The Fox in the Attic Read Online Free PDF

and yellow, castellated blancmanges, bedroom jugs of congealed Bird’s custard, buckets of boiled potatoes, basins of cabbage—every matron of Flemton was gathered in the Wreckers’ big kitchen and full of jollity. Even a happy plumber and his mate had managed to choose this day to install the new sink, and were doggishly threatening the ladies’ ankles with their hissing blowlamp.
    Barrels of beer were discharging into every shape of jug and ewer.
    When the female kitchen company caught sight of Dr. Brinley they all hilariously shrieked together. He raised an arm in acknowledgment, then slipped quietly into the deserted bar from behind.
6
    Ostensibly Flemton banquet was an occasion for men only. Only men were invited, sat down at table, delivered speeches and sang songs. But the women cooked and waited, teased and scolded the banqueters, heckled the speeches and encored the songs if they felt like it; and the women certainly enjoyed it all quite as much as the men.
    To tell the truth, the men were inclined to be a bit portentous and solemn. Indeed the only really happy and carefree male in the whole Assembly Room seemed to be that fabulous Dr. Brinley the Coroner—who was eighty-five, and already very drunk, and knew that everybody loved him.
    They had tried to steer Dr. Brinley away from sitting next to the bishop, who was new to the mitre and fifty and cold teetotal: “That seat’s Mr. Augustine’s, Doctor bach : come you along this way ...” But the old man looked round in astonishment: “What! Is the boy actually coming, then?”
    It was no good: he read the answer in their faces and sat down without more ado.
    Presently the doctor nudged the bishop with his elbow, at the same time pointing dramatically across the table at a certain Alderman Teller. Alderman Teller was trying in vain to settle his huge chins into his unaccustomed high collar.
    â€œDo you keep fowls, my lad?” the doctor asked: “My Lord I should say: forgive an old man, laddie, tongue’s taken to slipping.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said the bishop: “That is ... no: not now, but as a boy ...”
    Leaving his outstretched arm at the point as if he had forgotten it Dr. Brinley turned even more confidentially towards the bishop, breathing at him a blast of whiskey and old age: “Then you’re familiar with the spectacle of a very big broody hen trying to get down to work on a clutch of eggs in a bucket that’s too narrow for her?” At this the bishop turned on him a face like a politely inquiring hatchet; but the doctor seemed to think he had made his point quite clearly enough.
    Opposite, Alderman Teller—hearing, but also not catching the allusion—pushed an obstinate fold of jowl into his collar with his finger, then opened his little pink mouth and rolled his eyes solemnly. “Perfect!” shouted Dr. Brinley with a whoop of laughter. “Your health, Alderman Teller dear lad!”
    As they clinked glasses the alderman’s face broke into a delighted smile as sweet as a child’s: “Rhode Islands, Doctor! That’s what you ought to have, same as me. But you’re right, they do tend to lay away.”
    However the doctor was no longer listening. He had turned in his seat and was now pointing along the table at the High Steward himself. The High Steward, bashful in his seat of honor, was giving nervous little tugs at the gold chain of office hung round his neck. “Penalty Five Pounds for Improper Use, Tom!” the doctor cried suddenly. “And I doubt the banquet will stop for you, at that!”
    This time the bishop’s lip did twitch.
    â€œShut up, Doc,” muttered the High Steward, amiably but just a little nettled: “You’re bottled.” Then he turned round to look at the old man with a wonder not quite free of envy: “Why—and we haven’t even drunk ‘The King’ yet!”
    That was true. The