Kitabı oku: «The Wolf Patrol: A Tale of Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XVI
THE SPY IS SEIZED

It was a happy thought of Dick to use his patrol whistle upon reaching the strip of country where they had seen the sergeant. The latter heard the very first shrill note. He was haunting that stretch of the heath for a purpose, eyes and ears wide open. He ran towards the sound, and came plump on the boys as they raced round a bend in the way, for the two scouts were now following the heath-track where they had last seen the prints of the soldier's ammunition boots.

'Hooray!' yelled Chippy, who was a little in front. ''Ere he is. Hooray!' and Dick joined in the cheer.

'You two again!' cried the astonished sergeant. 'What on earth are you nippers up to?'

'We've discovered a spy, sergeant,' panted Dick. 'He's running after us. He'll be up in a minute.'

At the word 'spy' the sergeant's face underwent an extraordinary change. It filled with wonder, and then a grim alertness sprang to life all over him. He dropped his hand to his holster, and whipped out a big regulation 455 revolver, blue and sombre. The boys formed behind as under cover of a tower of strength, and the spy dashed round the bend.

'Hands up!' bellowed the sergeant, and the spy knew better than to disobey with that grim dark muzzle laid full on his body.

'Heavenly powers!' murmured the sergeant, 'I was right. As sure as my name's John Lake I was right. Didn't I see you on the heath just about here last Thursday?' he demanded of the spy. The latter made no reply. He stood, drawn up to his full height, his hands above his head, and in one of them was a long-bladed hunting-knife of the sort which folds into small compass. Now it was fully opened, and looked a very dreadful weapon. The man was white as death, and gasping fiercely from his run and this frightful surprise.

'Drop that knife,' commanded the sergeant, 'or I'll put a bullet through your wrist.'

The spy's wild eyes were fixed on the English soldier's grim face. He knew when a man meant what he said, and he dropped the knife.

'Step two yards back,' went on the sergeant. The spy did so.

'One o' you boys pick up that knife,' murmured the sergeant; and Dick ran and fetched it.

'Now, I'm in the dark yet,' went on the sergeant quietly; 'all this looks very suspicious, but how do you boys come to reckon you've nabbed a spy?'

Dick began with the boot and the papers hidden in it.

'That's enough, my lad,' said the sergeant. 'We'll lose no time. There's plenty o' reason, I can see, to take him in on suspicion, and after hearing that I'd shoot him at once if he tried to escape. Now you,' he went on to the spy, 'turn right round and march ahead as I tell you. And remember I'm a yard behind you with a cocked revolver. March!'

The spy turned, and went as he was bidden.

'Come on, boys; you must come with me,' said the sergeant and the little party went across the heath, the prisoner turning as the sergeant bade him, and taking as direct a line as possible to the Horseshoe Fort.

An hour later Dick and Chippy found themselves in the presence of the officer in charge of the works at the fort. The prisoner had been handed over into safe keeping, and the sergeant and the two boys had been ordered to report to the colonel himself.

They were shown into a large bare room where a tall man was seated at a great table covered with papers. He stood up, as they went in and saluted, and posted himself in front of the fire.

'Well, Sergeant Lake,' he said. 'What's all this about?'

'I believe, sir, I've got a spy; at least, these boys had him. I only helped to bring him in.' So spoke the modest sergeant.

'Ah, yes, a spy;' and the colonel nodded, as if he had been expecting a spy for weeks, and perhaps he had. 'But this is rather an odd thing to get hold of a spy in this fashion. Let me hear all about it.'

'I can tell you little or nothing, sir,' replied Sergeant Lake. 'I didn't wait to hear all their story. The boys told me enough, though, for me to bring him in.'

'Well,' said the colonel, 'suppose I have the story from one of you boys?'

Dick and Chippy looked at each other, and the latter mumbled: 'You tell 'em. Yer can manage it a lot better 'n me. I shan't, anyhow. Goo on.'

Thus adjured by his brother scout, Dick told the whole story from the moment he saw the startled rabbit until they had run upon the sergeant in their headlong flight. Then Chippy handed over the boot, which underwent the most careful examination at the hands of the colonel. The latter spread out on the table the tiny sheets of paper from the cavity, and studied them long and earnestly. To his trained eyes those marks meant things which the boys had, as was only natural, failed to grasp. He had sat down at the table to examine the papers, and Dick, Chippy, and the sergeant were standing on the opposite side.

At last the colonel leaned back in his chair, and looked at the boys and tapped the papers with his forefinger.

'Oh yes,' he said, 'you've nabbed a spy, and no mistake about it, my brave lads. I feel, personally, that you've done me an immense service, for I should have been simply wild to think that my plans were as good as pigeon-holed in some foreign intelligence office. But, after all, that's only my personal feeling. You've done your country an immense service, and that's a much bigger thing still. Unfortunately, it can never be publicly recognised: this affair must remain a profound secret; and men, you know, have received medals and open honour for smaller things than you have done to-day.'

'We don't trouble at all about that, sir,' said Dick quietly. 'We're not out for what we can get for ourselves: we're boy scouts.'

'I beg your pardon,' said the colonel. 'I beg your pardon. Of course, you're boy scouts, and that puts you on a different footing at once. You look at the thing from a real soldier's point of view – all for his side, and nothing for himself. That's it, isn't it?'

'Theer's Scout Law 2,' growled Chippy; 'it's all theer.'

Ah! Law 2,' said the colonel, who was not, like Chippy, a walking encyclopaedia on 'Scouting for Boys.' 'I should like very much to hear how that law runs.'

Chippy recited it, and the colonel listened attentively as the scout said, 'A Scout is loyal to the King, and to his officers, and to his country, and to his employers. He must stick to them through thick and thin against anyone who is their enemy, or who even talks badly of them.'

'A splendid law,' he said, 'and you boys have obeyed it nobly to-day. And now I'm going to ask you to be very quiet about the seizure of this man. You may, if you wish, tell your parents, but bind them over to strict secrecy. You see, this man belongs to a nation with whom at the moment our own is on the most friendly terms, and it will never do for his capture to get abroad. Now, how are you going to get back to Bardon?'

Dick mentioned the station at which they were all to meet. The colonel looked at his watch, and shook his head. 'You can't do that now,' he said; 'but we'll manage it all right. My chauffeur shall run you over to Bardon direct, and drop you at the station. There you'll meet your friends when they arrive. My Napier will do that comfortably. But we must find you something to eat first. Come with me to my quarters.'

Half an hour later the colonel put the two scouts in his big splendid six-cylinder Napier, and the great car was ready to start. As he shook hands with them at parting, he wished to tip them a sovereign apiece, but the boys would not hear of it. Chippy, to whom the money was a little fortune, was most emphatic.

'Not a bit of it, sir,' he growled – 'not a bit of it. If we tek' money for the job, 'ow 'ave we 'elped our country?'

'I quite understand,' said the colonel, smiling, 'quite. You're a pair of trumps, and I honour the feeling. If B. – P.'s movement turns out many more like you it will prove the finest thing we've had in the country for many a day.'

He gave his man a nod, and away shot the huge powerful car along the road which led to Bardon.

True to the colonel's promise, the car drew up outside Bardon Station a few minutes before the train which would bring their friends was due. Dick and Chippy sprang from the tonneau, where they had ridden in immense comfort, thanked the chauffeur, bade him good-night, and sought the arrival platform.

''Ow about Mr. Elliott?' said Chippy; 'we ought to tell 'im.'

'Ah, of course!' said Dick. 'He's our instructor, and the colonel said we might tell our parents. At that rate we might tell Uncle Jim.'

'I shan't tell my folks,' said Chippy; 'they wouldn't bother about knowin'. I'll tell Mr. Elliott instead.'

'All right, Chippy,' said Dick. 'Hullo, here's the train!'

Mr. Elliott was very much relieved when the first faces he saw on the platform were those of the missing patrol-leaders. Wolves and Ravens, too, swarmed out and sprang on their lost comrades, and plied them with eager questions. But to each inquirer Dick and Chippy merely said they had been on duty, and come home another way, and the patrols were left mystified and wondering.

'I've got to report to yer, Mr. Elliott,' said Chippy, and took him aside. Now, the patrols thought that this disappearance and reappearance of the leaders was something in connection with the day's movements, and their questions were checked, for discipline forbids prying into the arrangements made by officers.

The instructor was full of delight when he heard how the missing leaders had spent their time. He congratulated both warmly, and said: 'One to the Boys' Scout movement this time. If you hadn't been out on that scouting-run, the plans of the new Horseshoe Fort would have gone abroad as easily as possible. That's playing the game as it ought to be played.'

CHAPTER XVII
HOPPITY JACK'S STALL

When Chippy left the station and gained Skinner's Hole, he put away his patrol flag carefully behind the tall clock, which was the only ornament of the poor squalid place he called home, and then turned to and helped his mother with a number of odd jobs.

'There ain't much supper for yer,' she said – 'on'y some bread an' a heel o' cheese.'

'That's aw' right,' said Chippy. 'Gie it to the little uns. I don't want none.'

He left the house and strolled towards a corner of Quay Flat, where on Saturday nights and holidays a sort of small fair was always held. One or two shooting-galleries, a cocoa-nut 'shy,' and a score or more of stalls laden with fruit, sweetmeats, and the like, were brilliantly lighted up by naphtha flares. Towards this patch of brightness all loungers and idlers were drawn like moths to a candle, and Chippy, too, moved that way. It was now about half-past nine, and the little fair was at its busiest.

As he went he was joined by an acquaintance, who held out a penny packet of cigarettes.

'Have a fag, Chippy?' he said.

'Not me, thenks,' replied Chippy. 'I've chucked 'em.'

'Chucked 'em!' replied his friend in amazement. 'What for?'

'They ain't no good,' said Chippy. 'There ain't one in our patrol as touches a fag now. If he did, I'd soon boot 'im. 'Ow are yer goin' to smell an enemy or a fire or sommat like that half a mile off if yer spoil yer smell wi' smokin'?'

'I dunno,' replied the other. 'Who wants to smell things all that way? Why don't yer go and look?'

'Yer can't always,' returned Chippy, 'and when you dussn't go close, it comes in jolly handy to be able to smell 'em, and them wot smoke can't do it. So there ain't no fags for boy scouts!'

'I like a cig now and then,' said the other boy.

'Who's stoppin' yer?' asked Chippy loftily. 'You ain't a boy scout: you don't count.'

This view of the case rather nettled Chippy's acquaintance, and he began to argue the matter. But he was no match for Chippy there. Away went the latter in full burst upon his beloved topic, and the other heard of such pleasures and such fascinating sport that his cigarette went out, and was finally tossed aside, as he listened.

'Yer don't want another in the Ravens, do yer, Chippy?' he asked eagerly.

'Not now,' returned Chippy, 'but we could mek' another patrol, I dessay. I'll talk to Mr. Elliott about it.'

'Righto, Chippy,' returned the other. 'I know plenty as 'ud like to join. I've heard 'em talkin' about it, but I hadn't got 'old of it as you've been givin' it me. Hello, wot's up here? Here's a lark – they're havin' a game wi' old Hoppity Jack, and there's ne'er a copper about.'

While talking, the boys had drawn near the noisy crowd of Skinner's Hole residents gathered around the stalls and shooting-galleries. One of the stalls stood a little away from the rest, and instead of a huge naphtha flare, was only lighted by a couple of candles set in battered old stable-lanterns. The owner of the stall was a queer little bent old man wearing an immensely tall top-hat and a very threadbare suit of black. The collar of his coat was turned up and tied round his neck with a red handkerchief, and the ends of the handkerchief mingled with a flowing grey beard. He was a well-known character of Skinner's Hole, and the boys called him Hoppity Jack, because one of his legs was shorter than the other, so that his head bobbed up and down as he walked.

He kept a small herbalist's shop, and stored it with simples which he rambled far and wide over heath and upland to gather, and dry, and tie up in bunches. On Sundays he betook himself to the public park of Bardon, carrying a small stand. From this stand he delivered long lectures, whenever he could gather an audience, on the subject of the ten lost tribes of Israel. Altogether, he was one of those curious characters whom one finds at times in the byways of life. His many oddities marked him out very distinctly from other people, and often made him a butt for the rude jokes and horseplay of idle loungers on Quay Flat.

His stall was always to be found near the rest, and it was never stocked but with one thing – a kind of toffee with horehound in it. He made it himself, and vended it as a certain cure for coughs and colds.

As Chippy and his companion came up, Hoppity Jack was screaming with rage, and the crowd of idle boys tormenting him was convulsed with laughter. A long-armed wharf-rat had flung a piece of dried mud and sent the old man's queer tall hat spinning from his head.

The thrower was laughing loudly with the rest, when a sound fell on his ear. 'Kar-kaw! Kar-kaw!' He whipped round, for he was a member of the Raven Patrol, and saw his leader a dozen yards away, and ran up at once.

'Wot d'yer want, Chippy?' he cried.

'Come out o' that,' commanded Chippy – 'come out an' stop out. Wot sort o' game is that un for a scout?'

'On'y a bit of a lark wi' old Hoppity Jack,' said the surprised Raven. 'Why, yer've bin in it yerself many a time, Chippy.'

The patrol-leader went rather red. No one likes to be reminded of the days when he was unregenerate. But he spoke firmly.

'We got to chuck them games now, Ted. Theer's Law 5, yer know. He's old, an' more 'n a bit of a cripple.'

'Well, I'm blest!' murmured the astonished Ted. 'I never thought o' the scoutin' comin' into this.'

'It does, though,' replied Chippy, 'an' we got to stand by an' lend 'im a hand, as far as I can mek' it out.'

'He'll want a hand, too,' said Chippy's acquaintance. 'They're goin' to upset the stall an' collar the toffee.'

It was true; a number of boys were gathering for a rush, while Hoppity Jack danced in frenzy up and down in front of his stall and shouted for the police. But though no police were near, a staunch band of helpers sprang up as if by magic to aid the poor badgered old fellow beset by enemies.

The Raven patrol call rang out, and was answered swiftly. Most of the Ravens had come out on to Quay Flat after their return home, and in a trice Chippy was at the head of six of his scouts. His orders were brief.

'We got to stand that lot off old Hoppity,' he said, and every Raven wondered, but obeyed, for they adored their clever leader, and were held in strict discipline.

At that moment the marauders made their rush, but, to their great surprise, they were taken in flank by a charge which hurled them into utter confusion, and sent them rolling to the ground, one on the other. The seven scouts had timed their assault to the moment, and sent their opponents over like ninepins. There was a sharp, short scuffle when the assailants got to their feet, but it soon ended in favour of the patrol. Chippy had known what he was about when he enrolled his men, and the pick of Skinner's Hole now fought under his command.

'No punchin',' roared Chippy. 'Just start 'em. Like this! ' He bounded up to the leader of the rush on the stall – a youth a good head taller than himself – and gave him an open-handed slap on the jaw, which rang like a pistol-shot. The Ravens leapt to support him, and the marauders were driven off in short order, the Raven who had knocked the old man's hat off now exerting himself with tremendous zeal to show the sincerity of his repentance.

'That's aw' right,' said Chippy to his followers when the enemy were in full flight; 'yer off duty now.'

'But look 'ere, Chippy,' said the corporal, Sam Fitt by name, 'have we got to be ready any time to stand up for Hoppity Jack sort o' people? O' course, now we had orders from you, an' that's plain enough. But is it a reg'lar game?'

'Of course it is, Sam,' said Chippy; 'you can't be a scout when yer like an' then drop it for a lark. Yer must play the game all the time.'

Thus did Chippy turn from serving his country to saving Hoppity Jack's stall, and it was all in the day's work.

CHAPTER XVIII
CHIPPY'S BAD TIME

When Chippy told his followers that they must play the game all the time, he meant every word that he said. He had devoted himself heart and soul to becoming a true scout, who is also a true gentleman, and he not only could reel off the laws by heart, but, as we have seen, he honestly strove to put them into practice at every moment. But now and again he ran up against a hard streak of weather in doing this, and he hit an uncommonly hard streak the very next morning.

At seven o'clock he turned up bright and early at the fishmonger's shop where he was employed. His employer, Mr. Blades, was in a fairly prosperous way of business in one of the secondary streets of the town. Mr. Blades looked after the shop; his son, a young man of twenty-three, drove a trap round with the customers' orders; and two boys, of whom Chippy was one, cleaned up, fetched and carried, ran short distances with pressing orders, and made themselves generally useful.

All went as usual until about eleven o'clock in the morning, when Chippy was despatched to deliver four or five small bags of fish at the houses of customers who lived within easy reach. He handed in the last bag of fish at the kitchen door of a semi-detached house, and the mistress took it in herself. Chippy was going out at the gate, when he heard himself called back. He returned to the door. The customer had already opened the bag, and was surveying critically the salmon cutlets inside.

'I don't think these look quite fresh,' she said. 'Has Mr. Blades had salmon in fresh this morning?'

'Yus, mum,' answered Chippy.

'Were these cutlets taken from the fresh salmon?'

They were not, and Chippy knew it, and was silent for a moment. She looked at him keenly, but smiling at the same time – a pleasant-faced, shrewd-eyed woman.

'Look here, my boy,' she said, 'these cutlets are for my daughter, who is only just recovering from a long illness, and I want her to have the best. You've got an honest sort of face, and I'll take your word. Were they cut from the fresh salmon?'

'No, mum,' mumbled Chippy.

'I felt certain of it,' she said. 'Now you ask Mr. Blades to send up fresh cutlets or none at all.'

Chippy went back with a sinking heart: he knew Mr. Blades. There was ample reason for his foreboding when he reported that the customer wanted cutlets from the fresh salmon.

'Fresh salmon!' roared Mr. Blades, a red-haired, choleric man. 'How under the sun did she find out these were not fresh? They look all right, and they smell all right.'

Chippy said nothing. Suddenly the fishmonger turned on him. 'Tell me just what she said!' he bellowed. 'You've been at some fool's trick or other, I know. You boys are enough to drive a man mad. Did she ask you anything?'

'Yus,' grunted Chippy, who now saw breakers ahead.

'Well, what did she ask you?'

'Wanted to know if they wor' off o' the salmon as come in this mornin'.'

'And what did you tell her?'

'Told 'er no,' mumbled Chippy.

The fishmonger jumped from the ground in his rage. 'There!' he cried, and smote the counter in his anger. 'What did I say? These boys are enough to ruin anybody! "Told her no! Told her no!"' He paused, speechless, and glared at Chippy.

At this moment a trap drove up to the kerb and stopped. Young Blades jumped out and came into the shop.

'Hallo!' he said cheerfully. 'Giving him a wiggin', guv'nor? That's rum. Slynn's a good little man, as a rule.'

Mr. Blades recovered his breath with a gasp and poured out the story of Chippy's enormity. 'Told her no, Larry!' he said. The astounded fishmonger could not get away from this. 'Told her no!' he repeated once more.

Larry Blades threw back his head and burst into a roar of jolly laughter which rang through the shop. 'Well, that's a good un!' he cried – 'a real good un. And I never thought Slynn was such a softy. Why, Slynn,' he went on, and clapped Chippy on the shoulder, 'you'll never make a fishmonger if you carry on like that. Everything's fresh to a customer. You must always tell 'em it's just done its last gasp, unless the smell's a trifle too high, and then you must be guided by circumstances.'

He turned round to his father and laughed again jovially.

'It's all right, guv'nor,' he said. 'Cool off and calm down. You do get so excited over these little trifles. The kid's made a mistake. Well, he won't do it again. Anyhow, he's worth twenty o' that other kid. I caught him on th' Oakford road with his bags hangin' on some railings and playin' football with about a dozen more.'

'I dunno about him not doin' it again,' grumbled Mr. Blades; 'that's the way to lose customers; and people pass things like that from one to another.'

'Look here, Slynn,' said Larry Blades, wheeling sharply round, 'you've got to put yourself square with the guv'nor, or he'll have a fit every time you start on a round. Now, drop on your bended knees, raise your right hand, roll your eyes up, and say, "Mr. Blades, I'll never, never be such a flat again"'; and Larry laughed loudly, and pressed Chippy's shoulder to force him down and carry out the joke.

But Chippy did not go down: he only looked with anxious eyes from father to son.

'Come on, speak up!' cried Larry. 'What made you do such a soft trick, Slynn?'

'She said her daughter 'ad been ill,' mumbled Chippy.

'What of that?' laughed Larry. 'That salmon wouldn't hurt her then.'

'Yer see, I'm a boy scout,' burst out Chippy suddenly, his husky voice hoarser than ever from excitement and uneasiness.

'Boy scout?' said Larry wonderingly. 'What's that? And what's it got to do with Mrs. Marten's cutlets?'

Chippy began eagerly to explain, and the two men listened for a few moments in puzzled wonder.

'Oh, well,' burst in Larry, 'that may be all very well in its way, but it's clean outside business.'

'It ain't outside anything,' murmured Chippy.

'What!' said young Blades. 'You don't mean to say you'd do the same if it happened again, do you? Do you want to lose your job?' Chippy stood aghast. Lose his precious four-and-six a week!

'No, no,' cried Chippy; 'I'll do anything. I'll work as long as yer like – I'll come at six if yer like, an' stop till any time at night. Don't tek' me job off o' me.'

'Well, if you want to keep it, you must do as you're told,' began Larry, but his father out in.

'There's a lot of talk,' he cried, 'but I want you to notice, Larry, that that boy is dodging the question all the time. He's given no promise to do his best by us, and he ain't going to give any promise, either.'

'All right,' said Larry. 'I'll come bang straight to the point. If we send you out, Slynn, with a bit o' salmon that looks sweet and smells sweet, will you swear to a customer as it's dead fresh, and can't be bettered?'

Chippy was cornered. On one side his job – his precious job – how precious none could know unless they knew his starved and narrow home; on the other his oath as a boy scout to run straight and play fair to all men.

'Now, speak out,' cried Larry impatiently. But Chippy – poor Chippy! – had seen an ideal in his rough, hard life, and he clung to it.

'Yer see,' he began once more, 'I'm a boy scout – '

The fishmonger was bubbling mad all the time; now he completely boiled over.

'There he goes again!' yelled Mr. Blades. 'If he's a boy scout, let him clear out o' this, and scout round for another job. Now, then, shift, and look sharp about it.'

But Chippy was unwilling to go. He was searching his mind for words with which to plead, and to promise to do his utmost for them, save for the breaking of his scout's oath, when the furious fishmonger sprang upon him, tore the bag he still held from his grasp, and literally threw him out of the shop. Taken by surprise, Chippy was pitched headlong, and went sprawling along the pavement. He picked himself up without a word, and went away down the street. His job had gone, and he knew it, and he stayed not another moment for vain pleading.

'Just hark at him!' cried the fuming Mr. Blades; 'the impident young dog! Got the sack, and goes off whistling!'

'Well, I'm blest!' said Larry, and nodded his head thoughtfully. 'I thought he was dead keen on his job. But he don't care a rap about it. He was only a-kiddin' us. Whistling like a lark!'

Poor Chippy! how sorely was he misjudged! The fishmonger and his son knew nothing of Scout Law 8: 'A scout smiles and whistles under all circumstances,' and 'under any annoying circumstances you should force yourself to smile at once, and then whistle a tune, and you will be all right.'

Chippy turned a corner, and his whistling died away. Soon it stopped. His mouth worked a little, and his lips would not quite come into shape for the merry notes. Scout Law 8 was splendid advice, but this was a very stiff thing, even for No. 8. Chippy could not whistle, but he hoped very much that he still wore the smile. Well, his face was twisted, true, and the twists had the general shape of a smile, but it was a smile to wring the heart.

When he got home, he found his mother bending over the wash-tub. She looked up in surprise and then alarm: his face betrayed him.

'What's the matter?' she cried. 'What brings you back at this time?'

'I've got the sack,' said Chippy briefly.

The poor pinched-face woman cried out in dismay.

'An' your father's only done four days this last fortni't!' she wailed. Chippy's father was a dock-side labourer, and work had been very slack of late.

'It's aw' right,' said Chippy. 'Don't worry, mother. I'm off up the town now, to look for another job. I seen two cards out th' other day in Main Street, "Boy Wanted." I only come in now to mend me britches.'

When Mr. Blades flung Chippy out, the Raven had fallen on one knee, and his trouser had split clean across. He now purposed to cobble up the rent before he started on his quest for the precious work which means the right to live.

He found a needle and some thread, took off his trousers, and stitched busily away, for he was very handy with his fingers: his mother, too, had no time for such work; she had got a washing job, and was hard at it to help the family funds.

As Chippy stitched, his cheerfulness returned. Soon he was whistling in real earnest. 'I'm goin' in for a rise,' he announced. 'I've picked up a lot at old Blades' place. I'm goin' to ask five bob.'

'What made him sack yer?' asked his mother.

'Oh, I didn't suit,' said Chippy hastily. 'An' I done my best, too.'

He made haste to be off on his quest, for he was not anxious to disclose why he had been sacked: in Skinner's Hole the reason would sound too fantastic to be easily accepted.