§ 5
When William arrived with the water-cart, he brought also further proofs of the Professor’s organizing ability. He brought various bottles of wine, red Burgundy and sparkling hock, two bottles of cider, and peculiar and meritorious waters; he brought tinned things for hors d’œuvre; he brought some luscious pears. When he had a moment with Bealby behind the caravan he repeated thrice in tones of hopeless sorrow, “They’ll eat um all. I knows they’ll eat um all.” And then plumbing a deeper deep of woe, “Ef they don’t they’ll count um. Ode Goggles’ll bag um.... E’s a bagger, ’e is.”
It was the brightest of luncheons that was eaten that day in the sunshine and spaciousness above Winthorpe-Sutbury. Everyone was gay, and even the love-torn Bealby, who might well have sunk into depression and lethargy, was galvanized into an activity that was almost cheerful by flashes from the Professor’s glasses. They talked of this and that; Bealby hadn’t much time to attend, though the laughter that followed various sallies from Judy Bowles was very tantalizing, and it had come to the pears before his attention wasn’t so much caught as felled by the word “Shonts.”... It was as if the sky had suddenly changed to vermilion. All these people were talking of Shonts!...
“Went there,” said Captain Douglas, “in perfect good faith. Wanted to fill up Lucy’s little party. One doesn’t go to Shonts nowadays for idle pleasure. And then—I get ordered out of the house, absolutely Told to Go.”
(This man had been at Shonts!)
“That was on Sunday morning?” said Mrs. Geedge.
“On Sunday morning,” said Mrs. Bowles suddenly, “we were almost within sight of Shonts.”
(This man had been at Shonts even at the time when Bealby was there!)
“Early on Sunday morning. Told to go. I was fairly flabbergasted. What the deuce is a man to do? Where’s he to go? Sunday? One doesn’t go to places, Sunday morning. There I’d been sleeping like a lamb all night and suddenly in came Laxton and said, ‘Look here, you know,’ he said, ‘you’ve got to oblige me and pack your bag and go. Now.’ ‘Why?’ said I. ‘Because you’ve driven the Lord Chancellor stark staring mad!’”
“But how?” asked the Professor, almost angrily, “how? I don’t see it. Why should he ask you to go?”