was to go on duty, went upstairs to relieve Mr. Badger, whom he found fidgeting to be off and stretch his legs in a long ramble round his wood and down his earths and burrows. ‘Toad’s still in bed,’ he told the Rat, outside the door. ‘Can’t get much out of him, except, “O leave him alone, he wants nothing, perhaps he’ll be better presently, it may pass off in time, don’t be unduly anxious,” and so on. Now, you look out, Rat! When the Toad’s quiet and submissive and playing at being the hero of a Sunday-school prize, then he’s at his artfullest. There’s sure to be something up. I know him. Well, now, I must be off.’
It was a gloomy luncheon for the Rat when Mr. Badger and the Mole at length returned, and he had to face them at table with his pitiful and unconvincing story. Mr. Badger’s caustic, not to say brutal, remarks may be imagined, and therefore passed over; but it was painful to the Rat that even the Mole, though he took his friend’s side as far as possible, could not help saying, ‘You’ve been a bit of a duffer this time, Ratty! Toad, too, of all animals!’
‘He did it awfully well,’ said the crestfallen Rat.
He had not breakfasted that day, and that he was exceedingly hungry after his long walk. He marched into the Inn, ordered the best luncheon that could be provided at so short a notice, and sat down to eat it in the coffee-room.
He was about half-way through his meal when an only too familiar sound, approaching down the street, made him tremble all over.
The car stood in the middle of the yard, quite unattended, the stable-helps and other hangers-on being all at their dinner. The Toad walked slowly round it, inspecting, criticising, musing deeply.
Next moment, hardly knowing how it came about, he found he had hold of the handle and was turning it. As the familiar sound broke forth, the old passion seized on the Toad and completely mastered him, body and soul. As if in a dream he found himself, somehow, seated in the driver’s seat; as if in a dream, he pulled the lever and swung the car round the yard and out through the archway; and, as if in a dream, all sense of right and wrong, all fear of obvious consequences, seemed temporarily suspended. He increased his pace, and as the car devoured the street and leapt forth on the high road through the open country.
The owner of the car feared that his car was stolen. So, he reported the matter to the police. At once the police took action and chased the car. After a few hours of gruelling job they were able to nab the Toad who was put behind bar under the strict eyes of the gaoler.
The gaoler laid his withered hand on the shoulder of the miserable Toad. The rusty key creaked in the lock, the great door clanged behind them; and Toad was a helpless prisoner in the remotest dungeon of the best-guarded keep of the stoutest castle in all the length and breadth of Merry England.
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