When at last they were thoroughly toasted, the Badger summoned them to the table, where he had been busy laying a repast. They had felt pretty hungry before, but when they actually saw at last the supper that was spread for them, really it seemed only a question of what they should attack first where all was so attractive, and whether the other things would obligingly wait for them till they had time to give them attention. Conversation was impossible for a long time; and when it was slowly resumed, it was that regrettable sort of conversation that results from talking with your mouth full. The Badger did not mind that sort of thing at all, nor did he take any notice of elbows on the table, or everybody speaking at once. As he did not go into Society himself, he had got an idea that these things belonged to the things that didn’t really matter. (We know of course that he was wrong, and took too narrow a view; because they do matter very much, though it would take too long to explain why.) He sat in his arm-chair at the head of the table, and nodded gravely at intervals as the animals told their story; and he did not seem surprised or shocked at anything, and he never said, ‘I told you so,’ or, ‘Just what I always said,’ or remarked that they ought to have done so-and-so, or ought not to have done something else. The Mole began to feel very friendly towards him.
When supper was really finished at last, and each animal felt that his skin was now as tight as was decently safe, and that by this time he didn’t care a hang for anybody or anything, they gathered round the glowing embers of the great wood fire, and thought how jolly it was to be sitting up so late, and so independent, and so full; and after they had chatted for a time about things in general, the Badger said heartily, ‘Now then! tell us the news from your part of the world. How’s old Toad going on?’
‘O, from bad to worse,’ said the Rat gravely, while the Mole, cocked up on a settle and basking in the firelight, his heels higher than his head, tried to look properly mournful. ‘Another smash-up only last week, and a bad one. You see, he will insist on driving himself, and he’s hopelessly incapable. If he’d only employ a decent, steady, well-trained animal, pay him good wages, and leave everything to him, he’d get on all right. But no; he’s convinced he’s a heaven-born driver, and nobody can teach him anything; and all the rest follows.’
‘How many has he had?’ inquired the Badger gloomily.
‘Smashes, or machines?’ asked the Rat. ‘O, well, after all, it’s the same thing – with Toad. This is the seventh. As for the others – you know that coach-house of his? Well, it’s piled up – literally piled up to the roof – with fragments of motor-cars, none of them bigger than your hat! That accounts for the other six – so far as they can be accounted for.’
‘He’s been in hospital three times,’ put in the Mole; ‘and as for the fines he’s had to pay, it’s simply awful to think of.’
‘Yes, and that’s part of the trouble,’ continued the Rat. ‘Toad’s rich, we all know; but he’s not a millionaire. And he’s a hopelessly bad driver, and quite regardless of law and order. Killed or ruined – it’s got to be one of the two things, sooner or later. Badger! we’re his friends – oughtn’t we to do something?’
The Badger went through a bit of hard thinking. ‘Now look here!’ he said at last, rather severely; ‘of course you know I can’t do anything now?’
His two friends assented, quite understanding his point. No animal, according to the rules of animal-etiquette, is ever expected to do anything strenuous, or heroic, or even moderately active during the off-season of winter. All are sleepy – some actually asleep. All are weather-bound, more or less; and all are resting from arduous days and nights, during which every muscle in them has been severely tested, and every energy kept at full stretch.
‘Very well then!’ continued the Badger. ‘But, when once the year has really turned, and the nights are shorter, and half-way through them one rouses and feels fidgety and wanting to be up and doing by sunrise, if not before – you know –!’
Both animals nodded gravely. They knew!
‘Well, then,’ went on the Badger, ‘we – that is, you and me and our friend the Mole here – we’ll take Toad seriously in hand. We’ll stand no nonsense whatever. We’ll bring him back to reason, by force if need be. We’ll make him be a sensible Toad. We’ll – you’re asleep, Rat!’
‘Not me!’ said the Rat, waking up with a jerk.
‘He’s been asleep two or three times since supper,’ said the Mole, laughing. He himself was feeling quite wakeful and even lively, though he didn’t know why. The reason was, of course, that he being naturally an underground animal by birth and breeding, the situation of Badger’s house exactly suited him and made him feel at home; while the Rat, who slept every night in a bedroom the windows of which opened on a breezy river, naturally felt the atmosphere still and oppressive.
‘Well, it’s time we were all in bed,’ said the Badger, getting up and fetching flat candlesticks. ‘Come along, you two, and I’ll show you your quarters. And take your time tomorrow morning – breakfast at any hour you please!’
He conducted the two animals to a long room that seemed half bedchamber and half loft. The Badger’s winter stores, which indeed were visible everywhere, took up half the room – piles of apples, turnips, and potatoes, baskets full of nuts, and jars of honey; but the two little white beds on the remainder of the floor looked soft and inviting, and the linen on them, though coarse, was clean and smelt beautifully of lavender; and the Mole and the Water Rat, shaking off their garments in some thirty seconds, tumbled in between the sheets in great joy and contentment.
In accordance with the kindly Badger’s injunctions, the two tired animals came down to breakfast very late next morning, and found a bright fire burning in the kitchen, and two young hedgehogs sitting on a bench at the table, eating oatmeal porridge out of wooden bowls. The hedgehogs dropped their spoons, rose to their feet, and ducked their heads respectfully as the two entered.
‘There, sit down, sit down,’ said the Rat pleasantly, ‘and go on with your porridge. Where have you youngsters come from? Lost your way in the snow, I suppose?’
‘Yes, please, sir,’ said the elder of the two hedgehogs respectfully. ‘Me and little Billy here, we was trying to find our way to school – mother would have us go, was the weather ever so – and of course we lost ourselves, sir, and Billy he got frightened and took and cried, being young and faint-hearted. And at last we happened up against Mr Badger’s back door, and made so bold as to knock, sir, for Mr Badger he’s a kind-hearted gentleman, as everyone knows –’
‘I understand,’ said the Rat, cutting himself some rashers from a side of bacon, while the Mole dropped some eggs into a saucepan. ‘And what’s the weather like outside? You needn’t “sir” me quite so much,’ he added.
‘O, terrible bad, sir, terrible deep the snow is,’ said the hedgehog. ‘No getting out for the likes of you gentlemen today.’
‘Where’s Mr Badger?’ inquired the Mole, as he warmed the coffee-pot before the fire.
‘The master’s gone into his study, sir,’ replied the hedgehog, ‘and he said as how he was going to be particular busy this morning, and on no account was he to be disturbed.’
This explanation, of course, was thoroughly understood by everyone present. The fact is, as already set forth, when you live a life of intense activity for six months in the year, and of comparative or actual somnolence for the other six, during the latter period you cannot be continually pleading sleepiness when there are people about or things to be done. The excuse gets monotonous. The animals well knew that Badger, having eaten a hearty breakfast, had retired to his study and settled himself in an arm-chair with his legs up on another and a red cotton handkerchief over his face, and was being ‘busy’ in the usual way at this time of the year.
