It Shouldn't Happen to a Vet Read online

trays of offal, the mounds of freshly-made sausages. Near the outside

  door the butcher halted and stood, irresolute, for a moment. He seemed

  to be thinking hard. Then he turned to me.

  "Would you like a few sausages."

  I almost reeled in my astonishment. "Yes, thank you very much, I would."

  It was scarcely credible but I must have touched the man's heart. ;

  He went over, cut about a pound of links, wrapped them quickly in

  greaseproof paper and handed the parcel to me.

  I looked down at the sausages, feeling the cold weight on my -hand. I.

  still couldn't believe it. Then an unworthy thought welled in my mind.

  It wasn't fair, I know - the poor fellow couldn't have known the luxury

  of many generous impulses - but some inner demon drove me to put him to

  the test. I put a hand in my trouser pocket, jingled my loose change and

  looked him in the eye.

  "Well, how much will that be?" I asked.

  Mr. Dumbleby's big frame froze suddenly into immobility and he stood for

  a few seconds perfectly motionless. His face, as he stared at me, was

  almost without expression, but a single twitch of the cheek and a slowly

  rising anguish in the eyes betrayed the internal battle which was

  raging. When he did speak it was in a husky whisper as though the words

  had been forced from him by a power beyond his control.

  "That," he said, 'will be two and sixpence."

  Chapter Twenty-six.

  It was a new experience for me to be standing outside the hospital

  waiting for the nurses to come off duty, but it was old stuff to Tristan

  who was to be found there several nights a week: His experience showed

  in various ways, but mainly in the shrewd position he took up in a dark

  corner of the doorway of the gas company office just beyond the splash

  of light thrown by the street lamp. From there he could look straight

  across the road into the square entrance of the hospital and the long

  white corridor leading to the nurses' quarters. And there was the other

  advantage that if Siegfried should happen to pass that way, Tristan

  would be invisible and safe.

  At half past seven he nudged me. Two girls had come out of the hospital

  and down the steps and were standing expectantly in the street. Tristan

  looked warily in both directions before taking my arm. "Come on, Jim,

  here they are. That's Connie on the left - the coppery blonde - lovely

  little thing."

  We went over and Tristan introduced me with characteristic charm. I had

  to admit that if the evening had indeed been arranged for therapeutic

  purposes I was beginning to feel better already. There was something

  healing in the way the two pretty girls looked up at me with parted lips

  and shining eyes as though I was the answer to every prayer they had

  ever offered.

  They were remarkably alike except for the hair. Brenda was very dark but

  Connie was fair with a deep, fiery glow where the light from the doorway

  touched her head. Both of them projected a powerful image of bursting

  health - fresh cheeks, white teeth, lively eyes and something else which

  I found particularly easy to take; a simple desire to please.

  Tristan opened the back door of the car with a flourish. "Be careful

  with him in there Connie, he looks quiet but he's a devil with women.

  Known far and wide as a great lover."

  The girls giggled and studied me with even greater interest. Tristan

  leaped into the driver's seat and we set off at breakneck speed.

  As the dark countryside hastened past the windows I leaned back in the

  corner and listened to Tristan who was in full cry; maybe in a kindly

  attempt to cheer me or maybe because he just felt that way, but his flow

  of chatter was unceasing. The girls made an ideal audience because they

  laughed in delight at everything he said. I could feel Connie shaking

  against me. She was sitting very close with a long stretch of empty seat

  on the other side of her. The little car swayed round a sharp corner and

  threw her against me and she stayed there quite naturally with her head

  on my shoulder. I felt her hair against my cheek. She didn't use much

  perfume but smelt cleanly of soap and antiseptic. My mind went back to

  Helen - I didn't think much about her these days. It was just a question

  of practice; to scotch every thought of her as soon as it came up. I was

  getting pretty good at it now. Anyway, it was over - all over before it

  had begun.

  I put my arm round Connie and she lifted her face to me. Ah well, I

  thought as I kissed her. Tristan's voice rose in song from the front

  seat, Brenda giggled, the old car sped over the rough road with a

  thousand rattles.

  We came at last to Poulton, a village on the road to nowhere. Its single

  street straggled untidily up the hillside to a dead end where there was

  a circular green with an ancient stone cross and a steep mound on which

  was perched the institute hall.

  This was where the dance was to be held, but Tristan had other plans

  first. "There's a lovely little pub here. We'll just have a toothful to

  get us in the mood." We got out of the car and Tristan ushered us into a

  low stone building.

  There was nothing of the olde worlde about the place; just a large,

  square, whitewashed room with a black cooking range enclosing a bright

  fire and a long high-backed wooden settle facing it. Over the fireplace

  stretched a single immense beam, gnarled and pitted with the years and

  blackened with smoke.

  We hurried over to the settle, feeling the comfort of it as a screen

  against the cold outside. We had the place to ourselves.

  The landlord came in. He was dressed informally - no jacket, striped,

  collarless shirt, trousers and braces which were reinforced by a broad,

  leather belt around his middle. His cheerful round face lit up at the

  sight of Tristan. "Now then, Mr. Farnon, are you very well."

  "Never better, Mr. Peacock, and how are you."

  "Nicely, sir, very nicely. Can't complain. And I recognise the other

  gentleman. Been in my place before, haven't you."

  I remembered then. A day's testing in the Poulton district and I had

  come in here for a meal, freezing and half starved after hours of

  wrestling with young beasts on the high moor. The landlord had received

  me unemotionally and had set to immediately with his frying-pan on the

  old black range while I sat looking at his shirt back and the braces and

  the shining leather belt. The meal had taken up the whole of the round

  oak table by the fire - a thick steak of home cured ham overlapping the

  plate with two fresh eggs nestling on its bosom, a newly baked loaf with

  the knife sticking in it, a dish of farm butter, some jam, a vast pot of

  tea and a whole Wensleydale cheese, circular, snow white, about eighteen

  inches high.

  I could remember eating unbelievingly for a long time and finishing with

  slice after slice of the moist, delicately flavoured cheese. The entire

  meal had cost me half a crown.

  "Yes, Mr. Peacock, I have been here before and if I'm ever starving on a

  desert island I'll think of that wonderful meal you gave me."

&nbs