The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame (black male authors txt) 📕

So they waited in silence, and presently there came another and a lighter knock. The Rat, with a nod to Toad, went to the door and ushered in the Mole, very shabby and unwashed, with bits of hay and straw sticking in his fur.

“Hooray! Here’s old Toad!” cried the Mole, his face beaming. “Fancy having you back again!” And he began to dance round him. “We never dreamt you would turn up so soon! Why, you must have managed to escape, you clever, ingenious, intelligent Toad!”

The Rat, alarmed, pulled him by the elbow; but it was too late. Toad was puffing and swelling already.

“Clever? O, no!” he said. “I’m not really clever, according to my friends. I’ve only broken out of the strongest prison in England, that’s all! And captured a railway train and escaped on it, that’s all! And disguised myself and gone about the country humbugging everybody, that’s all! O, no! I’m a stupid ass, I am! I’ll tell you one or two of my little adventures, Mole, and you shall judge for yourself!”

“Well, well,” said the Mole, moving towards the supper-table; “supposing you talk while I eat. Not a bite since breakfast! O my! O my!” And he sat down and helped himself liberally to cold beef and pickles.

Toad straddled on the hearthrug, thrust his paw into his trouser-pocket and pulled out a handful of silver. “Look at that!” he cried, displaying it. “That’s not so bad, is it, for a few minutes’ work? And how do you think I done it, Mole? Horse-dealing! That’s how I done it!”

“Go on, Toad,” said the Mole, immensely interested.

“Toad, do be quiet, please!” said the Rat. “And don’t you egg him on, Mole, when you know what he is; but please tell us as soon as possible what the position is, and what’s best to be done, now that Toad is back at last.”

“The position’s about as bad as it can be,” replied the Mole grumpily; “and as for what’s to be done, why, blest if I know! The Badger and I have been round and round the place, by night and by day; always the same thing. Sentries posted everywhere, guns poked out at us, stones thrown at us; always an animal on the lookout, and when they see us, my! how they do laugh! That’s what annoys me most!”

“It’s a very difficult situation,” said the Rat, reflecting deeply. “But I think I see now, in the depths of my mind, what Toad really ought to do. I will tell you. He ought to⁠—”

“No, he oughtn’t!” shouted the Mole, with his mouth full. “Nothing of the sort! You don’t understand. What he ought to do is, he ought to⁠—”

“Well, I shan’t do it, anyway!” cried Toad, getting excited. “I’m not going to be ordered about by you fellows! It’s my house we’re talking about, and I know exactly what to do, and I’ll tell you. I’m going to⁠—”

By this time they were all three talking at once, at the top of their voices, and the noise was simply deafening, when a thin, dry voice made itself heard, saying, “Be quiet at once, all of you!” and instantly everyone was silent.

It was the Badger, who, having finished his pie, had turned round in his chair and was looking at them severely. When he saw that he had secured their attention, and that they were evidently waiting for him to address them, he turned back to the table again and reached out for the cheese. And so great was the respect commanded by the solid qualities of that admirable animal, that not another word was uttered, until he had quite finished his repast and brushed the crumbs from his knees. The Toad fidgeted a good deal, but the Rat held him firmly down.

When the Badger had quite done, he got up from his seat and stood before the fireplace, reflecting deeply. At last he spoke.

“Toad,” he said severely. “You bad, troublesome little animal! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? What do you think your father, my old friend, would have said if he had been here tonight, and had known of all your goings on?”

Toad, who was on the sofa by this time, with his legs up, rolled over on his face, shaken by sobs of contrition.

“There, there!” went on the Badger, more kindly. “Never mind. Stop crying. We’re going to let bygones be bygones, and try and turn over a new leaf. But what the Mole says is quite true. The stoats are on guard, at every point, and they make the best sentinels in the world. It’s quite useless to think of attacking the place. They’re too strong for us.”

“Then it’s all over,” sobbed the Toad, crying into the sofa cushions. “I shall go and enlist for a soldier, and never see my dear Toad Hall any more!”

“Come, cheer up, Toady!” said the Badger. “There are more ways of getting back a place than taking it by storm. I haven’t said my last word yet. Now I’m going to tell you a great secret.”

Toad sat up slowly and dried his eyes. Secrets had an immense attraction for him, because he never could keep one, and he enjoyed the sort of unhallowed thrill he experienced when he went and told another animal, after having faithfully promised not to.

“There⁠—is⁠—an⁠—underground⁠—passage,” said the Badger, impressively, “that leads from the riverbank, quite near here, right up into the middle of Toad Hall.”

“O, nonsense! Badger,” said Toad, rather airily. “You’ve been listening to some of the yarns they spin in the public-houses about here. I know every inch of Toad Hall, inside and out. Nothing of the sort, I do assure you!”

“My young friend,” said the Badger, with great severity, “your father, who was a worthy animal⁠—a lot worthier than some others I know⁠—was a particular friend of mine, and told me a great deal he wouldn’t have dreamt of telling you. He discovered that passage⁠—he didn’t make it, of course;