Part 18 (2/2)

”How's that?”

”Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to give me a lift home to get my spare key.”

Seb's mouth fell open. ”Back to Darrowby?”

”Afraid so. Nothing else I can do.” I tried not to think of the ten miles.

The Hardwicks looked at each other in alarm, then at the vast heap of turnips and back at me. I knew what they were thinking. It wasn't only the turnips; there were always a thousand jobs to be done on a farm and I was about to wreck their chances of getting some of them done this morning.

But, nice fellows that they were, they didn't tell me what a daft b.u.g.g.e.r I was. Seb blew his cheeks out. ”Aye, well, we'd better get started then.” He turned to his brother. ”I'll 'ave to leave it to ye, Josh. When you've s.h.i.+fted them turnips you'd better get on with the muckin' out. We can move that lot o' sheep down to t'low garth this afternoon.”

Josh nodded and wordlessly seized his fork again while his brother got the family car out. Like a lot of the hill-farmers' vehicles it was very large and very old. We rattled down the track and as I opened each gate I was enveloped in a cloud of acrid fumes from the exhaust.

The road to Darrowby seemed very long and longer still on the way back. I tried to pa.s.s the time with comments on sport, the weather and farming conditions but for the last half-hour the conversation languished. At the farm Seb opened the car door, gave me a hasty wave and trotted away to find his brother.

Dinah was in transports at my return, jumping all over me, licking at my face, but, driving away, I had the strong feeling that I wasn't as popular with the humans I had left behind.

However, when I made my final check on the calves a week later, all seemed to be forgiven. I had no doubt been a d.a.m.n nuisance, but the Hardwick brothers greeted me smilingly, although there was a bad moment when I got out of the car and both men shouted, ”Hey, get your keys out! Don't forget that!” as I was about to close the door.

Sheepishly, I complied, feeling foolish because ever since the previous incident I had made a point of doing just that.

I felt a lot better when I saw that the calves were completely recovered and after was.h.i.+ng my hands and drinking the ritual cup of tea in the kitchen I felt that I could consign the whole silly episode to the past.

A few days afterwards, Helen met me with a strange message on my return home. ”I've had a funny phone call from a Mrs. Hardwick.”

”How do you mean, funny?”

”She says you've pinched her husband's spectacles.”

”What!”

”That's what she said.”

”How...how? I don't know what you're talking about.”

”Well, they've searched high and low for those spectacles and they're definitely not in the house and the only visitor they've had was you. She's convinced you've got them.”

”I've never heard anything so daft in my life. What the devil would I want with them?”

Helen spread her hands. ”I've no idea, but Mr. Hardwick wants them badly. They're his reading gla.s.ses and he can't read The Farmer and Stockbreeder. He's quite upset. You'd better have a search.”

”This is crazy,” I said. But I went over to my working coat and began to go through the pockets. And there, among the little bottles and scissors and other veterinary odds and ends, was the spectacle case, lying next to the wallet in which I kept my thermometer and which it closely resembled.

I looked at it in disbelief. ”My G.o.d, it's here, right enough. I must have picked it up by mistake after I'd rinsed my thermometer in the kitchen.”

I rang the farm and apologised to Seb. ”Another silly thing I've done,” I said laughingly. He didn't disagree, but was still polite and declined my offer to bring the spectacles to him.

”No, it's awright, I'll come down for 'em now.” Clearly, The Farmer and Stockbreeder was waiting.

I was embarra.s.sed at the thought of his long and needless journey on my account, and the feeling hadn't left me three days later when I looked in the appointment book and saw that I had another call to the Hardwicks' farm.

When I arrived I found the brothers in the cow byre, forking hay into the racks. They didn't give me the usual greeting. In fact, they seemed surprised to see me.

”I've come to see your lame cow,” I announced cheerfully.

They looked at each other expressionlessly, then back at me.

”We haven't no lame cow,” Josh said.

”But...there was a call from you this morning.”

Again the blank look between them.

”Well...there must be some mistake.” I tried a light laugh, which wasn't reciprocated, and I couldn't help looking along the line of cows.

Seb raised a hand. ”Honest, Mr. Herriot. There's none of 'em lame. You can examine them if you like.”

”No, no, no, of course not. I...somebody in the practice has got a message wrong. Do you mind if I use your phone?”

Seb led me into the kitchen and as I dialled the surgery it didn't make me feel any better when I saw him lift his spectacle case from the table and slip it un.o.btrusively into his pocket. When I got through, I found that I should have gone to the Borthwicks' farm, only half a mile away. But what was happening? Why did I have to keep making a fool of myself here?

I lifted the ball-point by the side of the phone and wrote the name down so that I could not make any more mistakes, and turned to the two young wives. ”I'm terribly sorry, I'm always being such a nuisance to you.” I was about to leave when one of them held out her hand. ”Could we have our pen back, Mr. Herriot?”

Hot-faced, I took it from my pocket and fled.

My embarra.s.sment was acute when I was called back to the farm within a few days.

When I arrived, Seb was pointing gloomily at a young heifer lying on the cow-house floor. ”She just can't get up,” he said, ”and that hind leg's stuck out, funny-like.”

I bent over the animal and flicked her ear. ”Come on, la.s.s, let's see you try.”

She replied by struggling briefly, then subsided onto the cobbles, and there was no doubt that her right hind leg was the cause of the trouble. It seemed to be useless.

I ran my hand up the s.h.a.ggy limb and when I reached the pelvic region diagnosis was easy.

”She's got a dislocated hip, Seb,” I said. ”There's nothing broken, but the head of the femur is right out of its socket.”

”Are ye sure?” The farmer looked at me doubtfully.

”Absolutely positive. Here, feel this prominence. In fact, you can just about see it sticking up there.”

Seb didn't bother to take his hands out of his pockets. ”Well, ah don't know. I thought she'd maybe just strained 'erself. Maybe you could give me summat to rub on 'er- that might put her right.”

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