Every Living Thing Read Online Free PDF Page A

going to die.
    Mrs. Hatfield was more optimistic, but she was worried about her husband.
    “Eee, he’s given up hope,” she said. “And it’s all because Alfred just lies in his bed all day. I’ve tried to tell ’im that it’ll be a bit o’ time before the cat starts runnin’ around, but he won’t listen.”
    She looked at me with anxious eyes. “And, you know, it’s gettin’ him down, Mr. Herriot. He’s a different man. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever be the same again.”
    I went over and peeped past the curtain into the shop. Geoff was there, doing his job like an automaton. Haggard, unsmiling, silently handing out the sweets. When he did speak it was in a listless monotone and I realised with a sense of shock that his voice had lost all its old timbre. Mrs. Hatfield was right. He was a different man. And, I thought, if he stayed different what would happen to his clientele? So far they had remained faithful, but I had a feeling they would soon start to drift away.
    It was a week before the picture began to change for the better. I entered the sitting room, but Alfred wasn’t there.
    Mrs. Hatfield jumped up from her chair. “He’s a lot better, Mr. Herriot,” she said eagerly. “Eating well and seemed to want to go into t’shop. He’s in there with Geoff now.”
    Again I took a surreptitious look past the curtain. Alfred was back in his place, skinny but sitting upright. But his master didn’t look any better.
    I turned back into the room. “Well, I won’t need to come any more, Mrs. Hatfield. Your cat is well on the way to recovery. He should soon be as good as new.” I was quite confident about this, but I wasn’t so sure about Geoff.
    Soon afterwards, the rush of spring lambing and post-lambing troubles overwhelmed me as it did every year, and I had little time to think about my other cases. It must have been three weeks before I visited the sweet shop to buy some chocolates for Helen. The place was packed and as I pushed my way inside all my fears were rushing back and I looked anxiously at man and cat.
    Alfred, massive and dignified again, sat like a king at the far end of the counter. Geoff was leaning on the counter, with both hands, gazing closely into a lady’s face. “As I understand you, Mrs. Hird, you are looking for something in the nature of a softer sweetmeat.” The rich voice reverberated round the little shop. “Could you perhaps mean a Turkish delight?”
    “Nay, Mr. Hatfield, it wasn’t that…”
    His head fell on his chest and he studied the polished boards of the counter with fierce concentration. Then he looked up and pushed his face nearer to the lady’s. “A pastille, possibly…?”
    “Nay…nay.”
    “A truffle? A soft caramel? A peppermint cream?”
    “No, nowt like that.”
    He straightened up. This was a tough one. He folded his arms across his chest and as he stared into space and took the long inhalation I remembered so well, I could see that he was a big man again, his shoulders spreading wide, his face ruddy and well-fleshed.
    Nothing having evolved from his cogitations, his jaw jutted and he turned his face upwards, seeking further inspiration from the ceiling. Alfred, I noticed, looked upwards, too.
    There was a tense silence as Geoff held his pose, then a smile crept slowly over his noble features. He raised a finger. “Madam,” he said, “I do fancy I have it. Whitish, you said…sometimes pink…rather squashy…May I suggest to you…marshmallow?”
    Mrs. Hird thumped the counter. “Aye, that’s it, Mr. Hatfield. I just couldn’t think of t’name.”
    “Ha-ha, I thought so,” boomed the proprietor, his organ tones rolling to the roof. He laughed, the ladies laughed, and I was positive that Alfred laughed, too.
    All was well again. Everybody in the shop was happy— Geoff, Alfred, the ladies and, not least, James Herriot.

Chapter 4
    “Y OU CALL YOURSELF A vet, but you’re nowt but a robber!”
    Mrs. Sidlow, her fierce little dark