he had heard all he wanted, he said: ‘Now, my two young friends, get out and stay out. But you’ll hear more of this. There’s such a thing as the law of slander in this country.’
‘But not if it’s true, venerable Uncle, though now I come to think of it there is something about the greater the truth the greater the libel.’
‘Must I throw you out?’ asked Basil.
‘Come along, Doctor. We’re not wanted. We’re not burglars.’
So the doctor and Nicholas left in not much better condition than when they arrived. Eventually they parted company and Nicholas went to the Vicarage. The Vicar was in the hall. He looked at Nicholas as he stood there swaying, and said: ‘I think I should go to bed if I were you.’
Nicholas turned to the Vicar.
‘Vicar,’ he said, ‘dear Vicar. I am very much ashamed — of my uncle,’ and collapsed on the floor. The Vicar turned away in disgust, but, finding him still there half an hour later, felt he had no alternative but to put him to bed.
Next morning the atmosphere in the Vicarage was distinctly chilly. Nicholas apologized profusely.
‘I’m extremely sorry about last night. It was disgraceful. I’ll leave at once and go and stay at the Bear until I can make other plans.’
‘I can’t pretend I’m pleased,’ said the Vicar. ‘Your uncle will go to prison and you come home dead drunk. We aren’t used to that sort of thing here. But by all means stay a little longer if it will help. I don’t want to make too heavy weather of your performance.’
‘You have been much too good to me, anyway,’ said Nicholas, ‘and I can’t tell you how sorry I am.’
He left the next day and took a room at the Bear. A few days afterwards a bailiff arrived at Basil’s house.
‘I’m an officer from the Poppleton County Court,’ he said.
‘Come in,’ said Basil. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’
‘I have seven warrants of execution for a total sum of £152 6s. 7d. Can you pay it?’
‘I cannot,’ said Basil, ‘at the moment, but my affairs will all straighten themselves out shortly.’
‘I can give you seven days if you’ll sign this paper.’
‘I’m not sure that seven days will be enough, but let me see the paper.’
He looked at it for a short time and said: ‘If I sign this, will you go away?’
‘Yes.’
‘What will you do if I don’t sign it?’ The bailiff hesitated.
‘Well?’ said Basil. ‘If I don’t sign it?’
It was an awkward question. In these days County Courts seldom have men to leave in possession of the premises. Legally, the bailiff could have removed the furniture in half an hour, but physically, of course, he could not. If Basil did not sign the paper, he still would have to go away and make arrangements for a van to carry out the removal later.
‘Well?’ said Basil again. ‘You’re not very informative.’
‘If you don’t sign it,’ said the bailiff, ‘I’m entitled to remove all your goods with certain small exceptions.’
‘I see you have an Austin 7 outside. A bit small for the job, isn’t it?’
Now, bailiffs are normally resourceful men. They have to be, as they come into contact with a varied assortment of characters. This bailiff was no exception.
‘To be quite frank with you, sir,’ he said, ‘whether you sign the form or not won’t make the slightest difference for the moment. I shall have to go away in any event.’
‘I see,’ said Basil. ‘That isn’t a great inducement to sign a document by which I see I have to make all sorts of promises.’
‘You’re perfectly right, sir, and between you and me, if you can find the money within two or three days, you might just as well not sign it. On the other hand, if you can’t find the money as quickly, you may find it better to keep me in a good temper. Now, I’m a very normal man and if people make things easy for me, I do what I can for them. Suppose you can’t find the money in seven days, then, if you don’t sign this form, I shall