Well, Im trying to get her out, said Adrian aggrievedly, you cant force a thing that size.
Would you care for a sandwich and a pint of beer? Mr. Pucklehammer asked the carter.
Thats very obliging of you, said the carter, brightening perceptibly, very obliging indeed.
While the carter and Adrian stood there staring at Rosy, who was now swaying to and fro and uttering heart-rending sighs, Mr. Pucklehammer went into the house and soon reappeared carrying a sandwich with a brimming pint of beer. The carters delight at seeing these victuals was nothing compared to Rosys enthusiasm when she saw the tankard. She uttered a loud and prolonged trumpeting that made Adrian jump, and lumbered out of the dray into the road. Mr. Pucklehammer stood rooted to the spot while Rosy, still trumpeting, seized the tankard in her trunk and proceeded to pour the contents into her cavernous mouth.
Well, thats solved one problem, said the carter, but what about me beer?
At least we know shell eat sandwiches and drink beer, said Adrian, though I cant see her existing for ever on that.
I wouldnt want you to think me unfeeling, said the carter, breathing through his nose, but Im more concerned with me own stomach than with em.
Rosy handed the empty tankard back to Mr. Pucklehammer and followed him hopefully as he retreated into the yard. Having found an intelligent human being who appeared to recognise her needs, she was not going to let him out of her sight. She had a slow, stately, if slightly inebriated walk, and her ears flapped and cracked against the sides of her head as she moved. She uttered pleased little squeals, and as she entered the yard hot on Mr. Pucklehammers heels, Adrian slammed the great double doors behind her, leant against them and mopped his face. That was the first step.
Although Rosy was intrigued by the drifts of curly white wood shavings, the piles of wood and the serried ranks of newly completed coffins, she still kept an eye on Mr. Pucklehammer, for he was obviously the dowser who was going to lead her to the master spring of beer. But at last they managed to creep into the house without her noticing. Once in the house Mr. Pucklehammer produced more beer and cheese sandwiches, and under the soothing influence of food and drink even the carter became almost benign.
Funny sort of thing for your uncle to leave you, he said to Adrian.
I wouldnt describe it as funny, said Adrian bitterly. What Im supposed to do with her, the Lord only knows.
Sell er, advised the carter, pouring out more beer, sell er to a circus. Thats what Id do.
I cant, explained Adrian, thats the awful part. Ive been left five hundred pounds to look after her.
I wonder ow many buns thatll buy, said the carter with interest.
They must eat something else besides buns, said Adrian plaintively. You know, cabbages and things. Anyway, well just have to experiment later.
Dont you go fretting yourself, boy, said Mr. Pucklehammer. She can stay here for two or three days until you decide whats best to be done. Ill look after her.
It was at this juncture that Rosy decided that the coffinsthough fascinating in their waywere not sustaining enough. She approached the house and peered through the window. To her delight she discovered her friends gathered together in the room, consuming some of her favourite beverage. There was an air of relaxed conviviality, an air of good fellowship about the group, that Rosy found irresistible. It stimulated her. She was sure that they would want her to join them so she tapped delicately on the window with the tip of her trunk. It was a dainty, lady-like hint that she, too, would like to join in whatever celebrations were afoot. But her friends were so engrossed in their conversation that they did not notice. This, Rosy felt, was unfair. After all, she had had a long and tiring journey with only one pint of beer to sustain her, and there they were, guzzling away in the room without inviting her in. Normally, Rosy was an extremely patient elephant, but the sight of the carter pouring himself out yet another pint was too much for her. She inserted the tip of her trunk under the sash of the window and pulled. The entire window came away with a splendid crackling and tinkling noises and Rosy, delighted with the success of her experiment, put her trunk through the window and trumpeted loudly.
For Gods sake, exclaimed Adrian, his nerves completely shattered, give her some more beer, Mr. Pucklehammer, and shut her up.
At this rate, said the carter helpfully, youll be spending most of your five undred quid on beer and repairs.
Mr. Pucklehammer went into the kitchen and found a large tin basin which he filled to the brim with beer. This he carried out into the yard, and Rosys piercing squeals of delight were positively deafening. She dipped her trunk into the lovely brown liquid, sucked it up and then shot it into her mouth with a noise like a miniature waterfall. Very soon the basin was empty and Rosy, uttering small, self-satisfied belches to herself, wandered over to the shady side of the yard and lay down for a rest.
Well, I must be on me way, said the carter Thanks very much for your ospitality.
Not at all, said Mr. Pucklehammer.
And you, sir, said the carter, turning to Adrian, I wishes you the very best of luck I ave a feeling with that little bundle of joy youre going to need it.
4. THE OPEN ROAD
Mr Pucklehammer saw the carter safely out of the yard and came back into the house, where he found Adrian, his head in his hands, contemplating an empty beer mug gloomily.
I simply cant think straight, said Adrian miserably, I just cant think what to do.
Have some more beer, suggested Mr. Pucklehammer, whose philosophy in life was simple and direct. Stop fretting yourself . . . well think of something.
Its all very well for you to keep soothing me, said Adrian irritably, but Im the one thats got the elephant. We dont even know what she eats yet.
Buns, said Mr. Pucklehammer, clinging to his original premise. You mark my words, shell do well on buns.
I wonder if the carter was right? said Adrian thoughtfully If I could find a circus where shed be happy and gave the owner the five hundred to look after her, I wonder if that would be legal?
I dont know if it would be legal, said Mr. Pucklehammer, pursing his lips thoughtfully, but its one solution.
But where dyou find a circus? said Adrian. I havent seen one since I was seven or eight.
The seaside, said Mr. Pucklehammer promptly. Theres always circuses and fairs and such at the seaside.
But were fifty miles from the sea, said Adrian. How would I get her there?
Walk her, said Mr. Pucklehammer, the exercise will probably do her a power of good. One things for sure, you cant keep her here indefinitely. I dont mind having her, mind, but an elephant isnt the sort of thing you can keep in your yard without getting talk from the neighours. Nosey lot, round here.
Well, theres nothing for it, said Adrian. Ill have to tell Mrs. Dredge and the shop that my uncles dying and that I have to go away for a bit. I dont think the shop will mindIm due for a holiday, anyway. How long do you think it will take me to get her down to the coast?
Rather depends, said Mr. Pucklehammer.
Depends on what? asked Adrian. How many miles a day an elephant can walk?
No, I wasnt thinking about that, said Mr. Pucklehammer, I was thinking about the number of pubs you might have to pass on the way.
Yes, Adrian groaned, Id forgotten about that.
Tell you what, suggested Mr. Pucklehammer. You know that little old pony trap Ive got in the shed out there? Well, if we did that up and made a sort of harness thing, Rosy could pull it. You could put all your clothes and some beer and stuff in the back . . .