The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame (black male authors txt) 📕

the Mole. “It’s five or six miles to the nearest town, and we shall just have to walk it. The sooner we make a start the better.”

“But what about Toad?” asked the Mole anxiously, as they set off together. “We can’t leave him here, sitting in the middle of the road by himself, in the distracted state he’s in! It’s not safe. Supposing another Thing were to come along?”

“O, bother Toad,” said the Rat savagely; “I’ve done with him.”

They had not proceeded very far on their way, however, when there was a pattering of feet behind them, and Toad caught them up and thrust a paw inside the elbow of each of them; still breathing short and staring into vacancy.

“Now, look here, Toad!” said the Rat sharply: “as soon as we get to the town, you’ll have to go straight to the police-station and see if they know anything about that motorcar and who it belongs to, and lodge a complaint against it. And then you’ll have to go to a blacksmith’s or a wheelwright’s and arrange for the cart to be fetched and mended and put to rights. It’ll take time, but it’s not quite a hopeless smash. Meanwhile, the Mole and I will go to an inn and find comfortable rooms where we can stay till the cart’s ready, and till your nerves have recovered their shock.”

“Police-station! Complaint!” murmured Toad dreamily. “Me complain of that beautiful, that heavenly vision that has been vouchsafed me! Mend the cart! I’ve done with carts forever. I never want to see the cart, or to hear of it, again. O Ratty! You can’t think how obliged I am to you for consenting to come on this trip! I wouldn’t have gone without you, and then I might never have seen that⁠—that swan, that sunbeam, that thunderbolt! I might never have heard that entrancing sound, or smelt that bewitching smell! I owe it all to you, my best of friends!”

The Rat turned from him in despair. “You see what it is?” he said to the Mole, addressing him across Toad’s head: “He’s quite hopeless. I give it up⁠—when we get to the town we’ll go to the railway station, and with luck we may pick up a train there that’ll get us back to river bank tonight. And if ever you catch me going a-pleasuring with this provoking animal again!”⁠—He snorted, and during the rest of that weary trudge addressed his remarks exclusively to Mole.

On reaching the town they went straight to the station and deposited Toad in the second-class waiting-room, giving a porter twopence to keep a strict eye on him. They then left the horse at an inn stable, and gave what directions they could about the cart and its contents. Eventually, a slow train having landed them at a station not very far from Toad Hall, they escorted the spellbound, sleepwalking Toad to his door, put him inside it, and instructed his housekeeper to feed him, undress him, and put him to bed. Then they got out their boat from the boathouse, sculled down the river home, and at a very late hour sat down to supper in their own cosy riverside parlour, to the Rat’s great joy and contentment.

The following evening the Mole, who had risen late and taken things very easy all day, was sitting on the bank fishing, when the Rat, who had been looking up his friends and gossiping, came strolling along to find him. “Heard the news?” he said. “There’s nothing else being talked about, all along the river bank. Toad went up to Town by an early train this morning. And he has ordered a large and very expensive motorcar.”

III The Wild Wood

The Mole had long wanted to make the acquaintance of the Badger. He seemed, by all accounts, to be such an important personage and, though rarely visible, to make his unseen influence felt by everybody about the place. But whenever the Mole mentioned his wish to the Water Rat, he always found himself put off. “It’s all right,” the Rat would say. “Badger’ll turn up some day or other⁠—he’s always turning up⁠—and then I’ll introduce you. The best of fellows! But you must not only take him as you find him, but when you find him.”

“Couldn’t you ask him here⁠—dinner or something?” said the Mole.

“He wouldn’t come,” replied the Rat simply. “Badger hates Society, and invitations, and dinner, and all that sort of thing.”

“Well, then, supposing we go and call on him?” suggested the Mole.

“O, I’m sure he wouldn’t like that at all,” said the Rat, quite alarmed. “He’s so very shy, he’d be sure to be offended. I’ve never even ventured to call on him at his own home myself, though I know him so well. Besides, we can’t. It’s quite out of the question, because he lives in the very middle of the Wild Wood.”

“Well, supposing he does,” said the Mole. “You told me the Wild Wood was all right, you know.”

“O, I know, I know, so it is,” replied the Rat evasively. “But I think we won’t go there just now. Not just yet. It’s a long way, and he wouldn’t be at home at this time of year anyhow, and he’ll be coming along some day, if you’ll wait quietly.”

The Mole had to be content with this. But the Badger never came along, and every day brought its amusements, and it was not till summer was long over, and cold and frost and miry ways kept them much indoors, and the swollen river raced past outside their windows with a speed that mocked at boating of any sort or kind, that he found his thoughts dwelling again with much persistence on the solitary grey Badger, who lived his own life by himself, in his hole in the middle of the Wild Wood.

In the winter time the Rat slept a great deal, retiring early and rising late. During his short day he sometimes