rr.eastofealing-第3部分

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　'I　have　something　of　the　same　feeling　myself；'　his　panion　replied。
　
　4
　The　part…time　barman　finished　the　last　of　his　toast　and　patted　about　his　lips　with　a　red　gingham　napkin。　He　leaned　back　in　his　chair　and　rested　his　palms　upon　his　stomach。　He　felt　certain　that　he　was　putting　on　weight。　A　thin　man　from　birth；　tall；　gaunt；　and　scholar…stooped；　Neville　had　never　possessed　a　single　ounce　of　surplus　fat。　But　recently　it　seemed　to　him　that　his　jackets　were　growing　ever　more　tight　beneath　the　armpits；　and　that　the　lower　button　on　his　waistcoat　was　being　increasingly　more　difficult　to　secure。　'Most　curious；'　said　Neville；　rising　from　his　seat　and　padding　over　to　the　bathroom　scales　which　were　now　a　permanent　fixture　in　the　middle　of　the　living…room　floor。　Climbing　aboard；　he　peered　down　between　his　slippered　toes。　Eleven　stone　dead；　exactly　as　it　had　been　for　the　last　twenty　years。　The　part…time　barman　shook　his　head　in　wonder；　it　was　all　very　mysterious。　Perhaps　the　scales　were　wrong；　gummed　up　with　carpet　fluff　or　something。　He'd　let　Norman　give　them　the　once…over。　Or　perhaps　it　was　the　dry　cleaners？　Things　never　seemed　quite　right　there　since　that　big　bine　bought　old　Tom　Telford　out。　Possibly　this　new　lot　were　having　a　pop　at　him。　Putting　an　extra　tuck　in　the　seat　of　his　strides　every　time　he　put　them　in　for　their　monthly　hose　down。
　Most　unsporting　that；　hitting　a　lad　below　the　belt。
　Neville　laughed　feebly　at　his　unintended　funny；　but　really　this　was　no　laughter　matter。　Taking　out　the　tape　measure；　which　now　never　left　his　person；　he　stretched　it　about　his　waist。　All　seemed　the　same。　Possibly　it　was　simply　a　figment　of　his　imagination。　Possibly　he　was　going　mad。　The　thought　was　never　far　from　his　mind　nowadays。　Neville　shuddered。　He　would　just　have　to　pull　himself　together。
　Sighing　deeply；　he　shuffled　away　to　the　bedroom　to　dress。　Flinging　off　his　silken　dressing…gown　he　took　up　the　rogue　trousers　from　where　they　hung　in　their　creases　over　the　chair　and　yanked　them　up　his　legs。　With　difficulty　he　buttoned　himself　into　respectability。　They　were　definitely　too　tight　for　fort；　there　was　no　point　in　denying　it。　Neville　stooped　for　his　socks　but　stopped　in　horror。　The　blood　drained　from　his　face　and　his　good　eye　started　from　its　socket；　a　nasty　blue　tinge　crept　about　the　barman's　lips。　It　was　worse　than　he　feared；　far　worse。　His　trouser　bottoms　were　swinging　about　his　ankles　like　flags　at　half…mast。　He　wasn't　only　getting　fatter；　he　was　growing　taller！　Neville　slumped　back　on　to　his　bed；　his　face　a　grey　mask　of　despair。　It　was　impossible。　Certainly　folk　could　put　on　weight　pretty　rapidly；　but　to　suddenly　spring　up　by　a　good　inch　and　a　half　over　night？　That　was　downright　impossible；　wasn't　it？
　Pooley　and　Omally　strolled　over　the　St　Mary's　Allotments　en　route　to　John's　hut　and　the　cup　that　cheers。　Jim　tapped　his　racing　paper　upon　his　leg　and　sought　inspiration　from　the　old　enamel　advertising　signs　along　the　way　which　served　here　and　there　as　plot　dividers。　None　was　immediately　forthing。　The　two　threaded　their　way　between　the　ranks　of　bean　poles　and　waxed　netting；　the　corrugated　shanties；　and　zinc　water　tanks。　They　walked　in　single　file　along　a　narrow　track　through　a　farrowed　field　of　broccoli　and　one　of　early　flowering　sprouts；　finally　arriving　at　the　wicket　fence　and　pleasant　ivy…hung　trelliswork　that　stood　before　Omally's　private　plot。　John　parked　his　bicycle　in　its　favourite　place；　took　up　his　daily　pint；　turned　several　keys　in　as　many　weighty　locks；　and　within　a　few　short　minutes　the　two　men　lazed　upon　a　pair　of　mandeered　railway　carriage　seats；　watching　the　kettle　taking　up　the　bubble　on　the　Primus。
　'There　is　a　king's　ransom；　I　do　hear；　to　be　had　out　of　the　antique　trade　at　present；'　said　John　matter…of…factly。
　'Oh　yes？'　Pooley　replied　without　enthusiasm。
　'Certainly；　the　junk　of　yesterday　is　proving　to　be　the　ob…ja…dart　of　today　and　the　nest…egg　of　tomorrow。'　Omally　rose　to　dump　two　tea　bags　into　as　many　enamel　mugs　and　top　the　fellows　up　with　boiling　water。　'A　veritable　king's　ransom；　ready　for　the　taking。　A　man　could　not　go　it　alone　in　such　a　trade；　he　would　need　a　partner；　of　course。'
　'Of　course。'
　'A　man　he　could　trust。'　John　put　much　emphasis　upon　the　word　as　he　wrung　out　the　tea　bags　and　added　the　cream　of　the　milk　to　his　own　mug　and　a　splash　of　the　rest　to　Jim's。　'Yes；　he　would　definitely　want　a　man　he　could　rely　on。'
　'I　am　convinced　of　that；'　said　Jim；　accepting　his　mug。　'A　bit　strong；　isn't　it？'
　'Antique　bedding　is　currently　the　vogue　amongst　the　trendies　of　Kensington；　I　understand；'　John　continued。
　'Oh　those　bodies。'
　'Yes；　the　fashionable　set　do　be　weeping；　wailing；　and　gnashing　its　expensively…capped　teeth　for　the　lack　of　it。'
　Pooley　blew　on　to　his　tea。　'Strange　days；'　said　he。
　John　felt　that　he　was　obviously　not　getting　his　point　across　in　quite　the　right　way。　A　more　direct　approach　was　necessary。　'Jim；'　he　said　in　a　highly　confidential　tone。　'What　would　you　say　if　I　was　to　offer　you　a　chance　of　a　partnership　in　an　enterprise　which　would　involve　you　in　absolutely　no　financial　risk　whatever？'
　'I　would　say　that　there　is　always　a　first　time　for　everything；　I　suppose。'
　'What　if　I　was　to　tell　you　that　at　this　very　moment　I　know　of　where　there　is　an　extremely　valuable　antique　lying　discarded　and　unwanted　which　is　ours　for　the　taking；　what　would　you　say　then？'
　Jim　sipped　at　his　tea。　'I　would　say　to　you　then；　Omally；'　he　said；　without　daring　to　look　up；　'dig　the　bugger　out　yourself。'
　Omally's　eyebrows　soared　towards　his　flat　cap。
　Pooley　simply　pointed　to　an　L…shaped　tear　in　his　own　left　trouser　knee。　'I　passed　along　your　path　not　half　an　hour　before　you；'　he　said　simply。
　'Your　lack　of　enterprise　is　a　thing　to　inspire　disgust。'
　'He　that　diggeth　a　pit　will　fall　into　it。　Ecclesiasticus　Chapter　twenty…seven；　verse　twenty…six；'　said　Jim　Pooley。　'I　am　not　a　religious　man　as　you　well　know；　but　I　feel　that　the　Scriptures　definitely　have　it　sussed　on　this　point。　A　mendable　try　though。'　Jim　took　out　his　cigarette　packet　from　his　top　pocket　and　handed　the　Irishman　a　tailor…made。
　'Thank　you；'　said　Omally。
　'Now；　if　you　really　have　a　wish　to　make　a　killing　today　…'　John　nodded　enthusiastically；　it　was　early　yet　and　his　brain　was　only　just　warming　up　to　the　daily　challenge；　'…　I　have　seen　something　which　has　the　potential　to　earn　a　man　more　pennies　than　a　thousand　buried　bedframes。　Something　which　a　man　can　only　be　expected　to　witness　once　in　a　lifetime。　And　something　of　such　vast　financial　potential　that　if　a　man　was　to　see　it　and　not　take　advantage　of　the　experience；　he　should　consider　himself　a　soul　lost　for　ever　and　beyond　all　hope。'
　'Your　words　are　pure　music；'　said　John　Omally。　'Play　on；　sweet　friend；　play　on。'
　As　Neville　the　part…time　barman　drew　the　polished　brass　bolts　on　the　saloon…bar　door　and　stood　in　the　opening；　sniffing　the　air；　the　clatter　of　two　pairs　of　hobnail　boots　and　the　grating　of　rear　mudguard　upon　back　wheel　announced　the　approach　of　a　brace　of　regulars。　One　of　these　was　a　gentleman　of　Celtic　extraction　who　had　recently　bee　convinced　that　the　future　lay　in　perpetual　motion　and　its　application　to　the　fifth　gear　of　the　mon　bicycle。　Neville　installed　himself　behind　the　bar　counter　and　closed　the　hinged　counter　top。
　'God　save　all　here；'　said　John　Omally；　pushing　open　the　door。
　'Count　that　double；'　said　Pooley；　following　up　the　rear。
　Neville　pushed　a　polished　glass　beneath　the　spout　of　the　beer　engine　and　drew　upon　the　enamel　pump　handle。　Before　the　patrons　had　hoisted　themselves　on　to　their　accustomed　barstools；　two　pints　of　Large　stood　brimming　before　them；　golden　brown　and　crystal　clear。　'Wele；'　said　Neville。
　'Hello　once　more；'　said　Omally；　'Jim　is　in　the　chair。'　Pooley　smiled　and　pushed　the　exact　amount　of　pennies　and　halfpennies　across　the　polished　counter　top。　Neville　rang　up　'No　Sale'　and　once　more　all　was　as　it　ever　had　been　and　hopefully　ever　would　be　in　Brentford。
　'How　goes　the　game　then；　gentlemen？'　Neville　asked　the　patrons；　already　a　third　of　the　way　through　their　pints。
　'As　ever；　cruel　to　the　working　man；'　said　John。　'And　how　is　yourself？'
　'To　tell　you　the　truth；　a　little　iffy。　In　your　personal　opinion；　John；　how　do　I　look　to　you？'
　'The　very　picture　of　health。'
　'Not　a　little　puffy？'　Neville　fingered　his　middle　regions。
　'Not　at　all。'
　'No　hint　of　stoutness　there？　You　can　be　frank　with　me；　I　have　no　fear　of　criticism。'
　Omally　shook　his　head　and　looked　towards　Jim。　'You　look　fine；'　said　Pooley。　'Are　you　feeling　a　bit　poorly；　then？'
　'No；　no。'　Neville　shook　his　head　with　vigour。　'It's　just　that；　well。。。'he　considered　the　two　drinkers　who　surveyed　him　with　dubious　expressions。　'Oh；　nothing　at　all。　I　look　all　right　you　think？　No　higher；　say；　than　usual？'　Two　heads　swung　to　and　fro　upon　their　respective　necks。　'Best　to　forget　it　then；　a　small　matter；　do　not　let　it　spoil　your　ale。'
　'Have　no　fear　of　that；'　said　John　Omally。
　The　Swan's　door　opened　to　admit　the　entry　of　an　elderly　gentleman　and　his　dog。　'Morning；　John；　Jim；'　said　Old　Pete；　sidling　up　to　the　bar。　'Large　dark　rum　please；　Neville。'　Neville　took　himself　off　to　the　optic。
　'Morning；　Pete；'　said　Pooley；　'good　day；　Chips。'　The　ancient's　furry　panion　woofed　nonmittally。　'Are　you　fit？'
　'As　well　as　can　be　expected。　And　how　goes　the　sport　for　you？　That　Big　One　still　lurking　up　beyond　your　frayed　cuff？'
　Pooley　made　a　'so…so'　gesture。　'Inches；　but。。。'
　Old　Pete　accepted　his　drink　from　Neville　and　held　up　the　glass　to　evaluate　the　exact　volume　of　his　measure　before　grudgingly　pushing　the　correct　change　across　the　bar　top。　'So；'　he　continued；　addressing　himself　to　Omally；　'and　how　fare　the　crops？'
　'Blooming；'　said　Omally。　'I　expect　a　bumper　harvest　this　year。　e　the　Festival。　I　expect　several　firsts　and　as　many　seconds　in　the　Show。'
　'King　Teddies　again　then；　is　it？'　Revered　as　the　personification　of　all　agricultural　knowledge　within　a　radius　of　an　'nth　number　of　miles；　Old　Pete　had　little　truck　with　potato　growers。
　'Nature's　finest　food；'　said　John。　'Was　it　not　the　spud　which　sustained　the　Joyces；　the　Wildes；　the　Behans　and　the　Traynors？　Show　me　a　great　man　and　I　will　show　you　a　spud　to　his　rear。'
　'I　have　little　regard　for　footballer