“I’m coming to that, my boy. That’s the lovely part of the whole thing. That’s the dividend.”
“Tell me.”
“Of course I’ll tell you. So I said to my brother–this was three years ago, right in the middle of the war; my brother was exempt from the army, you see, because he was a farmer–so I said to Ernest, ‘Ernest,’ I said, ‘if you had the choice of any bull in England to service your entire herd, which one would you choose?’
“‘I don’t know about in England,’ Ernest said, ‘but the finest bull in these parts is Champion Glory of Friesland, owned by Lord Somerton. He’s a purebred Friesian, and those Friesians are the best milk producers in the world. My God, Arthur,’ he said, ‘you should see that bull! He’s a giant! He cost ten thousand pounds and every calf he gets turns out to be a tremendous milker!’
“‘Where is this bull kept?’ I asked my brother.
“‘On Lord Somerton’s estate. That’s over in Birdbrook.’
“‘Birdbrook? That’s quite close, isn’t it?’
“‘Three miles away,’ my brother said. ‘They’ve got around two hundred pedigree Friesian dairy cattle and the bull runs with the herd. He’s beautiful, Arthur, he really is.’
“‘Right,’ I said. ‘In the next twelve months, eighty per cent of your cows are going to have calves by that bull. Would you like that?’
“‘Like it!’ my brother said. ‘It would double my milk yield.’ Could I trouble you, my dear Cornelius, for one last glass of your excellent port?”
I gave him what there was. I even gave him the lees in the bottom of the bottle. “Tell me what you did,” I said.
“We waited until one of my brother’s cows was bulling good and proper. Then, in the dead of night–this took courage, Cornelius, it took a lot of courage . . .”
“I’m sure it did.”
“In the dead of night, Ernest put a halter on the cow and he led her along the country lanes to Lord Somerton’s place three miles away.”
“Didn’t you go with them?”
“I went beside them on a bicycle.”
“Why the bicycle?”
“You’ll see in a moment. It was the month of May, nice and warm, and the time was around one in the morning. There was a bit of a moon shining, which made it more dangerous, but we had to have some light to do what we were going to do. The journey took us an hour.
“‘There you are,’ my brother said. ‘Over there. Can you see them?’
“We were by a gate leading into a twenty-acre field and in the moonlight I could see the great herd of Friesians grazing all over the field. To one side, not far away, was the big house itself, Somerton Hall. There was a single light in one of the upstairs windows. ‘Where’s the bull?’ I said.
“‘He’ll be in there somewhere,’ my brother said. ‘He’s with the herd.’
“Our cow,” A. R. Woresley said to me, “was mooing away like mad. They always do when they’re bulling. They’re calling the bull, you see. The gate into the field was padlocked with a chain, but my brother was ready for that. He pulled out a hacksaw and sawed through the chain. He opened the gate. I leaned my bike against the hedge and we went into the field, leading the cow. The field was milky white in the moonlight. Our cow, sensing the presence of other animals, began mooing louder than ever.”
“Were you frightened?” I asked.
“Terrified,” A. R. Woresley said. “I am a quiet man, Cornelius. I lead a quiet life. I am not cut out for escapades like this. Every second I expected to see his lordship’s bailiff come running toward us with a shotgun in his hands. But I forced myself to keep going because this thing we were doing was in the cause of science. Also, I had an obligation to my brother. He had helped me greatly. Now I must help him.”
The pipe had gone out. A. R. Woresley began to refill it from a tin of cheap tobacco.
“Go on,” I said.
“The bull must have heard our cow calling to him. ‘There he is!’ my brother cried. ‘Here he comes!’