The Tree that Sat Down. Beverley Nichols

the law. So he thought for a moment and said, ‘It’s an invisible engine. They go much better than the ordinary ones.’

      This had impressed PC Monkey so much that he had gone all through the wood, telling the animals about Sam’s wonderful invisible engine. They had all believed him except Mr Justice Owl, the Chief Magistrate of the wood. Mr Justice Owl had merely sniffed, and observed:

      ‘In the eyes of the law there is no such thing as an invisible engine.’

      ‘But the eyes of the law couldn’t see it,’ replied PC Monkey, ‘because it is invisible.’ He thought this was a very clever reply.

      ‘An invisible engine,’ summed up Mr Justice Owl, ‘is not evidence.’ And when he said something was ‘not evidence’ it was no use arguing with him any more. There was nothing worse than being ‘not evidence’ in the eyes of Mr Justice Owl; if you were ‘not evidence’ you just weren’t worth thinking about. PC Monkey was never quite sure what was evidence and what was not evidence, but if ever Mr Justice Owl told him that he was not he felt that it would be more than he could bear; he would go and hang himself by his tail on the highest tree in the wood.

      *

      On the morning of the opening, Sam was up early.

      Instead of ‘up’ I should perhaps have written ‘down’ for Sam and his grandfather lived in a cave, and Sam slept in the top bunk. It was made of rough planks, and it was filled with hay; sometimes when Sam was getting out of it he stepped on his grandfather’s long beard, because it was warmer than the stone floor. Which shows the sort of person he was, because no polite little boy would deliberately step on his grandfather’s beard, however warm it might be.

      Sam finished the work he was doing, and then he went back to the cave, pushed his head inside, and shouted ‘Get Up!’

      With a great many mutterings and groanings, Old Sam shuffled out of bed, pulled on his shirt and stuck on his hat and wandered outside, blinking in the September sunlight. When he could see clearly he gazed with astonishment at the object which young Sam was holding up before him.

      It was a huge notice-board, and it read like this:

      THE SHOP IN THE FORD

      Principal Emporium

      of

      The Animal Kingdom

      UNDER ROYAL PATRONAGE

      All the Latest Goods

      Underneath, in smaller letters, was written:

       Goods Delivered to your Door

       Try our Speciality – Wakeo!

       Visit Our Information Bureau

       Special Terms for Large Families

      ‘What d’you think of it?’ demanded Sam proudly.

      Old Sam scratched his head. ‘Looks pretty good to me. Only …’

      ‘Only what?’

      ‘What’s an emporium?’

      ‘It’s another name for a store.’

      ‘Well why not say so?’

      ‘Oh, don’t be dumb!’ snapped Sam. ‘We want to make a splash. We want to impress these darned animals, and that’s the way to do it. They’ll spend much more money if they think they’re spending it in an Emporium instead of just an ordinary store.’

      Old Sam scratched his head again. ‘Maybe you’re right. But what’s that about royal patronage? I don’t remember seeing no Kings nor Queens round these parts lately.’

      ‘Gosh!’ cried Sam. ‘Why do they call animals “dumb” when things like you are walking about?’

      ‘That’s no way to speak to your grandfather,’ quavered the old man.

      ‘It’s the way I am speaking, so you can do what you like about it.’ Sam spat contemptuously on the grass. ‘Who’s going to prove we’re not under royal patronage? We’ve got a mail-order business, haven’t we?’

      ‘Have we?’

      ‘No, you old son of a lobster, we haven’t. But we can say we have. You’re old-fashioned. Now listen. The only way we’ll get the animals to come to us instead of going to that darned old Shop Under the Willow is by giving ’em something new. Or at any rate by making ’em think we’re giving them something new. That’s the reason for the telephone.’

      ‘We ain’t got a telephone,’ muttered Old Sam.

      ‘No. Nor has anyone else in the wood. So they can’t prove it, see? All we have to do is to say to an animal, “Call us up”, and we know quite well he can’t call us up ’cos he’s not got anything to call with.’

      ‘That seems fair enough,’ admitted Old Sam.

      ‘It’s the same with “Goods Delivered to your Door”.’

      ‘If you think I’m going round with a basket at my age, climbing trees and ferreting into burrows, you’re very much mistaken,’ proclaimed Old Sam.

      ‘You don’t have to. Read the notice. It says … “To your Door”. Well, none of the animals have got a door. They’ve got nests and holes and hideouts, but there’s not a darned door in the wood. So if we say we deliver to the door, we don’t because there ain’t no doors to deliver to. Got that?’

      ‘’Pon my word,’ admitted Old Sam, ‘that’s a bright idea.’

      Together they carried the board over to the stump of a blasted oak. A few bangs with a hammer and it was firmly in position.

      ‘And now,’ said Sam. ‘we’d better have breakfast, so’s to be ready for the customers.’

      *

      News travelled fast in the wood. Long before the shop was open, processions of animals were to be seen coming from all quarters of the wood, and by nine o’clock there was a long queue outside the Ford. Sam had put up a lot of shelves, and on these shelves were a great number of boxes, tied up with attractive ribbons.

      ‘What was inside the boxes?’ you may ask.

      We will tell you, because it will help to show you what a really horrible little boy Sam was.

      There was nothing in the boxes.

      Nothing at all.

      ‘But how could he get the animals to buy nothing?’ you may enquire. ‘Wouldn’t the animals call in PC Monkey and have the law on him?’

      No, they couldn’t. Because, you see, Sam was very clever. He knew that ‘nothing’ has many names; in German it is nichts, in French it is rien. All over the world men make different sounds when they want to describe that which is without sound or shape or weight or life.

      So Sam was going to sell the animals ‘Nichts’ and ‘Rien’ and if any of them made a fuss about it, he’d say that it wasn’t his fault that they were so ignorant. Anyway, he had a shrewd idea that they wouldn’t complain; he knew that an animal hates to be made to look a fool. If you had ever seen the look of pain in the eyes of a circus dog you would know what I mean. He was meant to run on all fours, free as the wind, through the long grass, through sunlight and shadow, but men force him to spend half his life staggering over the sawdust on two legs, blinking in the glare of arc-lights.

      *

      At nine o’clock precisely Sam’s grandfather came out of his cave, beating a big drum. That was the signal that the shop was open, and immediately all the animals began to swarm around, twittering, and purring, and squeaking, and sniffing.

      Of