Toad Triumphant by William Horwood Page A

Stipendiary Judge,” added the Badger.
    “No, not him!” whined Toad.
    “And I should imagine that a bishop or two will be needed,” added the Mole, following the Water Rat’s approach.
    “Please, not a member of the clergy,” said Toad, now chastened, “for they talk so much and make my head feel tired.”
    It seemed that the resourceful Rat had indeed found a way to calm Toad. The combination of a great many more warning words like these, spoken in fierce sotto voce, and the continuance of that ruthless grip upon Toad’s arm served to dampen Toad’s ardour and finally to silence him.
    It was in vain that the Mole and the Badger (while the Rat still held Toad to one side, and Prendergast was sent to fetch him a calming tisane) tried to explain to Madame d’Albert the nature of her cousin’s ailment; nor did their brief description of his chequered history, and his marked tendency to criminal behaviour, seem to make any impact on her.
    “‘E is magnifique, ‘e is formidable, ‘e is a toad sauvage,” she exclaimed. “And now we must resume our sitting.”
    At least the interval of restraint seemed to have sobered Toad from the inebriating effects of that heady beverage of infatuation from which he seemed to have drunk so suddenly and so deep.
    They thought it safe to allow him to speak again.
    “Cousin,” said he, “sweet —”
    “Toad!” growled the Badger, seeing the danger signs once more.
    “Cousin — madame,” essayed Toad again, “I am better now I am in l—”
    “Be careful, old fellow,” said the Mole in a calming way fearing that another declaration of love was imminent. “When you speak to her, try to imagine she is a potted plant — that might help.”
    Toad stared at the Mole in astonishment, thinking that his words rather confirmed what he already thought: that the heat of the day and the airlessness of the conservatory was going to everybody’s head. How else could one explain the fact that a sane fellow like the Mole could expect him to think of Florentine as a potted plant? What else but temporary madness could account for his butler affecting to water palms with tea that had long since dried up?
    “I think, Cousin, that I am tired and need a moment’s rest. Then, my dear —”
    The Badger needed only to cast him a glance now to bring him back on course.
    “— my dear Cousin, I trust you will discuss with me the pose you recommend for the statue you have agreed to make.”
    This was sanity returned, so much so that Toad drank the special tea that Prendergast brought, and out of courtesy had a peck of tapioca pudding. Finally he went out onto the terrace for the next part of the sitting.
    The Rat and the Mole quietly took the opportunity to take leave of their host and return to their boats, with the Otter to help them on their way.
    “Good luck, you fellows,” said the Badger, lingering with the others for a moment; “I would come down to see you off, but one of us had better keep an eye on Toad.”
    On the terrace, Madame d’Albert was now able to turn her full attention on Toad. “Let me regard you, mon cher. Let me see you as you truly are.”
    Toad stood where he was, staring at her in some alarm.
    “I do not quite know what you mean,” he said.
    “‘E is so modest, monsieur, so like a bird that longs to fly but feels constrained from doing so,” said she over her shoulder to the Badger, who by now had taken upon himself the role of chaperone and was rather wishing that the sculptress would be a little less flamboyant in her use of language, for it only encouraged Toad.
    “Madame,” hissed the Badger, “try to speak more simply for Mr Toad does not quite understand your meaning. Regard him as being a little ill.”
    Then he sighed, for he saw that his intervention had done no good: the Madame had begun to flap her arms vigorously whilst running about the terrace, crying, “Un oiseau! A bird, a flying bird!”
    How willingly and happily Toad followed suit.