Part 16 (1/2)

Breakfast over, Entwistle and the flight-sub went out into the garden for the time-honoured matutinal pipe until it was time for Peter's guest to take his departure.

”Come along, Billy,” shouted his father. ”Bear a hand at getting b.u.t.terfly harnessed.” The flight-sub was in mufti. His uniform had been damaged beyond repair during his toil amidst the ruins of that devastated street in Barborough. A scar across his cheek and several livid weals on the back of his hands testified to his labours amongst the burning debris.

Somewhat proudly Peter threw open the doors of the combined coach-house and stable. Within was a small governess cart and a sleek and obviously overfed donkey.

”Allow me to introduce you to b.u.t.terfly,” he announced. ”Warranted to be quiet in harness and a thoroughly good trotter.”

Billy said not a word. He had contemplated with considerable misgivings the imposed task of driving a spirited mare through a populous district; but those doubts were as naught compared with the prospect of piloting a humble ”moke” through traffic in a strange town.

”Thank goodness I'm in mufti!” he soliloquised with a deep-drawn sigh. ”'The condemned man walked firmly to the scaffold' sort of feeling. Well, here goes; no one is likely to know me in this show.”

Putting the animal into the shafts was an evolution that required the utmost tact on the part of Barcroft Senior and much nautical skill on the part of his son. It was their first attempt in this direction.

”Get her this way while I hold the shafts,” exclaimed Peter. ”Gee up, old lady.”

b.u.t.terfly obeyed and took up a position athwart the hawse of the craft, as Billy expressed it.

”Round with her,” continued Barcroft Senior. ”I can't hold these infernal shafts up all day.”

Putting his shoulders to the donkey's hind quarters Billy succeeded in ”slewing the boat's stern round.”

”Easy astern!” he shouted in ringing nautical tones.

Surprised beyond measure, b.u.t.terfly turned her head to take stock of this unusual type of groom, with the result that the flight-sub's face received a good buffet from the animal's nose. Simultaneously the bra.s.s trappings of the harness rasped Peter's hand.

”Confound it!” he roared, relaxing his grasp and allowing one shaft to fall with a clatter upon the cobbles. ”The brute's barked my knuckles.”

Then, reasoning that the damage afforded a sufficient excuse to ”knock off” his professional labours he held his peace on the nature of his injuries.

”Warranted quiet in harness,” quoted Billy as his parent cautiously retrieved the shaft. ”My word, pater, there's not much room between the dock-gates. Think she'll take it?”

”Ought to,” replied Barcroft Senior dubiously. ”Now, have another shot. I wish the brute had a reverse gear.”

By dint of mingled coaxing and physical force b.u.t.terfly was backed between the shafts. Then both men regarded the result of their triumph with chastened looks.

”Strikes me we've missed this sling arrangement on the starboard side,” remarked Billy. ”That leather thing ought to be round the shaft. She'll have to forge ahead a bit.”

”Right-o!” a.s.sented his parent. ”Gee-up. Oh, dash it all! That's my toe this time.”

For b.u.t.terfly, in ”forging ahead” had brought her hind hoof heavily upon Peter's foot, which happened to be encased in a carpet slipper.

At length the evolutions arrived at a state that found the donkey in the shafts. Father and son stood back to admire their handiwork and to puzzle out the way to adjust the seemingly chaotic tangle of harness.

”Why not ask Entwistle?” suggested the flight-sub. ”He's a vet. He ought to know how this gear is rove.”

Mr. Barcroft shook his head. He did not like to admit defeat.

”Can't ask him to hobble out here with that sprained ankle of his,”

he said. ”Unfortunately I'm not used to the job.”

”So I should imagine, pater,” added Billy pointedly. ”Well, we've got to get on with the business. I'll make sure that everything's lashed up securely. That's the main point. If it isn't right it can't be helped.”