The news that the Hunt had been summoned to the Magistrates’ court spread through the land and filled the countryside with fury. Here was this gun fella summonsing the Master; the fella must be mad, first of all tries to spoil sport, then can’t take a joke. Of course, those young fools are young fools, but hang it all, to summons the Hunt. Chap ought to be put in Coventry; ought to be horse-whipped; ought to be shot.
The case was heard a few days later at the Stubbington Magistrates’ Meeting. It was well advertised in the nation’s Press. Dick Harold gave Frampton a hint that a fairly tough set of sportsmen were going to duck him at the bridge there. Frampton said, let them try it. He didn’t much believe in listening to threats, but set out to the Court with a knuckleduster in each pocket, just in case. He would mark one or two before they got him into any river. Just before he started, his lawyer warned him, by telephone, that there was a good deal of feeling, and that the London Press were taking it up.
“Let them take it up,” he said. “The trespass and damage are undoubted. The more the folly of the idle is made apparent the better.”
The Magistrates met on Market Days at Stubbington; the little town was very full. He left his car at a garage, some distance from the Court, and walked the rest of the way. For the greater part of his journey he was not recognised. The crowds were country folk come in for the market. When he began to draw near the Court, he saw that the Press was there in strength. Cinema and camera men were on all the doorsteps opposite the Court-house; unmistakable interviewers were at the Court-house door. In the street leading to the Court was a crowd of the friends of the defendants. There they all were: Hard-Riding Dick, old Bill Ridden, the Kowzer, with his Morny-Cannon tile with a woodcock feather in its band, several chaps with slit mouths and the eyes of grooms, and several nondescript lads, in baggy plus-fours with tassels at the knee. The women were all of one sort; though one or two wore jodhpores instead of skirts, they all wore the same sorts of tweed, shoes and hats; all were made up in the same ways, with the same clip and the same ripple in their hair, the same vermilion streak instead of a mouth, and the same thin lines instead of eyebrows. They smoked the same kind of cigarette, each with the same air of not liking it but being unable to do without it, and all those who wore no gloves had the same red finger-nails, as though they had been scratching rivals.
“But what rivals can these creatures have?” he asked. “What man could put in for one of these?”
He passed through this brazen company towards the policemen at the door; and as he passed, he heard their comment, which was meant for him to hear. The Press sprang into action as he approached; the ostler-looking men called to them, not to let the mucker break their cameras; the interviewers surged round, asking questions, which he would not answer; the cinema-men worked their little wheels till he was inside the door. He went into the Court and took a seat. Presently, the Magistrates came in, and the first case was called, of Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer’s assistant, for trespassing in pursuit of game. The case was slowly presented by a policeman, who spoke so that each word might be recorded by a slow scribe; but the evidence when heard and weighed did not suffice; Sampson was dismissed.
Frampton’s case was the second on the list. The preliminaries were soon settled, and the issue joined. Frampton, looking about him, saw that the Court was crammed with people. All the Hunt was there. Wherever he turned his eyes, he saw a face staring at him with hostility. He liked hostility. He lived by it. These were his enemies; he had fought them in the War and ever since. He thought them idle and stupid; and if he had to fight them on points in which they were neither of these things, why, all the better. Anyhow, there was his real enemy, Annual-Tilter; he’d brought Annual-Tilter there; that was worth any money. He looked at the Tilter and his wife; though they were surrounded by all their friends, they seemed uneasy. He rejoiced at the sight.
But the case had begun. A policeman, again humouring the slow scribe, was with maddening prolixity saying:
“On hearing that a trespass a trespass with damage had been said to have been committed at Spirr Wood in this County I went to the said Wood . . .” He went on to say how he had seen Spirr Wood, its gate, unhinged, its battered fence, but no notices of Private. Then, acting on information received, he had spoken to the accused, who had not denied the fact.
The accused, the Brass-Eyed Sarah, Pinkie, and Pob were now sworn. Pob, who was not at his usual bright best, spoke for the three of them. He said:
“It was a rag, that’s all it was; just a rag. You know, he turned us out of Spirr Wood. He wouldn’t let the hounds draw Spirr. I mean to say, what? So I said, let’s put a drag across the covert. That’s all it was; just a rag.”
“Yes,” came the question, “but after laying the drag, you took certain steps to ensure that the hounds should follow the drag. Will you tell the Court what those steps were?”
“It was only just a rag. We told old Bill to let the hounds hunt the drag, and Joe to view a fox away.”
“These were the Hunt servants, in short?”
“Yes; the Huntsman and the Whip.”
“Did you give them anything to encourage them to this course? How much did you bribe them with?”
“I say, you know, it wasn’t a bribe, what. It was a tip. I gave them the usual sort of tip. One always gives them something on the opening day.”
“Nothing more than your usual tip? How much altogether? And did this sum come from your own pockets or from all you three conspirators?”
“I paid; the others said they would give it me presently.”
“Did they?”
“No.”
“Why not? Have you dunned them? Why haven’t they paid?”
“They’ve had rather a bad week or two with the dogs.”
“But bribing the Hunt servants was not enough for your purpose. All three of you were active at Tibb’s Cross, were you not, saying that Mr. Mansell wanted the hounds to draw Spirr? You unhinged the gate? You took down all the notices to support these misstatements?”
“It was all just a rag; that’s all it was.”
“But you did take down the notice-boards, and you did spread that report, a false report, knowing it to be false?”
“It was only a rag. We wanted the rag to come off. It was only fun.”
“Is lying fun to you?”
“We didn’t think anybody would mind a bit of fun.”
“Would you have thought it fun if somebody had bribed the Hunt to ride over your mother’s flower-garden?”
“Yes.”
“Would she have thought it fun?”
“She’d have entered into the fun of the thing.”
“What is the fun of the thing?”
“Why, just doing the thing; scoring someone off. We were scoring him off for stopping Spirr Wood. Any decent chap would see it was meant for a rag.”
“You think that when three people old enough and civilised enough to know better do an insolent and harmful thing, a man is bound to conclude that they only do it for fun?”
“Yes, of course they only do it for fun.”