All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot Page B

without any small talk. Bob had an extra helping of mashed potatoes.
    The Bellerbys were relaxed and happy, but I couldn’t say the same about myself. Hunger was tearing fiercely at me and the minutes on my watch were ticking away relentlessly.
    There was a decent interval before Mrs. Bellerby went over to the old fire oven in the corner, opened the door and pulled forth a great flat baking tin of steaming apple pie. She then proceeded to carve off about a square foot for each of them and deluged it with something like a pint of custard from another towering enamel jug.
    The family set to as though they were just beginning the meal and once more a busy silence fell on the group. Bob cleared his plate in effortless style and pushed it wordlessly into the middle of the table. His mother was ready with another great rectangle of pie and another copious libation of custard.
    It was going to be a close thing, I thought, but this surely must be the end. They would realise time was getting short and start to change. But, to my consternation, Mrs. Bellerby moved slowly over to the fire and put the kettle on, while her husband and Bob pushed their chairs back and stretched out their legs. They both wore corduroy breeches with the lacing undone and on their feet were enormous hobnailed boots. Bob, after a search through his pockets, brought out a battered packet of cigarettes and lay back in a happy coma as his mother put a cup of tea in front of him. Mr. Bellerby produced a clasp knife and began to cut up some plug tobacco for his pipe.
    As they rearranged themselves round the table and began to slowly sip the hot tea, I found I had started to exhibit all the classical symptoms of tension. Pounding pulse, tightly clenched jaws and the beginnings of a headache.
    After a second cup of tea, there were signs of activity. Mr. Bellerby rose with a groan, scratched his shirt front and stretched luxuriously. “Well, young man, we’ll just have a bit of a wash and get changed. Bob’ll stay and talk to you—he’s not coming with us.”
    There was a lot of splashing and spluttering in the big stone sink at the far end of the kitchen as they made their ablutions, then they disappeared upstairs. I was greatly relieved to find that it didn’t take them long to change. Mr. Bellerby was down very soon, transformed in appearance by a stiff and shiny suit of navy blue serge with a faint greenish tinge. His wife and daughter followed soon in a blaze of flowered cotton.
    “Ah well, now here we are. All ready, eh?” There was a note of hysteria in my heartiness. “Right, then, off we go. After you, ladies.”
    But Ruth did not move. She was pulling on a pair of white gloves and looking at her brother sprawled in his chair. “You know, Bob, you’re nowt but a disgrace!” she burst out. “Here we are going off to hear this lovely music and you’re lying there in your muck, not caring. You’ve no interest in culture at all. You care no more about bettering yourself than one of them bullocks out there.”
    Bob stirred uneasily under this sudden attack, but there was more to come.
    Ruth stamped her foot. “Really, it makes my blood boil to look at you. And I know we won’t be right out of t’door before you’re asleep. Aye, snoring there all afternoon like a pig.” She swung round to Mrs. Bellerby. “Mother! I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to leave him snoring here. He’s got to come with us!”
    I felt the sweat start out on my brow. I began to babble. “But don’t you think, perhaps … might be just a little late … starts at two o’clock … my lunch …”
    But my words were utterly lost. Ruth had the bit properly between her teeth. “Get up out of there, Bob! Get up this minute and get dressed!” She shut her mouth tightly and thrust out her lower jaw.
    She was too much for Bob. Although an impressive eater, he didn’t seem to have much mind of his own. He mumbled sulkily and shuffled over to the sink. He took off his