They Hanged My Saintly Billy (24 page)

On
learning
that
I
came
as
agent
for
The
Midland
Insurance Company,
he
appeared
puzzled.
I
said:
'Mr
Cheshire,
pray
be plain
with
me.
Mr
Jeremiah
Smith,
the
Company's
Rugeley
agent,
has
named
you
as
one
of
our
referees,
has
he
not?
Mr
Cook is
the
other;
Dr
Palmer
and
Mr
Benjamin
Thirlby
are
the
medical referees.
I
have
come
to
discuss
a
proposed
policy
on
the
fife
of George
Bate,
Esq.'

Cheshire
swallowed
once
or
twice,
and
fairly
spun
the
seal-ring
around
his
finger.
'I
had
quite
forgotten
the
circumstance,' he
muttered
at
last.
'What
do
you
require
of
me?'

'This
is
a
mere
formality,
Sir,'
I
replied.
'My
employers
wish to
be
satisfied
that
your
Mr
Bate
is
a
man
of
property.'

Cheshire
answered,
without
looking
directly
at
me:
'Why,
of course,
Mr
Bate
is
well
regarded
in
the
neighbourhood.
He
is
a fine
judge
of
horses,
and
was
a
substantial
farmer
before
he
retired.'

I
asked:
'And
what
do
you
suppose
his
income
to
be?'

'I
shouldn't
care
to
guess,'
he
said.

'For
a
life
insurance
often
thousand
pounds,
he
must
doubtless be
possessed
of
at
least
three
hundred
to
four
hundred
a
year?'
I suggested.

"Thereabouts,
perhaps,'
he
agreed.

'Does
he
live
in
style?
Does
he
entertain
much?'
I
continued.

'
Oh,
he
has
a
capital
cellar,'
says
Cheshire
with
sudden
inspiration,
'and
you
should
see
his
thoroughbred
brood
mares!
Dr Palmer
envies
him
those
stables,
I
can
tell
you.'

'Any
debts?'
I
asked.

'No,
no
debts
of
any
consequence,'
he
replied. Returning
to
the
matter
of
the
cellar,
I
asked:
'Has
he
good port?'

'Why,
his
bins
are
celebrated
in
Rugeley,'
Cheshire
asserted.

'That's
good
news,'
I
exclaimed.
'I
have
a
slight
weakness
for port,
and
this
is
the
hour
when
I
usually
take
a
glass.
Perhaps, though,
I
had
better
hasten
back
to
the
railway
station
with
my report
and
catch
the
London
train.'
Then
I
thanked
him
for
his courtesy,
telling
him
that
in
the
circumstances
I
would
not
trouble Mr
Cook;
and
when
two
customers
came
in,
bade
him
good-day.

Instead
of
returning
to
the
railway
station,
however,
I
entered The
Shoulder
of
Mutton
inn,
took
a
tankard
of
ale,
and
inquired for
Mr
George
Bate.
Clewley,
the
landlord,
after
directing
me
to a
farmhouse
across
the
fields,
asked:
'Have
you
come
to
dun
the poor
fellow?
I
hope
not.
Though
he
pays
only
six
shillings
a
week rent
to
the
farmer's
wife
for
a
room,
there's
six
months
owing.'

'No,'
said
I,
'you
mustn't
mistake
me
for
a
bailiff.
I've
come
to give
him
some
good
news.'

I
proceeded
to
the
farm,
and
the
farmer's
wife
showed
me
a field,
where
'George
be
a-hoeing
turmuts.'
Presently
I
heard
the sound
of
singing:

For the fly,

For the fly

For the fly be on the turmuts,

And it's all my eye

For me to try

To keep the fly off the turmuts . . .

and
the
singer
was
George
Bate,
Esq.
He
proved
to
be
a
red-snouted,
bleary-eyed,
youngish
fellow,
with
ragged
trousers,
a filthy
shirt
and
no
more
education,
it
seemed,
than
he
had
managed to
snatch
in
his
brief
visits
to
Sunday
School—whenever
he
was not
herding
geese,
scaring
crows,
or
doing
something
else
of
equal importance.

I
took
off
my
hat,
and
said:
'Mr
George
Bate,
I
presume?'

He
leaned
on
his
hoe
and
asked:
'Who
may
you
be?'

'I'm
a
representative
of
The
Midland
Assurance
Company,'
I answered,
'come
to
ask
about
this
policy
of
yours.'

When
I
saw
that
he
did
not
understand
the
word
'policy'
and, on
further
talk,
found
that
he
was
totally
ignorant
of
the
nature of
life
assurances,
and
that
'premium',
'proposal',
and
'assignment'
meant
nothing
to
him,
I
said:
'They
tell
me
at
the
Post Office
that
you're
a
man
of
property,
Mr
Bate.'

'Oh,
no,
you
must
have
heard
wrong,
Sir,'
he
replied.
'I'm
not a
man
of
property
yet,
but
they've
promised
me
two
thousand gold
sovereigns,
and
a
vote
for
the
county.'

'Who
are
these
benefactors
of
yours,
Mr
Bate?'
I
inquired.

'Well,
it
was
like
thi
s,'
he
said.
'One
day,
along
comes
Dr Palmer
in
the
company
of
Jerry
Smith
and
that
young
swell
Cook, who's
always
at
the
races
with
the
Doctor.
I
took
the
opportunity to
ask
for
my
pay,
because
I
was
behind
with
my
rent,
and
the Doctor
hadn't
paid
me
for
a
while.
The
Doctor
regrets
that
he's short
of
change,
and
asks
Mr
Cook
to
pay
me
my
two
guineas, which
he
obliges
with.
Dr
Palmer
then
says,
says
he:
"I'm
sorry, George,
to
be
so
forgetful.
I'd
like
to
do
something
for
you,
that I
would,
and
better
your
position."
At
this
Jerry
Smi
th
grins
and says:
"Then
why
not
insure
his
life
for,
say
six
thousand
pounds, and
give
him
an
advance
of
a
couple
of
thousand?
That'll
enable him
to
live
in
style,
and
drink
himself
to
death
if
he
pleases." Then
he
gives
Dr
Palmer
a
peculiar
look
and
bursts
into
laughter. The
Doctor
seemed
put
out,
but
all
the
same
he
says:
"Why, Jerry,
what
a
capital
idea!
Let's
set
up
George
as
a
man
of
property. Your
life
is
worth
every
penny
of
six
th
ousand
pounds,
isn't
it now,
George?"
I
tells
him:
"No,
Doctor,
it's
not
wor
th
sixty pence
at
the
moment,
apart
from
these
two
guineas
you've
just paid
me,
and
much
obliged
for
them
I
am,
too."
"Well,
it's about
time
a
hard-working
fellow
like
you
should
go
up
in society,"
says
Jerry,
"don't
you
agree,
gentlemen?"
Mr
Cook,
he agreed
with
pleasure,
and
the
Doctor
nodded,
but
as
if
his
mind were
busy
with
other
thoughts.
Then
Jerry
says
again:
"Let's invite
George
to
dinner
some
day
next
week—eh,
Billy?—and talk
it
over?"
"Very
well,"
says
the
Doctor,
but
not
too
readily. "Bring
him
to
my
house."
'