"Good Lord!" The Vicar peered at him, stooping. "Is that Sobey?"
"It was," groaned Sobey. "I'll never be the same man again."
"But what has happened?"
"Happened? Why, I tumbled off the bell-rope. You might ha' guessed that."
"Yes, yes; but why?"
"Because I didn' know how it worked." Gunner Sobey turned his face away wearily and continued to rub his hurt. "I didn't know till now, either, that a man could be stunned at this end," he added.
"Man, I see you're suffering, but answer me for goodness' sake! What's the meaning of all these cattle outside, and the taps running, and the smoke up yonder on the hill? And why—?"
"I done my best," murmured Gunner Sobey drowsily. "Single-handed I done it, but I done my best."
"Are you telling me that all this has been your doing?"
"A man can't very well be ten detachments at once, can he?" demanded the Gunner, sitting erect of a sudden and speaking with an air of great lucidity. "At least not in the Artillery. The liquor, now— I've run it out of every public-house in the town; that was Detachment D's work. And the hayricks; properly speakin', they belonged to Detachment E, and I hadn' time to fire more than Farmer Coad's on my way down wi' the cattle. And the alarm bell, you may argue, wasn' any business of mine; an' I wish with all my heart I'd never touched the dam thing! But with the French at your doors, so to speak—"