Old Fist did not agree about the Law, but he felt aggrieved; he felt that he’d been had. And then, there was this statue, or bronze, or bronze statue of King Stubba; they had as good as said they’d like to have that; in fact they had said it; they’d written him another pretty letter. What if King Stubba, too, had been rejected from somewhere? It was a serious matter, being made to look absurd in the Press. The Press would be on to him about it. And the worst was, that the invitations had gone out for the unveiling ceremony; or had they gone? It was just possible that they hadn’t.
“I think it’s exactly like Mr. Mansell,” the lady went on; “the kind of malicious thing he exults in doing. He has a spite against the people here, because they know him for what he is. He has planned this to make the place look absurd. He buys these two bronzes as old metal, and knowingly persuades you to put them up. When they are up, everybody will round upon you to say that you have put up Snipton’s leavings. Depend upon it, he’s laughing in his sleeve at you now. If I were you, I’d write to Mr. Mansell at once, and tell him that Stubbington wants no more of the sweepings from Snipton nor from Mr. Mansell. Tell him to keep his bronzes for himself, and let him lecture his housemaids upon them, which I am told is a way he has.”
Old Fist said that “Circumstances alter cases.” He dwelt with much pleasure on the fact.
“Yes, that is so,” he repeated. “Circumstances do alter cases.”
He was, as she knew, a slow-moving man, but she suspected also, that in this case he did not mean to move; it might well be necessary to goad him.
“Well, it’s very true,” he said. “Circumstances will alter a case.”
“I should think that the suppression of a vital fact would alter people’s opinion of a man,” she said. “If the members of the Council are Englishmen, I should think it would. We are the ratepayers and taxpayers of all this area. We may not be called upon at once to keep up these bronzes. Ultimately we shall. And I think it monstrous that we should have a city’s leavings foisted on us in this way, to be maintained at our cost. But it’s not going to rest like this. Something’s got to be done about it.”
She went out on this, leaving Old Fist perplexed, but yet determined that the old hen what had begun to crow (thus he ungallantly described her), should not have it all her own way. He went across from his office and found that the invitations to the unveiling had not yet been sent out. He told the clerks to hold them. He took his car out over the bridge to see what had been done. He found that the sites had been prepared, one on each side, just where the lamp-posts should have been, but for poor old Joe, who was beginning to fail even then.
Meanwhile Laetitia, in her rage, went home, with the devil at her elbow suggesting poison and daggers in the back. On arrival at her home, she had another scheme. She believed in swiftness of action, “and trebly armed is he, who gets his blow in first.” With the help of the telephone, as well as invaluable introductions, also telephoned, and suggestions from Ponk, she contrived her attack.
The next morning, a London daily paper had a big photograph of the eastward end of King Stubba’s Bridge at Stubbington, under the heading: “Save Us From Our Friends. Another Beauty Spot Threatened.” There was an article beneath this which said that this beautiful bridge, the reputed scene of King Stubba’s victory, was to be used as a base for two bronze figures, lately rejected by the Snipton Town Hall as parts of the Snipton War Memorial. It asked all lovers of the unspoiled countryside to rally to prevent this new act of vandalism, which would bring the fever of modern art into the peace of rural surroundings and the beauty of one of our finest bridges. It said, that as far as could be learned, the Town Council which had accepted the bronzes, had no knowledge of the fact that Snipton had refused to house them. Had they known, nothing would have persuaded them to accept any such gifts. It would be remembered, the writer continued, that the giver of these bronzes was responsible but a few months ago for an agitation in our columns against the proposed desecration of Mullples Hill. That agitation came too late to be of help. Perhaps this article might come in time to prevent Stubba’s old and beautiful bridge from being desecrated with the leavings and rejections of Snipton.
On the other side of the page was a caricature of the two bronzes in place on Stubba’s Bridge, with old King Stubba looking at them. It was a clever caricature, and rather a triumph for the young man who had done it. He had only received the photographs of the bronzes from a Snipton photographer at midnight, and the drawing had gone to press before one.