Roald Dahl - Man from the South

'Feels cold,' Rummins said.

'Exactly, my friend! Really old wood has a strangely warm feel to it.'

'This feels normal,' Rummins said, ready to argue.

'No, sir, it's cold. But of course it takes an experienced and sensitive fingertip to be positive. Everything in life, my dear sir, is experience. Watch this.'

From his jacket pocket, Mr Boggis took out a small screwdriver. At the same time, although none of them saw him do it, he also took out a modern little screw which he kept well hidden in his hand. Then he selected one of the screws in the commode - there were four in each handle - and began removing all traces of white paint from its head. When he had done this, he started slowly to unscrew it.

'If this is a genuine eighteenth-century screw,' he was saying, 'it will be irregular and you'll be able to see that it has been handcut. But if this is nineteenth-century or later, it will be a mass-produced, machine-made article. We shall see.'

It was not difficult, as he put his hands over the old screw and pulled it out, for Mr Boggis to exchange it for the new one hidden in his hand. This was another little trick of his, and through the years it had proved a most rewarding one. The pockets of his vicar's jacket always contained a quantity of cheap modern screws of various sizes.

'There you are,' he said, handing the modern screw to Rummins. 'Take a look at that. Notice how regular it is? Of course you do. It's just a cheap little screw you yourself could buy today in any shop in the country. My dear friends,' said Mr Boggis, walking towards the door, 'it was so good of you to let me look inside your little home - so kind. I do hope I haven't been a terrible old bore.'

Rummins glanced up from examining the screw. 'You didn't tell us what you were going to offer,' he said.

'Ah,' Mr Boggis said. 'That's quite right. I didn't, did I? Well, to tell you the truth, I think it's a bit too much trouble. I think I'll leave it.'

How much would you give?'

'Shall we say ... ten pounds. I think that would be fair.'

'Ten pounds!' Rummins cried. 'Don't be ridiculous, Reverend, please!'

'It's worth more than that for firewood!' Claud said.

'All right, my friend - I'll go up as high as fifteen pounds. How's that?'

'Make it fifty,' Rummins said.

A delicious thrill ran all the way down the back of Mr Boggis's legs and then under the bottom of his feet. He had it now. It was his. No question about that. But the habit of buying cheap, as cheaply as possible, was too strong in him now to permit him to give in so easily.

'My dear man,' he whispered softly, 'I only want the legs. Possibly I could find some use for the drawers later on, but the rest it, as your friend rightly said, is firewood, that's all.'

'Make it thirty-five,' Rummins said.

'I couldn't sir, I couldn't! It's not worth it. And I simply mustn't allow myself to argue like this about a price. It's all wrong. I'll make you one final offer and then I must go. Twenty pounds.'

'I'll take it,' Rummins answered. 'It's yours.'

'Oh dear,' Mr Boggis said. 'I speak before I think. I should never have started this.'

'You can't change your mind now, Vicar. A deal's a deal.'

'Yes, yes, I know.'

'How are you going to take it?'

'Well, let me see. Perhaps if I drove my car up into the yard, you gentlemen would be kind enough to help me load it?'

'In a car? This thing will never go in a car! You'll need a truck for this!'

'I don't think so. Anyway we'll see. My car's on the road. I'll be back in a few minutes. We'll manage it somehow, I'm sure.'

Mr Boggis walked out into the yard and through the gate and then down the long track that led across the field towards the road. He found himself laughing uncontrollably, and there was a feeling inside him as if hundreds of tiny bubbles were rising up from his stomach and bursting in the top of his head. He was finding it difficult to stop himself from running. But vicars never run; they walk slowly. Walk slowly, Boggis. Keep calm, Boggis. There's no hurry now. The commode is yours! Yours for twenty pounds, and it's worth fifteen or twenty thousand! The Boggis Commode! In ten minutes it'll be loaded into your car - it'll go in easily - and you'll be driving back to London and singing all the way!

Back in the farmhouse, Rummins was saying, 'Imagine old fool giving twenty pounds for a load of old rubbish like this.'

'You did very nicely, Mr Rummins,' Claud told him. 'Do you think he'll pay you?'

'We won't put it in the car till he does.'

'And what will happen if it won't go in the car?' Claud asked.

'You know what I think, Mr Rummins? I think the thing's too big to go in the car. Then he's going to drive off without it and you'll never see him again. Nor the money. He didn't seem very keep on having it, you know.'

Rummins paused to consider this new idea.

Claud went on, 'A vicar never has a big car anyway. Have you ever seen a vicar with a big car, Mr Rummins?'

'I can't say I have.'

'Exactly! And now listen to me. I've got an idea. He told us that it was only the legs he wanted. Right? So if we cut them off quickly right here before he comes back, it will certainly go in the car. All we're doing is saving him the trouble of cutting them off himself when he gets home. How about it, Mr Rummins?'

'It's not such a bad idea,' Rummins said, looking at the commode. 'Come on then, we'll have to hurry. You and Bert carry it out into the yard. Take the drawers out first.'

Within a couple of minutes, Claud and Bert had carried the commode outside and had laid it upside down in the middle of the yard. In the distance, halfway across the field, they could see a small black figure walking along the path towards the road. They paused to watch. There was something rather funny about the way the figure was behaving. Every few seconds it would start to run, then it did a little jump, and once it seemed as if the sound of a cheerful song could be heard from across the field.

'I think he's mad,' Claud said, smiling to himself.

Rummins came over, carrying the tools. Claud took them from him and started work.

'Cut them carefully,' Rummins said. 'Don't forget he's going to use them on another table.'

The wood was hard and very dry, and as Claud worked, a fine red dust fell softly to the ground. One by one, the legs came off, and Bert bent down and arranged them neatly in a row.

Claud stepped back to examine the results of his labour. There was a pause.

'Just let me ask you one question, Mr Rummins,' he said slowly. 'Even now, could you put that enormous thing into the back of a car?'

'Not unless it was a van.'

'Correct!' Claud cried. 'And vicars don't have vans, you know. All they've got usually is small cars.'

'The legs are all he wants,' Rummins said. 'If the rest of it won't go in, then he can leave it. He can't complain. He's got the legs.'

'You know very well he's going to start reducing the price if he doesn't get every bit of this into the car. A vicar's just as smart with money as everyone. Especially this old man. So why don't we give him his firewood now and finish it? Where do you keep the axe?'

'That's fair,' Rummins said. 'Bert, go and fetch it.'

Bert went and fetched the axe and gave it to Claud who then, with a long-armed high-swinging action, began fiercely attacking the legless commode. It was hard work, and it took several minutes before he had the whole thing more or less broken in pieces.

'I'll tell you one thing; he said. 'That was a good carpenter who put this commode together and I don't care what the vicar says.'

'We're just in time!' Rummins called out. 'Here he comes!'

Once upon a time, in the city of New York, a beautiful baby boy was born, and his joyful parents named him Lexington.