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I Don't know why it is, but there's something about the rural districtsafter dark that always has a rummy effect on me. In London I can stay outtill all hours and come home with the milk without a tremor, but put mein the garden of a country house after the strength of the company hasgone to roost and the place is shut up, and a sort of goose-fleshyfeeling steals over me. The night wind stirs the tree-tops, twigs crack,bushes rustle, and before I know where I am, the morale has gone phut andI'm expecting the family ghost to come sneaking up behind me, makinggroaning noises. Dashed unpleasant, the whole thing, and if you think itimproves matters to know that you are shortly about to ring the loudestfire bell in England and start an all-hands-to-the-pumps panic in thatquiet, darkened house, you err.
I knew all about the Brinkley Court fire bell. The dickens of a row itmakes. Uncle Tom, in addition to not liking burglars, is a bloke who hasalways objected to the idea of being cooked in his sleep, so when hebought the place he saw to it that the fire bell should be something thatmight give you heart failure, but which you couldn't possibly mistake forthe drowsy chirping of a sparrow in the ivy.
When I was a kid and spent my holidays at Brinkley, we used to have firedrills after closing time, and many is the night I've had it jerk me outof the dreamless like the Last Trump.
I confess that the recollection of what this bell could do when itbuckled down to it gave me pause as I stood that night at 12.30 p.m.prompt beside the outhouse where it was located. The sight of the ropeagainst the whitewashed wall and the thought of the bloodsome uproarwhich was about to smash the peace of the night into hash served todeepen that rummy feeling to which I have alluded.
Moreover, now that I had had time to meditate upon it, I was more thanever defeatist about this scheme of Jeeves's.
Jeeves seemed to take it for granted that Gussie and Tuppy, faced with ahideous fate, would have no thought beyond saving the Bassett and Angela.
I could not bring myself to share his sunny confidence.
I mean to say, I know how moments when they're faced with a hideous fateaffect chaps. I remember Freddie Widgeon, one of the most chivalrousbirds in the Drones, telling me how there was an alarm of fire once at aseaside hotel where he was staying and, so far from rushing about savingwomen, he was down the escape within ten seconds of the kick-off, hismind concerned with but one thing--viz., the personal well-being ofF. Widgeon.
As far as any idea of doing the delicately nurtured a bit of good went,he tells me, he was prepared to stand underneath and catch them inblankets, but no more.
Why, then, should this not be so with Augustus Fink-Nottle and HildebrandGlossop?
Such were my thoughts as I stood toying with the rope, and I believe Ishould have turned the whole thing up, had it not been that at thisjuncture there floated into my mind a picture of the Bassett hearing thatbell for the first time. Coming as a wholly new experience, it wouldprobably startle her into a decline.
And so agreeable was this reflection that I waited no longer, but seizedthe rope, braced the feet and snapped into it.
Well, as I say, I hadn't been expecting that bell to hush things up toany great extent. Nor did it. The last time I had heard it, I had been inmy room on the other side of the house, and even so it had hoiked me outof bed as if something had exploded under me. Standing close to it likethis, I got the full force and meaning of the thing, and I've never heardanything like it in my puff.
I rather enjoy a bit of noise, as a general rule. I remember Cats-meatPotter-Pirbright bringing a police rattle into the Drones one night andloosing it off behind my chair, and I just lay back and closed my eyeswith a pleasant smile, like someone in a box at the opera. And the sameapplies to the time when my Aunt Agatha's son, young Thos., put a matchto the parcel of Guy Fawkes Day fireworks to see what would happen.
But the Brinkley Court fire bell was too much for me. I gave about half adozen tugs, and then, feeling that enough was enough, sauntered round tothe front lawn to ascertain what solid results had been achieved.
Brinkley Court had given of its best. A glance told me that we wereplaying to capacity. The eye, roving to and fro, noted here Uncle Tom ina purple dressing gown, there Aunt Dahlia in the old blue and yellow. Italso fell upon Anatole, Tuppy, Gussie, Angela, the Bassett and Jeeves, inthe order named. There they all were, present and correct.
But--and this was what caused me immediate concern--I could detect nosign whatever that there had been any rescue work going on.
What I had been hoping, of course, was to see Tuppy bending solicitouslyover Angela in one corner, while Gussie fanned the Bassett with a towelin the other. Instead of which, the Bassett was one of the group whichincluded Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom and seemed to be busy trying to makeAnatole see the bright side, while Angela and Gussie were, respectively,leaning against the sundial with a peeved look and sitting on the grassrubbing a barked shin. Tuppy was walking up and down the path, all byhimself.
A disturbing picture, you will admit. It was with a rather imperiousgesture that I summoned Jeeves to my side.
"Well, Jeeves?"
"Sir?"
I eyed him sternly. "Sir?" forsooth!
"It's no good saying 'Sir?' Jeeves. Look round you. See for yourself.Your scheme has proved a bust."
"Certainly it would appear that matters have not arranged themselvesquite as we anticipated, sir."
"We?"
"As I had anticipated, sir."
"That's more like it. Didn't I tell you it would be a flop?"
"I remember that you did seem dubious, sir."
"Dubious is no word for it, Jeeves. I hadn't a scrap of faith in the ideafrom the start. When you first mooted it, I said it was rotten, and I wasright. I'm not blaming you, Jeeves. It is not your fault that you havesprained your brain. But after this--forgive me if I hurt your feelings,Jeeves----I shall know better than to allow you to handle any but thesimplest and most elementary problems. It is best to be candid aboutthis, don't you think? Kindest to be frank and straightforward?"
"Certainly, sir."
"I mean, the surgeon's knife, what?"
"Precisely, sir."
"I consider----"
"If you will pardon me for interrupting you, sir, I fancy Mrs. Travers isendeavouring to attract your attention."
And at this moment a ringing "Hoy!" which could have proceeded only fromthe relative in question, assured me that his view was correct.
"Just step this way a moment, Attila, if you don't mind," boomed thatwell-known--and under certain conditions, well-loved--voice, and I movedover.
I was not feeling unmixedly at my ease. For the first time it wasbeginning to steal upon me that I had not prepared a really good story insupport of my questionable behaviour in ringing fire bells at such anhour, and I have known Aunt Dahlia to express herself with a heartyfreedom upon far smaller provocation.
She exhibited, however, no signs of violence. More a sort of frozen calm,if you know what I mean. You could see that she was a woman who hadsuffered.
"Well, Bertie, dear," she said, "here we all are."
"Quite," I replied guardedly.
"Nobody missing, is there?"
"I don't think so."
"Splendid. So much healthier for us out in the open like this thanfrowsting in bed. I had just dropped off when you did your bell-ringingact. For it was you, my sweet child, who rang that bell, was it not?"
"I did ring the bell, yes."
"Any particular reason, or just a whim?"
"I thought there was a fire."
"What gave you that impression, dear?"
"I thought I saw flames."
"Where, darling? Tell Aunt Dahlia."
"In one of the windows."
"I see. So we have all been dragged out of bed and scared rigid becauseyou have been seeing things."
Here Uncle Tom made a noise like a cork coming out of a bottle, andAnatole, whose moustache had hit a new low, said something about "someapes" and, if I am not mistaken,
a "_rogommier_"--whatever that is.
"I admit I was mistaken. I am sorry."
"Don't apologize, ducky. Can't you see how pleased we all are? What wereyou doing out here, anyway?"
"Just taking a stroll."
"I see. And are you proposing to continue your stroll?"
"No, I think I'll go in now."
"That's fine. Because I was thinking of going in, too, and I don'tbelieve I could sleep knowing you were out here giving rein to thatpowerful imagination of yours. The next thing that would happen would bethat you would think you saw a pink elephant sitting on the drawing-roomwindow-sill and start throwing bricks at it.... Well, come on, Tom, theentertainment seems to be over.... But wait. The newt king wishes a wordwith us.... Yes, Mr. Fink-Nottle?"
Gussie, as he joined our little group, seemed upset about something.
"I say!"
"Say on, Augustus."
"I say, what are we going to do?"
"Speaking for myself, I intend to return to bed."
"But the door's shut."
"What door?"
"The front door. Somebody must have shut it."
"Then I shall open it."
"But it won't open."
"Then I shall try another door."
"But all the other doors are shut."
"What? Who shut them?"
"I don't know."
I advanced a theory!
"The wind?"
Aunt Dahlia's eyes met mine.
"Don't try me too high," she begged. "Not now, precious." And, indeed,even as I spoke, it did strike me that the night was pretty still.
Uncle Tom said we must get in through a window. Aunt Dahlia sighed a bit.
"How? Could Lloyd George do it, could Winston do it, could Baldwin do it?No. Not since you had those bars of yours put on."
"Well, well, well. God bless my soul, ring the bell, then."
"The fire bell?"
"The door bell."
"To what end, Thomas? There's nobody in the house. The servants are allat Kingham."
"But, confound it all, we can't stop out here all night."
"Can't we? You just watch us. There is nothing--literally nothing--whicha country house party can't do with Attila here operating on thepremises. Seppings presumably took the back-door key with him. We mustjust amuse ourselves till he comes back."
Tuppy made a suggestion:
"Why not take out one of the cars and drive over to Kingham and get thekey from Seppings?"
It went well. No question about that. For the first time, a smile lit upAunt Dahlia's drawn face. Uncle Tom grunted approvingly. Anatole saidsomething in Provencal that sounded complimentary. And I thought Idetected even on Angela's map a slight softening.
"A very excellent idea," said Aunt Dahlia. "One of the best. Nip round tothe garage at once."
After Tuppy had gone, some extremely flattering things were said abouthis intelligence and resource, and there was a disposition to draw ratherinvidious comparisons between him and Bertram. Painful for me, of course,but the ordeal didn't last long, for it couldn't have been more than fiveminutes before he was with us again.
Tuppy seemed perturbed.
"I say, it's all off."
"Why?"
"The garage is locked."
"Unlock it."
"I haven't the key."
"Shout, then, and wake Waterbury."
"Who's Waterbury?"
"The chauffeur, ass. He sleeps over the garage."
"But he's gone to the dance at Kingham."
It was the final wallop. Until this moment, Aunt Dahlia had been able topreserve her frozen calm. The dam now burst. The years rolled away fromher, and she was once more the Dahlia Wooster of the old yoicks-and-tantivydays--the emotional, free-speaking girl who had so often risen inher stirrups to yell derogatory personalities at people who were headinghounds.
"Curse all dancing chauffeurs! What on earth does a chauffeur want todance for? I mistrusted that man from the start. Something told me he wasa dancer. Well, this finishes it. We're out here till breakfast-time. Ifthose blasted servants come back before eight o'clock, I shall be vastlysurprised. You won't get Seppings away from a dance till you throw himout. I know him. The jazz'll go to his head, and he'll stand clapping anddemanding encores till his hands blister. Damn all dancing butlers! Whatis Brinkley Court? A respectable English country house or a crimsondancing school? One might as well be living in the middle of the RussianBallet. Well, all right. If we must stay out here, we must. We shall allbe frozen stiff, except"--here she directed at me not one of herfriendliest glances----"except dear old Attila, who is, I observe, well andwarmly clad. We will resign ourselves to the prospect of freezing todeath like the Babes in the Wood, merely expressing a dying wish that ourold pal Attila will see that we are covered with leaves. No doubt he willalso toll that fire bell of his as a mark of respect--And what might youwant, my good man?"
She broke off, and stood glaring at Jeeves. During the latter portion ofher address, he had been standing by in a respectful manner, endeavouringto catch the speaker's eye.
"If I might make a suggestion, madam."
I am not saying that in the course of our long association I have alwaysfound myself able to view Jeeves with approval. There are aspects of hischaracter which have frequently caused coldnesses to arise between us. Heis one of those fellows who, if you give them a thingummy, take awhat-d'you-call-it. His work is often raw, and he has been known to alludeto me as "mentally negligible". More than once, as I have shown, it hasbeen my painful task to squelch in him a tendency to get uppish and treatthe young master as a serf or peon.
These are grave defects.
But one thing I have never failed to hand the man. He is magnetic. Thereis about him something that seems to soothe and hypnotize. To the best ofmy knowledge, he has never encountered a charging rhinoceros, but shouldthis contingency occur, I have no doubt that the animal, meeting his eye,would check itself in mid-stride, roll over and lie purring with its legsin the air.
At any rate he calmed down Aunt Dahlia, the nearest thing to a chargingrhinoceros, in under five seconds. He just stood there lookingrespectful, and though I didn't time the thing--not having a stop-watchon me--I should say it wasn't more than three seconds and a quarterbefore her whole manner underwent an astounding change for the better.She melted before one's eyes.
"Jeeves! You haven't got an idea?"
"Yes, madam."
"That great brain of yours has really clicked as ever in the hour ofneed?"
"Yes, madam."
"Jeeves," said Aunt Dahlia in a shaking voice, "I am sorry I spoke soabruptly. I was not myself. I might have known that you would not comesimply trying to make conversation. Tell us this idea of yours, Jeeves.Join our little group of thinkers and let us hear what you have to say.Make yourself at home, Jeeves, and give us the good word. Can you reallyget us out of this mess?"
"Yes, madam, if one of the gentlemen would be willing to ride a bicycle."
"A bicycle?"
"There is a bicycle in the gardener's shed in the kitchen garden, madam.Possibly one of the gentlemen might feel disposed to ride over to KinghamManor and procure the back-door key from Mr. Seppings."
"Splendid, Jeeves!"
"Thank you, madam."
"Wonderful!"
"Thank you, madam."
"Attila!" said Aunt Dahlia, turning and speaking in a quiet,authoritative manner.
I had been expecting it. From the very moment those ill-judged words hadpassed the fellow's lips, I had had a presentiment that a determinedeffort would be made to elect me as the goat, and I braced myself toresist and obstruct.
And as I was about to do so, while I was in the very act of summoning upall my eloquence to protest that I didn't know how to ride a bike andcouldn't possibly learn in the brief time at my disposal, I'm dashed ifthe man didn't go and nip me in the bud.
"Yes, madam, Mr. Wooster would perform the task admirably. He is anexpert cyclist.
He has often boasted to me of his triumphs on the wheel."
I hadn't. I hadn't done anything of the sort. It's simply monstrous howone's words get twisted. All I had ever done was to mention tohim--casually, just as an interesting item of information, one day in NewYork when we were watching the six-day bicycle race--that at the age offourteen, while spending my holidays with a vicar of sorts who had beentold off to teach me Latin, I had won the Choir Boys' Handicap at thelocal school treat.
A different thing from boasting of one's triumphs on the wheel.
I mean, he was a man of the world and must have known that the form ofschool treats is never of the hottest. And, if I'm not mistaken, I hadspecifically told him that on the occasion referred to I had receivedhalf a lap start and that Willie Punting, the odds-on favourite to whomthe race was expected to be a gift, had been forced to retire, owing tohaving pinched his elder brother's machine without asking the elderbrother, and the elder brother coming along just as the pistol went andgiving him one on the side of the head and taking it away from him, thusrendering him a scratched-at-the-post non-starter. Yet, from the way hetalked, you would have thought I was one of those chaps in sweaters withmedals all over them, whose photographs bob up from time to time in theillustrated press on the occasion of their having ridden from Hyde ParkCorner to Glasgow in three seconds under the hour, or whatever it is.
And as if this were not bad enough, Tuppy had to shove his oar in.
"That's right," said Tuppy. "Bertie has always been a great cyclist. Iremember at Oxford he used to take all his clothes off on bump-suppernights and ride around the quad, singing comic songs. Jolly fast he usedto go too."
"Then he can go jolly fast now," said Aunt Dahlia with animation. "Hecan't go too fast for me. He may also sing comic songs, if he likes....And if you wish to take your clothes off, Bertie, my lamb, by all meansdo so. But whether clothed or in the nude, whether singing comic songs ornot singing comic songs, get a move on."
I found speech:
"But I haven't ridden for years."
"Then it's high time you began again."
"I've probably forgotten how to ride."
"You'll soon get the knack after you've taken a toss or two. Trial anderror. The only way."
"But it's miles to Kingham."
"So the sooner you're off, the better."
"But----"
"Bertie, dear."
"But, dash it----"
"Bertie, darling."
"Yes, but dash it----"
"Bertie, my sweet."
And so it was arranged. Presently I was moving sombrely off through thedarkness, Jeeves at my side, Aunt Dahlia calling after me something abouttrying to imagine myself the man who brought the good news from Ghent toAix. The first I had heard of the chap.
"So, Jeeves," I said, as we reached the shed, and my voice was cold andbitter, "this is what your great scheme has accomplished! Tuppy, Angela,Gussie and the Bassett not on speaking terms, and self faced with aneight-mile ride----"
"Nine, I believe, sir."
"--a nine-mile ride, and another nine-mile ride back."
"I am sorry, sir."
"No good being sorry now. Where is this foul bone-shaker?"
"I will bring it out, sir."
He did so. I eyed it sourly.
"Where's the lamp?"
"I fear there is no lamp, sir."
"No lamp?"
"No, sir."
"But I may come a fearful stinker without a lamp. Suppose I barge intosomething."
I broke off and eyed him frigidly.
"You smile, Jeeves. The thought amuses you?"
"I beg your pardon, sir. I was thinking of a tale my Uncle Cyril used totell me as a child. An absurd little story, sir, though I confess that Ihave always found it droll. According to my Uncle Cyril, two men namedNicholls and Jackson set out to ride to Brighton on a tandem bicycle, andwere so unfortunate as to come into collision with a brewer's van. Andwhen the rescue party arrived on the scene of the accident, it wasdiscovered that they had been hurled together with such force that it wasimpossible to sort them out at all adequately. The keenest eye could notdiscern which portion of the fragments was Nicholls and which Jackson. Sothey collected as much as they could, and called it Nixon. I rememberlaughing very much at that story when I was a child, sir."
I had to pause a moment to master my feelings.
"You did, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"You thought it funny?"
"Yes, sir."
"And your Uncle Cyril thought it funny?"
"Yes, sir."
"Golly, what a family! Next time you meet your Uncle Cyril, Jeeves, youcan tell him from me that his sense of humour is morbid and unpleasant."
"He is dead, sir."
"Thank heaven for that.... Well, give me the blasted machine."
"Very good, sir."
"Are the tyres inflated?"
"Yes, sir."
"The nuts firm, the brakes in order, the sprockets running true with thedifferential gear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Right ho, Jeeves."
In Tuppy's statement that, when at the University of Oxford, I had beenknown to ride a bicycle in the nude about the quadrangle of our mutualcollege, there had been, I cannot deny, a certain amount of substance.Correct, however, though his facts were, so far as they went, he had nottold all. What he had omitted to mention was that I had invariably beenwell oiled at the time, and when in that condition a chap is capable offeats at which in cooler moments his reason would rebel.
Stimulated by the juice, I believe, men have even been known to ridealligators.
As I started now to pedal out into the great world, I was icily sober,and the old skill, in consequence, had deserted me entirely. I foundmyself wobbling badly, and all the stories I had ever heard of nastybicycle accidents came back to me with a rush, headed by Jeeves's UncleCyril's cheery little anecdote about Nicholls and Jackson.
Pounding wearily through the darkness, I found myself at a loss to fathomthe mentality of men like Jeeves's Uncle Cyril. What on earth he couldsee funny in a disaster which had apparently involved the completeextinction of a human creature--or, at any rate, of half a human creatureand half another human creature--was more than I could understand. To me,the thing was one of the most poignant tragedies that had ever beenbrought to my attention, and I have no doubt that I should have continuedto brood over it for quite a time, had my thoughts not been diverted bythe sudden necessity of zigzagging sharply in order to avoid a pig in thefairway.
For a moment it looked like being real Nicholls-and-Jackson stuff, but,fortunately, a quick zig on my part, coinciding with an adroit zag on thepart of the pig, enabled me to win through, and I continued my ride safe,but with the heart fluttering like a captive bird.
The effect of this narrow squeak upon me was to shake the nerve to theutmost. The fact that pigs were abroad in the night seemed to bring hometo me the perilous nature of my enterprise. It set me thinking of all theother things that could happen to a man out and about on a velocipedewithout a lamp after lighting-up time. In particular, I recalled thestatement of a pal of mine that in certain sections of the ruraldistricts goats were accustomed to stray across the road to the extent oftheir chains, thereby forming about as sound a booby trap as one couldwell wish.
He mentioned, I remember, the case of a friend of his whose machine gotentangled with a goat chain and who was dragged seven miles--likeskijoring in Switzerland--so that he was never the same man again. Andthere was one chap who ran into an elephant, left over from a travellingcircus.
Indeed, taking it for all in all, it seemed to me that, with the possibleexception of being bitten by sharks, there was virtually no front-pagedisaster that could not happen to a fellow, once he had allowed his dearones to override his better judgment and shove him out into the greatunknown on a push-bike, and I am not ashamed to confess that, taking itby and large, the amount of quailing I did from this point on was prettyconsiderable.
br /> However, in respect to goats and elephants, I must say things panned outunexpectedly well.
Oddly enough, I encountered neither. But when you have said that you havesaid everything, for in every other way the conditions could scarcelyhave been fouler.
Apart from the ceaseless anxiety of having to keep an eye skinned forelephants, I found myself much depressed by barking dogs, and once Ireceived a most unpleasant shock when, alighting to consult a signpost, Isaw sitting on top of it an owl that looked exactly like my Aunt Agatha.So agitated, indeed, had my frame of mind become by this time that Ithought at first it was Aunt Agatha, and only when reason and reflectiontold me how alien to her habits it would be to climb signposts and sit onthem, could I pull myself together and overcome the weakness.
In short, what with all this mental disturbance added to the more purelyphysical anguish in the billowy portions and the calves and ankles, theBertram Wooster who eventually toppled off at the door of Kingham Manorwas a very different Bertram from the gay and insouciant _boulevardier_of Bond Street and Piccadilly.
Even to one unaware of the inside facts, it would have been evident thatKingham Manor was throwing its weight about a bit tonight. Lights shonein the windows, music was in the air, and as I drew nearer my eardetected the sibilant shuffling of the feet of butlers, footmen,chauffeurs, parlourmaids, housemaids, tweenies and, I have no doubt,cooks, who were busily treading the measure. I suppose you couldn't sumit up much better than by saying that there was a sound of revelry bynight.
The orgy was taking place in one of the ground-floor rooms which hadFrench windows opening on to the drive, and it was to these Frenchwindows that I now made my way. An orchestra was playing something with agood deal of zip to it, and under happier conditions I dare say my feetwould have started twitching in time to the melody. But I had sternerwork before me than to stand hoofing it by myself on gravel drives.
I wanted that back-door key, and I wanted it instanter.
Scanning the throng within, I found it difficult for a while to spotSeppings. Presently, however, he hove in view, doing fearfully lissomthings in mid-floor. I "Hi-Seppings!"-ed a couple of times, but his mindwas too much on his job to be diverted, and it was only when the swirl ofthe dance had brought him within prodding distance of my forefinger thata quick one to the lower ribs enabled me to claim his attention.
The unexpected buffet caused him to trip over his partner's feet, and itwas with marked austerity that he turned. As he recognized Bertram,however, coldness melted, to be replaced by astonishment.
"Mr. Wooster!"
I was in no mood for bandying words.
"Less of the 'Mr. Wooster' and more back-door keys," I said curtly. "Giveme the key of the back door, Seppings."
He did not seem to grasp the gist.
"The key of the back door, sir?"
"Precisely. The Brinkley Court back-door key."
"But it is at the Court, sir."
I clicked the tongue, annoyed.
"Don't be frivolous, my dear old butler," I said. "I haven't ridden ninemiles on a push-bike to listen to you trying to be funny. You've got itin your trousers pocket."
"No, sir. I left it with Mr. Jeeves."
"You did--what?"
"Yes, sir. Before I came away. Mr. Jeeves said that he wished to walk inthe garden before retiring for the night. He was to place the key on thekitchen window-sill."
I stared at the man dumbly. His eye was clear, his hand steady. He hadnone of the appearance of a butler who has had a couple.
"You mean that all this while the key has been in Jeeves's possession?"??
"Yes, sir."
I could speak no more. Emotion had overmastered my voice. I was at a lossand not abreast; but of one thing, it seemed to me, there could be nodoubt. For some reason, not to be fathomed now, but most certainly to begone well into as soon as I had pushed this infernal sewing-machine ofmine over those nine miles of lonely, country road and got withinstriking distance of him, Jeeves had been doing the dirty. Knowing thatat any given moment he could have solved the whole situation, he had keptAunt Dahlia and others roosting out on the front lawn _en deshabille_and, worse still, had stood calmly by and watched his young employer setout on a wholly unnecessary eighteen-mile bicycle ride.
I could scarcely believe such a thing of him. Of his Uncle Cyril, yes.With that distorted sense of humour of his, Uncle Cyril might quiteconceivably have been capable of such conduct. But that it should beJeeves--
I leaped into the saddle and, stifling the cry of agony which rose to thelips as the bruised person touched the hard leather, set out on thehomeward journey.