The indignation meeting occurred without any of the printed entreaties usually found needful in order to induce the public to arouse. It seems less strange that only ladies attended, for the sex is notoriously beginning to take an interest in public questions.

Mr. Woods, driving one of his own wagonettes, was talking to the two passengers secured at the railway station four miles off and giving them a short autobiography—“Begun to work, I did, afore I were twelve, I did!”—when he caught sight of the gathering and broke off to express amazement; he gave at once an emphatic but scarcely original declaration that if women secured the vote they would not know what to do with it. The passengers differed from this view, and Mr. Woods, anxious to secure their patronage for the return journey, hastened to admit that he had not had the time to study the question thoroughly. A lady detached herself from the group and, holding her tweed cap on her head, ran across.

“Whatever’s amiss, Jane?”

“It’s a missis,” she added, robbed of breath by indignation and hurry. “That Mrs. Jarrett, as she calls herself. She’s been and opened some Tea Gardens.”

“News to me,” he remarked alarmedly.

“News to all of us. She ain’t been here more than three months, and this morning there’s playcards all over her place.”

“Thought she seemed a nicely spoken person.”

“You wait,” said Jane threateningly, “until we begin to talk to her. She’ll get what I call some home truths if she don’t look out.”

The passengers suggested mildly that their time was limited, and Woods, rendered silent by the extraordinary nature of the information, drove on to the edge of the forest, contenting himself by indicating on the way the cottage where his sister-in-law Jane resided. In the clouded diamond panes it exhibited shyly, as did most of the other cottages, a small card that whispered the word “Teas”; a few bottles of ginger-beer rested on the sill to suggest that the establishment had further resources. After the passengers alighted he drove around by the road that skirted the wood, checking the horse slightly on approaching the house and lawn occupied by the new-comer. Tables had been placed, with striped cloths held by shining clips; a small marquee was being fixed in the corner. The neatly-painted board at the gate gave the title, “Forest Tea Gardens,” adding sentences to the effect that refreshments of the best quality could be obtained at any hour—“Large Parties and Small Parties catered for; proprietress, Clara Jarrett.” As Mr. Woods, unwilling to display curiosity, allowed his horse to go on, an automatic pianoforte started, with great vivacity, a waltz.

“Great thing is,” announced Mr. Woods, speaking from his conveyance to the meeting as though he were a candidate for Parliament—“is not to lose your heads. Keep perfectly calm and cool, and everything’ll come right in the long run.”

“Question is, how long a run is it going to be?” demanded one.

“Provided,” he went on, “provided that we all stick together, she can’t last half-way through the summer.”

“And meanwhile—”

“Meanwhile,” interrupted Woods irritably, “you’ve got to make the best of it. Competition’s bound to exist in this world.”

“How would you like it, Mr. Woods, if somebody—”

“One matter at a time. Let’s keep to the question. What I want you to recognise is that you’ve got a true friend in me. I’ve no partic’lar objection to her; as I said just now to my sister-in-law, she always seemed a nicely spoken person, and I don’t wish to do her any harm whatsoever. But there’s no doubt at all in my mind that so far as we are concerned she’s a interloper.”

The women appeared to find the description too lenient. One announced vehemently that, before Mr. Woods came along, they had almost decided to go in a body and pull down the signboard, demolish the marquee, and in other ways convey the fact that they looked upon the new Tea Gardens with disapproval. Goodness knew, there had never been much profit made out of sixpenny teas; it seemed likely that in the future it would be scarcely worth while to make cakes and keep the kettle boiling. Woods, again begging for moderation, urged they should cease talking for the space of two seconds and listen to him. He, with his cabs and wagonettes, had full control over all the traffic from the station, excepting that small part which took the (as he thought) mistaken course of deciding to walk. Nearly all of these passengers put one inquiry to him or to his men.

“Now do keep quiet until I’ve finished,” prayed Woods. “Only got half a dozen more words to say, and I’m done.”He, on his side, was prepared to guarantee that the new Tea Gardens should never, by speech or hint, be recommended. If any passenger, having heard of them, mentioned the name, then Mr. Woods or his men could be relied upon to cast discredit ingeniously without bringing themselves within the domain of the laws of libel. On their side, they must be prepared for some special efforts; must make a greater show; endeavour to engage the passing visitor by welcome smiles; take care to keep windows open. He feared they did not always realise the Londoner’s partiality for fresh air.

“And,” asked his sister-in-law defiantly, “are we supposed to keep on friendly terms with her whilst all this is going on?”

“Please yourselves,” replied Mr. Woods generously. “So far as I’m concerned, I shall continue to pass the time of day.”

“And go on bringing her illustrated newspapers, I suppose, from the station?”

“You’ll allow me, Jane, to be the best judge of my own affairs.”

“But you’re setting out to be the best judge of ours as well!”

“I’ve given you good advice,” said Mr. Woods, gathering the reins, “but it’s beyond human power to compel you to take it.”

Confidence in himself was shaken by information conveyed by the two passengers on the return journey. Having forgotten the exact whereabouts of his sister-in-law’s house they had gone into the new Tea Gardens, and their content and satisfaction with the treatment received made subject of conversation throughout the journey. The excellence of the watercress, the surprising freshness of the eggs, the admirable quality of the home-made jam—all these impressed them favourably, and they talked of arranging with friends a picnic on a large scale and without the inconvenience of heavy baskets. Mr. Woods, not being asked for an opinion, gave several; one was in favour of splitting the party up amongst the cottages. He declared this plan would encourage sociability and give an insight into country life. For almost the first time in his professional career Woods found himself told to mind his own business. He invented some compensation by speaking sharply to one of his men whom he charged with the offence of keeping hands in pockets.

The members of the home syndicate received such a quick succession of blows from the new Tea Gardens that they began to experience a kind of dazed resignation, and it became the duty of Mr. Woods to order them to awake. The automatic pianoforte was followed by engagement from town of two young nieces, who were not content with demure costume and long blue pinafore, but must needs, if you please, wear a rather attractive lace cap. After this came a large rocking-horse for the pleasure of children, or, failing children, the content of grown-ups who fancied equestrian exercise and wished to promote digestion. After this, a giant’s stride. After this, a skittle-alley which drew away of an evening many of the best and most regular customers from “The Running Stag.” After this, a lawn-tennis court, with rackets and balls provided without charge to those who had taken the shilling tea. It was in regard to the shilling tea that Woods’s sister-in-law, ignoring him, went direct to the vicar, from whom she received the disappointing information that the words “ad lib.” were not, in themselves, offensive, or calculated to undermine the morality of the village; he added some trenchant remarks concerning the duties of parents, which Jane assumed to refer to other ladies. Jane assured the vicar that she did all that was possible in the distribution of good counsel, and he remarked that it would make a useful change for her to vary the method by accepting it. So far as Mrs. Jarrett and Sundays were concerned, she and her nieces came to church in the mornings; they worked hard in the afternoon, and they rested in the evening. The vicar, admitting that he might be considered either very old-fashioned or very new-fashioned, declared this a good manner of spending the day, and gave a short account of Sundays in the early part of the seventeenth century. Woods, to whom this was reported, said, guardedly, that the events referred to occurred before he came to town.

The fly-master had, at this period, troubles of his own which decreased his interest in regard to the rivalry in the tea trade. The first news came from one of the nieces back from a visit to town on an occasion when Woods, at the foot of the hill, stepped down to walk and encourage his horse. The detached position which he had assumed since the beginning of the dispute had been modified because Jane’s daughter told one of his young men (and the young man told Mr. Woods) that Jane had announced an opinion to the effect that her brother-in-law found the money to finance the Tea Gardens, a suggestion so unfair and so preposterous that he declared his intention of allowing them to fight their battles without further assistance from him; henceforth, he proposed to take up a strictly impartial attitude. Consequently, he had recommenced the bringing of illustrated newspapers, and more than once he and Mrs. Jarrett discussed impending marriages in high life, conduct of the German Emperor, accidents caused by motor-cars, and other topical subjects. The niece, taking charge of the roll of journals, had distributed amongst the passengers some of Mrs. Jarrett’s neatly printed cards, had pointed out to them a notable church and conspicuous dwellings. Leaning over the side of the conveyance, she gave the information already referred to.

“You Londoners will have your lark,” he commented. “Your aunt’s just the same.”

“But I’m serious.”

“You don’t take me in. When you say you’re serious is jest when you’re trying to chaff.”

“They told me so up at Paddington, at any, rate,” she declared. “Friend of mine is in one of the head offices, and he assured me it was a positive fact.”

The two held further conversation as the horse, arrived on the level, jogged on again; she held the reins whilst he noted in his pocket-book some names and addresses which remained in her memory. Woods, greatly disturbed, had to be reminded by her, when the destination was reached, of the formality of collecting fares.

Within the space of a fortnight confirmation came. Down at the railway station small posters were exhibited, and quite a crowd assembled to read them and to chaff Woods on the disaster awaiting him, it being a notorious fact that nothing so much cheers A, B, C, and D as to discover that E is on the edge of calamity. On blank walls along the route the bills appeared. At Mrs. Jarrett’s Tea Gardens—this proved the most stinging smack—a new board was erected bearing the words:

“Terminus for Motor Omnibuses.”

Woods, with a set face, ordered the full strength of his stables to assemble at the station on the first morning to meet the train due just before eleven. The flies and wagonettes took up position; the large new omnibus, on rushing up with uniformed driver and boy conductor, found itself obliged to be satisfied with a place near the cloakroom entrance. As passengers came out Woods and his men attacked them much in the way that highwaymen would have behaved a hundred years before.

“Sixpence all the way!” they shouted. “Here you are, lady! Cheaper than the motor! Here you are, lady, sixpence all the way!”

Perhaps the fierce onslaught was an error in tactics. Perhaps it would have been wiser not to draw attention to the presence of a swifter mode of conveyance. Perhaps the natural independence of Londoners induced them to consider before coming to a decision. A messenger sent to the new omnibus returned with the news that the fare was eightpence—fourpence cheaper than the old fare, but obviously twopence dearer than Mr. Woods’s new tariff.

“Oh, it’s worth it!” cried young ladies. “Do let’s go by motor. We shall get there ever so much quicker.”Woods likened them, rather bitterly, to sheep. On the two first passengers clambering up to the outside seats the others made a quick rush to secure the remaining places; the inside was filled by those who did not wish to separate from friends, and the new omnibus, after half a minute of irresolution that almost induced Woods to believe in the efficacy of prayer, flew away through the station gates and up the main street of the village, and away out of sight. His men gathered around Mr. Woods and prophesied a breakdown; made recommendations. He ordered them to do nothing but obey orders, and went off to sulk in the smoke-room of the Railway Hotel.

From which tent he was summoned an hour and a half later by a constable of the town, who said definitely:

“Mr. Woods, sir, this won’t do.”

“Go away!” commanded the fly proprietor irritably; “I don’t want your sympathy.”

“It isn’t sympathy I’m giving, it’s a warning. If you don’t call your men off, we shall end in a riot.”

Woods delivered an address after the second motor-omnibus had been allowed to leave the yard with its passengers. The early part of the speech was of an intimate nature and described the treatment to be served out in the case of the staff again disregarding instructions; the punishments ranged from skinning alive to instant dismissal. In the second part, he ordered one to run up to the signwriter in the village. Later, the procession of flies and wagonettes left the station bearing notices, “Ruined by Unfair Competition,” and Woods had the satisfaction of noting that shopkeepers on the line of route came out to inspect; this would have proved more comforting if they had given any additional signs of interest. The procession went at a gallop on noting that away in the distance the second omnibus had stopped, with driver and conductor busy at the front, passengers looking over anxiously. Mr. Woods counted it as part of his luck that as the first wagonette arrived the new conveyance re-started. When, farther on, a man walking shouted an inquiry regarding cats’ meat, he found it difficult not to make use of the whip.

The Tea Gardens had flags waving at the entrance and along by the hedge in honour of the occasion; a photographer was giving considerable attention to the task of securing a good picture of the motor-omnibus with Mrs. Jarrett and her nieces at the side. The artist said, “Now, please!” and at that moment the horse driven by Mr. Woods became unmanageable, causing the ladies to cry, “O—ah!”

When the animal regained self-control, Woods mentioned that it was no doubt wise to obtain the photograph ere anything amiss happened to the new conveyances. The motor-man demanded to know what was meant by this. Woods replied that he always meant what he said. Motor-man, temper already acutely tried, declared it would be a keen pleasure to punch Mr. Woods’s nose. Woods retorted that this job required the complete abilities of a man, and was not therefore within the power of the omnibus-driver. The other took off his reefer jacket, ordering the conductor, to take charge of the garment; Woods, forgetting his recent disapproval of militant tactics, laid his hat on the grass at the side of the road. At the first blow, Mrs. Jarrett ran forward crying:

“Oh, you mustn’t hurt him! You please mustn’t hurt him!”

“I’m not going to hurt him, ma’am,” said the flushed and excited Mr. Woods; “I’m only going to kill him.”

“It isn’t him I’m nervous about,” she wailed; “it’s you!”

Woods put on his hat, looked around in a dazed, sheepish way, and, with a jerk of his head, ordered his men to follow him back to the stables.

“No,” she said appealingly; “I don’t want you to do that.”

“Well, but,” he argued, “what else is there to do? I’m prepared to listen to anything reasonable. Especially,” he added, “coming from you.”They consulted apart, the nieces and the men and a few villagers looking on eagerly, and evidently wishing that their powers of hearing were finer. Woods, pinching his under-lip, said he doubted whether there was anything in the idea, but he felt willing to give it a trial. And did she—lowering his voice—did she really mean what she said just now? Mrs. Jarrett, pleating her apron, urged it was unfair to make any one responsible for a remark made on the spur of the moment, and re-stated her suggestion. One of the nieces fetched an inkstand, and, the cards being reversed, with a sharpened piece of wood she wrote upon them:

“An Hour’s Excursion through the

Forest.

One Shilling.”

“Put the nosebags on!” he commanded.

It was on the evening of that day that the earthquake, faintly hinted at near the railway station, broke out in another place. The wagonettes had been fairly well patronised. A few couples, down with the announced intention of enjoying a good long walk through the forest, changed their minds and accepted carriage exercise as a substitute. Woods, before going home, shook hands with the ladies, and pointed out that everything in this world dried straight if you only gave it time and fair weather. The motor-driver on his last journey brought, as a peace offering, two cigars presented by a grateful passenger. One of these Mr. Woods was smoking near the stables as he waited for his housekeeper’s summons to the evening meal: she was a good woman, honest and religious, but apparently had never learned to tell the time by the clock. He was, I say, smoking; he was also thinking—a frequent conjunction.

When a tremendous clatter and hubbub came, arousing him, and causing him to say distractedly:

“Whatever fresh is a ’appening of now?”

Out in the roadway a set of a dozen women, including the most notable female inhabitants of the village, marched, his sister-in-law at the head, banging as they went on dustpans, old teatrays, saucepans, and other instruments of music rarely to be discovered in a first-class orchestra. The aim seemed to be discord, and that end was certainly being achieved. Some children followed, making a cloud of dust as they slouched along. The marchers disappeared. Woods, regarding them as they went, knew the incident to represent a violent outbreak of moral indignation, and reckoned it a good answer to the complaint made by an American that day to the effect that English country life appeared dull. His housekeeper came, announcing, with a severe air of promptitude, the readiness of a meal that was three-quarters of an hour late, and appeared willing for conversation; but he told her he had enjoyed enough of talk. What he desired now was peace and quietness.

Consequently, news only came to him at six in the morning when his men arrived at the stables. Having gathered the fact that Jane had locked her daughter out the previous evening, he left them at once and ran across to his sister-in-law’s cottage: there the dogged, sulky, half-dressed woman refused to share responsibility for her actions with any one, and he expressed, not for the first time, an earnest wish that his brother had been spared. He hurried agitatedly down to the Tea Gardens, where Mrs. Jarrett was whitening, at this early hour, the steps.

“It’s all right,” she said, rising. “Fancy you catching me like this, with my hair in curlers! The girl came here last night, and we hadn’t gone to bed because of the noise.”

“The noise going by?”

She swallowed something. “No, stopping here.”

Woods expressed a desire to engage in the wholesale trade of breaking necks.

“And I let her come in, and if her mother doesn’t want her back, why, she can stay here.”He glanced up at the signboard.

“Clara Jarrett, proprietress,” he said deliberately, “you’re the best little woman I’ve ever come across as yet, and if you think I shall make a pretty fair sort of a husband I wish you’d just say the word.”

“It’s a pity, dear, about the motor-omnibuses,” she remarked later.

“Wrote off last night,” said Mr. Woods, with the wink of a business man, “to buy some shares in the concern!”