Transcriber’s Note:
Table of Contents added.
THE WALLYPUG IN LONDON
his majesty arrives at windsor. see page [143]
THE
WALLYPUG IN LONDON
BY
G. E. FARROW
AUTHOR OF “THE WALLYPUG OF WHY,” “THE MISSING PRINCE,” ETC
ILLUSTRATED BY ALAN WRIGHT
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.
LONDON
1898
CONTENTS
ADDRESSED TO
HER MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA
IN COMMEMORATION OF 22nd JUNE, 1897
Victoria! by grace of God our Queen,
To thee thy children truest homage pay.
Thy children! ay, for Mother thou hast been,
And by a mother’s love thou holdest sway.
Thy greatest empire is thy Nation’s heart,
And thou hast chosen this the better part.
Behold, an off’ring meet thy people bring;
Hark! to the mighty world-sound gathering
From shore to shore, and echoing o’er the sea,
Attend! ye Nations while our paeans ring—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.
The grandest sight the world hath ever seen
Thy kingdom offers. Clothed in fair array,
The Majesty of Love and Peace serene,
While hosts unnumbered loyalty display,
Striving to show, by every loving art,
The day for them can have no counterpart.
Lo! sixty years of joy and sorrowing
For Queen and People, either borrowing
From other sympathy, in woe or glee,
Hath knit their hearts to thine, wherefore they sing—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.
With royal dignity and gracious mien
Thine high position thou hast graced alway;
No cloud of discord e’er hath come between
Thy nation and thyself; the fierce white ray
That beats upon thy throne bids hence depart
The faintest slander calumny can dart.
Thy fame is dear alike to churl and king,
And highest honour lies in honouring
The Sovereign to whom we bend the knee;
“God save the Queen,” one strain unvarying—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.
What prophet, or what seer, with vision keen,
Reading the message of a far-off day,
The wonders of thy reign could have foreseen,
Or known the story that shall last for aye?
A page that History shall set apart;
Peace and Prosperity in port and mart,
Honour abroad, and on resistless wing
A steady progress ever-conquering.
Thy glorious reign, our glorious theme shall be,
And gratitude in every heart upspring—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.
Behold, ye tyrants, and a lesson glean
How subjects may be governed. Lo! the way
A Woman teaches who doth ne’er demean
Her office high. Hark! how her people pray
For blessings on the head that doth impart
So wise a rule. For them no wrongs do smart,
No cruelties oppress, no insults sting,
Nor does a despot hand exaction wring;
Though governed, Britain’s subjects still are free.
Gaze then—ye unwise rulers wondering—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.
Envoy.
Queen Mother, love of thee doth ever spring
Within thy children’s hearts, a priceless thing,
Nor pomp nor state that falleth unto thee
Can ever rival this grand carolling—
Victoria’s children sing her Jubilee.
G. E. Farrow
My dear little Friends,
You will no doubt be surprised to find this book commencing with a perfectly serious poem, and one which probably some of you will find a little difficulty in understanding. When you have grown older, however, and happen to look at this little book again, you will be glad to be reminded of the historic event which the poem commemorates. Now, about ourselves, when I asked in my last book, The Missing Prince, for letters from my little readers, I had no idea that I had so many young friends, and I can hardly tell you how delighted I have been at receiving such a number of kind letters from all parts of the world.
I do hope that I have answered everyone, but really there have been so many, and if by mistake any should have been overlooked, I hope my little correspondents will write again and give me an opportunity of repairing the omission.
Such charming little letters, and all, I am happy to find, really written by the children themselves, which makes them doubly valuable to me.
And how funny and amusing some of them were to be sure! And what capital stories some of you have told me about your pets.
Some pathetic incidents too; as, for instance, that of ‘Shellyback,’ the tortoise, whose little owner wrote a few months after her first letter to say that poor ‘Shellyback’ was dead.
I have been very happy to notice how fond you all seem of your pets, for I have always found that children who make friends with animals invariably have kind and good hearts. And the poor dumb creatures themselves are always so ready to respond to any little act of kindness, and are so grateful and affectionate, that I am sure it adds greatly to one’s happiness in life to interest oneself in them.
One of my correspondents, aged eight, has embarrassed me very much indeed by suggesting that I should “wait for her till she grows up,” as she should “so like to marry a gentleman who told stories.” I hope she didn’t mean that I did anything so disgraceful; and besides, as it would take nearly twenty-five years for her to catch up to me, she might change her mind in that time, and then what would become of me.
Some of my letters from abroad have been very interesting. One dear little girl at Darjeeling, in India, wrote a very nice descriptive letter, and concluded by asking me to write “something about the stars,” and speaking of new stories brings me to another subject that I wish to talk to you about.
You know that I spoke in my last book about writing a school story, and one about animals. Well, when I found that so many of you wanted to hear “more about the Wallypug,” I was obliged to put these two books aside in order to gratify your wishes. I hope that you will be as interested in hearing about his Majesty this time as you were last.
You will be sure to notice that the pictures are by another artist, but Mr. Harry Furniss has been away from England for some months, and so it has been impossible for him to illustrate this volume. Some other time, perhaps, Dorothy and he will give us more of their work; but in the meantime Mr. Alan Wright has been very interested in drawing pictures for this book, and I hope you will be pleased with his efforts.
Now, about writing to me next time. When I asked you to address me under care of my publishers, I did not realize that in the course of business I might find it necessary to change them sometimes, and so to avoid any possibility of confusion, will you please in future address all letters to
Mr. G. E. Farrow,
c/o Messrs. A. P. Watt & Son,
Hastings House,
Norfolk Street, Strand.
What am I to do with all the beautiful Christmas and New Year’s cards which I have received? Will you be vexed if, after having enjoyed receiving them as I have done so much, I give them to the poor little children at the hospitals to make scrap books with? I happen to know how much they value and appreciate gifts of this kind, and by allowing me to bestow them in this way, your pretty presents will be giving a double happiness.
Well, I must conclude this rather long letter now, or I shall be accused of being tedious; but really it gives me almost as much pleasure to write to you, as it does to receive your letters. Good-bye. Don’t forget that many of you have promised to write to me again, and that I am always more than glad to welcome any new friends.
Believe me, dear Children,
Yours affectionately,
G. E. FARROW
CHAPTER I
HIS MAJESTY AND SUITE ARRIVE
most extraordinary thing has happened; the Wallypug has been to London! But there, I am forgetting that possibly you have never read The Wallypug of Why, in which case you will, of course, know nothing about his Majesty, and so I had better explain to you who, and what, he is.
To begin with, then, he is a kind of king of a place called Why, which adjoins the mysterious kingdom of Zum. I am afraid, though, that if you searched your atlases for a very long while you might not find either of these places, for the geographers are so undecided as to their exact position that they have not shown them on the maps at all. Some little friends of mine, named Girlie and Boy, have been there, however, and I can tell you, if you like, the way they went. This is the way to Why:
Just go to bed and shut your eyes
And count one hundred, one by one;
Perhaps you’ll find to your surprise
That you’re at Why when this is done.
I say perhaps, because this only happens when you have been particularly good all day, and sometimes boys and girls are not quite as good as they—but there, I won’t say what I was going to, for I am quite sure that it would not apply to you. This is the way to Zum:
Not when the moon is at its full,
But just a tiny boat-shaped thing,
You may see Pierrot sitting there
And hear the little fellow sing.
If so, just call him, and he’ll come
And carry you away to Zum.
There, now, I’ve told you the way to go to both places, so that, if you wish to, you can go there whenever you please.
I am telling you all this because one day in the spring Girlie and Boy, who live in another part of London, came to see me, and we had been talking about these things for about the hundredth time, I should think: for these children are never tired of telling me of all the strange things which happened to them when they journey to these wonderful places. In fact they were just arguing as to which was the most interesting place to go to, Why or Zum, when my housekeeper, Mrs. Putchy, came to the door with the unwelcome news that the carriage had come for my little friends, and that it was time to say good-bye. After they had gone I sat staring into the fire wondering where Why could be, and if there was really such a person as the Wallypug, when my little dog Dick, who had been lying on the rug before the fire, suddenly jumped up, and barking excitedly, ran to the other end of the study, where a picture, which I had bought the day before at an auction sale, stood leaning against the wall. Now this picture had been sold very cheap, because no one could tell at all what it was about, it was so old and dusty, and the colours were so dark and indistinct. I had bought it hoping that it might prove valuable, and there it stood till it could be sent to be cleaned and restored. Imagine my surprise then, when, on following Dick across the study, I discovered that the colours in the picture had all become bright, and were working one into the other in the most remarkable way, red running into green, and blue into yellow, while a little patch of black in the centre of the picture was whirling round and round in quite a distracting manner. What could it all mean? I stared and wondered, till, out of the confusion, there gradually grew shapes which bore some resemblance to human beings, and, presently, I could recognize quite distinctly, first a young man in knee breeches, smiling in a particularly self-satisfied way, and escorting a large fish, who was walking upright, with slippers on his tail, and who wore a waistcoat and necktie. Then an amiable-looking old gentleman, carrying a wand, who was followed by a curious little person, wearing a crown and carrying an orb and sceptre. A particularly stiff and wooden-looking soldier stood at the back of this strange group. Judge of my amazement when, quite as a matter of course, the whole party deliberately stepped out of the picture into the room, and, before I could realize what had happened, the old gentleman with the wand came forward with a flourish and an elaborate bow, and announced:
“A-hem! his Majesty the Wallypug of Why and suite.”
with slippers on his tail
I was so astonished that for the moment I could not think what to say, but at last I managed to stammer, as I made a low bow to the Wallypug:
“I am delighted to make your Majesty’s acquaintance.”
The Wallypug smiled very affably, and held out his hand.
“I have come up for the Jubilee, you know,” he said.
“We’ve come up, you mean to say, Wallypug,” corrected the old gentleman with the wand, frowning somewhat severely. “I am the Wallypug’s professional adviser,” he continued. “I am called the Doctor-in-Law—allow me to introduce the rest of our party. This,” he went on, bringing the young man with the self-satisfied smile forward, “is the Jubilee Rhymester from Zum; he hopes to become a minor poet in time. And this,” indicating the wooden-looking soldier, “is Sergeant One-and-Nine, also from Zum.” Here the Doctor-in-Law took me aside and whispered in my ear, “Slightly cracked, crossed in love; speaks very peculiarly; capital chap though.” Then crossing to where the Fish was standing, he said, “And this is A. Fish, Esq., the celebrated lecturer on the ‘Whichness of the What as compared with the Thatness of the Thus.’ He desired to accompany us here in order to find material for a new lecture which he is preparing upon the ‘Perhapness of the Improbable.’ He’s awfully clever,” he whispered impressively.
“his majesty the wallypug”
“I’m sure I’m delighted to see you all,” I said, shaking hands with each one till I came to the Fish, who held out a fin. “Er-er-how do you do?” I stammered, somewhat taken aback by this strange proceeding.
“Quide well with the egscebtiod of a slide cold id by head,” said the Fish. “I’b subjecd to theb, you doe. It’s beig id the water so butch, I fadcy,” and he smiled.
I don’t know if you have ever seen a fish smile, but if not I may tell you that it is a very curious sight.
“I suppose you can manage to put us up here for a month or two?” calmly suggested the Doctor-in-Law after a pause.
“Dear me,” I exclaimed in alarm, “I don’t think my housekeeper could possibly—”
“Why not ask her?” suggested the Doctor-in-Law, touching the bell.
A moment or two afterwards a knock at the door announced that Mrs. Putchy was there.
“Oh, Mrs. Putchy,” I said, stepping just outside, “these gentlemen, er—that is to say, his Majesty the Wallypug of Why and suite, have honoured me with a visit, and I am anxious if possible to offer them such hospitality as my poor home affords. Do you think that we could manage anyhow to find room for them, for a few days at any rate?”
Now Mrs. Putchy is a very remarkable woman, and I have never known her to show the slightest surprise at anything, and, so far from seeming alarmed at the prospect of having to entertain such notable visitors, she seemed positively delighted.
“His Majesty of Why, sir? How charming! Of course we must do our best, and how fortunate that I put on my best gown to-day, isn’t it? Dear me, and shall I be presented to his Majesty?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Putchy, if you wish it,” I said. “In fact, if you will call General Mary Jane, I will introduce you both, as you represent my entire household.”
Mrs. Putchy disappeared, returning almost immediately, followed by the servant, General Mary Jane, with her mouth wide open, and accompanied by the cat, who rejoices in the extraordinary name of Mrs. Mehetable Murchison. These members of my household were duly presented to the Wallypug. Mrs. Putchy made her curtsey with great dignity, but General Mary Jane was so overcome at the thought of being presented to royalty that she fell flat on her hands and knees in her humility, while Mrs. Mehetable Murchison, realizing, no doubt, the truth of the old saying that “a cat may look at a king,” went up and sharpened her claws on the Wallypug’s legs in the most friendly manner possible.
It was when the cat caught sight of A. Fish, Esq., that she completely lost her presence of mind, and with arched back and bristling fur glared at him in amazement.
“Priddy pussy, cub alog thed,” said the Fish, stooping down and trying to stroke her with one of his fins; but Mrs. Mehetable Murchison, with a startled glance, tore out of the room, showing every sign of alarm.
“And she’s so fond of fish too, as a rule, ain’t she, mum?” remarked General Mary Jane, who had somewhat overcome the awe with which she had at first regarded the presence of royalty.
“Fod of fish?” repeated A. Fish, Esq., inquiringly. “What do you mead?”
“Why, you see, sir,” explained Mrs. Putchy, “we often have fish for dinner—er—that is to say—er—a-hem!”
“priddy pussy”
The Fish was glaring at her in a horrified way, and Mrs. Putchy had become quite nervous.
“Let’s change the subject,” suggested the Doctor-in-Law, to our great relief. “The most important question for the moment is, where are we all going to sleep?”
This gave Mrs. Putchy an opportunity for exercising her wonderful ability for management, and after arranging for the Wallypug to have the spare bedroom, and the Doctor-in-Law to have my room, I was to have a bed made up in the study, while the Jubilee Rhymester was to sleep in the attic, One-and-Nine was to have a box under the stairs, and there only remained A. Fish, Esq., to dispose of.
“There is the bathroom, mum,” suggested General Mary Jane brilliantly; “we could put a lid on the bath and make up a bed there.”
“Bedder sdill, fill id with wadter, ad thed I could sleeb in id,” suggested the Fish.
“Oh yes, of course!” said Mrs. Putchy, “and now I must go and see about the supper.” And, with a low curtsey to the Wallypug, the admirable little woman hurried out, followed by General Mary Jane, who gave a nervous little bob when she reached the door.
They had scarcely disappeared before One-and-Nine came up to me and whispered:
“I am muchly impressionated by that lady with the most militaryish name who has just gone out. Can you kindly inform me is she detached?”
“Detached?” I inquired in bewilderment. “What ever do you mean?”
“If a person is not attached to anyone else, they are detached, I suppose, are they not?” said One-and-Nine rather impatiently.
“Well, if you put it that way, I suppose they are,” I replied, laughing. “You mean, has she a sweetheart? Well, really I don’t know. I have an idea though that Mrs. Putchy does not allow followers.”
“Then I shall considerize my prospectuousness with great hopefulosity!” remarked the soldier with considerable dignity, walking back to the Wallypug’s chair.
“What does he say?” asked the Jubilee Rhymester. “He is a little bit cracked, you know. Could you make out what he was driving at?”
“Oh, yes, I could understand within a little what he meant,” I replied. “He seems to have fallen in love with General Mary Jane at first sight, from what I can gather.”
“Really! Dear me! He is always doing that sort of thing, do you know, and he generally asks me to write poems for him when he gets into that state. I have written as many as 137 odes in one month on his behalf.”
“Good gracious,” I replied, “and does he pay you well for them?”
“Pay me!” exclaimed the Jubilee Rhymester, staring at me in surprise. “Of course not. Do people ever get paid for writing poetry?”
“Why, yes, to be sure they do,” I answered.
“Well, I’ve never heard of such a thing in all my life,” said the Jubilee Rhymester; “I always thought that poets had to pay to have their verses used at all, and that that was why they were always so poor while they were alive. Of course I knew that people sometimes made a fuss about them after they were dead, but I have never heard of such a thing as a live poet being paid for his work.”
“Nonsense,” I replied; “I believe that quite a lot of money is sometimes paid by the magazines and other papers for poems and verses.”
“Well, I am delighted to hear it,” said the Jubilee Rhymester, “and I shall certainly start writing to-morrow. I have no doubt whatever that I shall make my fortune before I go back to Zum.”
Shortly after this Mrs. Putchy announced that supper was served, and a little later my guests retired to rest, being thoroughly tired out with their long journey. I sat up in my study a little while longer to smoke a pipe, but was just thinking of going to bed when there was a tap at the door and the Doctor-in-Law entered.
“I say, I thought I had better come and arrange with you about money matters,” he said; “I didn’t like to mention such things before the others. Now then,” he continued, “how much are you going to pay us for staying with you?”
“Pay you!” I gasped. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Well, you see, it will be a great thing for you to have such distinguished visitors, don’t you know, and you ought to be quite willing to pay liberally for the honour,” said the Doctor-in-Law, smiling amiably.
Now Girlie had told me what a greedy, avaricious person the Doctor-in-Law really was, despite his benevolent appearance, but this cool cheek almost took my breath away. I was determined, however, to let him see at once that I was not to be imposed upon, so I said as firmly as I could, “Now, look here, Mr. Doctor-in-Law, please understand once and for all, that as you were all so kind to my little friend Girlie when she was at Why, I am quite willing to entertain his Majesty the Wallypug, and the rest of you, to the very best of my ability, but as for paying you for being here, the idea is absurd—impossible!”
“id quide gave be a turn”
Just then a terrific hullabaloo in the passage caused us both to run to the door. We could hear that the noise proceeded from the bathroom, and, hurrying to the door, we found A. Fish, Esq., sitting up in the water shouting for help, while Mrs. Mehetable Murchison and a whole group of her feline friends were out on the tiles, glaring through the window.
“Dear be, dear be,” panted the Fish, when he saw us, “I’b so frighteded, just look at all those cats. I had beed to sleeb ad was just dreabig that sobeone was sayig, ‘Mrs. Behetable Burchison is so fod of fish, and we ofted have fish for didder,’ whed I woke ub and saw all those horrible cats lookig id ad the widdow; id quide gave be a turn. Do drive theb away please.”
We soon did this, and, pulling down the blinds, we left A. Fish, Esq., to his dreams and soon afterwards retired to rest ourselves.
CHAPTER II
THE NEXT DAY’S ADVENTURES
When I entered the breakfast room the next morning I found that the Wallypug and the Doctor-in-Law had been up for some time, and were both gazing out of the window with the greatest of interest.
“I hope your Majesty slept well,” I remarked to the Wallypug as I approached them.
“Very well indeed, thank you,” he replied smilingly. “The Doctor-in-Law and myself have just been saying that we are sure to have an enjoyable visit here. We have been greatly interested in the man-machines going past. We have never seen anything like them before.”
“The man-machines!” I exclaimed, puzzled to know whatever he could mean.
“Yes, the men with wheels instead of legs, you know.”
“Oh, you mean the bicyclists,” I replied, laughing. “Have you really never seen any before?”
“No, indeed,” replied his Majesty. “Are they born with wheels on, or do they grow afterwards?”
I laughed, and fortunately just then the youngster opposite, who always rides to school on his bicycle, came out of doors wheeling his machine, and I was able to explain to the Wallypug the principle upon which they worked.
“Dear me; the Doctor-in-Law told me that the machinery was part of the man, but now I see that it is separate. And he charged me sixpence for the information too,” he complained, looking reproachfully at the Doctor-in-Law.
“Charged you sixpence!” I cried.
“Yes,” replied the poor Wallypug. “He offered to tell me all about them for sixpence, and as I was really very curious to know I gave it to him, and then he informed me that they were a peculiar race of people who came from Coventry, and who were all born with wheels instead of legs.”
“Take your old sixpence then, if you are going to make all that fuss about it,” said the Doctor-in-Law, crossly, throwing the coin down on the table and walking out of the room in a huff. “I’m sure I did read somewhere that they came from Coventry,” he added, popping his head in at the door and then slamming it violently after him.
The boy opposite was still riding up and down the road, and I made up my mind that although I had never spoken to him before, I would ask him to let the Wallypug examine his bicycle more closely.
“With pleasure,” he replied, raising his hat politely to the Wallypug, when I had explained who he was; “and if his Majesty would like to try it he is quite welcome to do so.”
The Doctor-in-Law’s curiosity had so far overcome his ill-humour that, when he saw us talking to the boy, he came forward and offered to help the Wallypug to mount.
“I really don’t think he had better,” I said, “he might damage the machine.”
“Oh no, he won’t hurt it, I’m sure,” said the boy generously; and so with our united assistance the Wallypug got on to the bicycle, and after a few preliminary wobblings started off in fine style. Faster and faster he went, clinging desperately to the handle-bars, till we, who were running beside him, could no longer keep pace with him.
the start
“I can’t stop,” we heard him shout; and a moment later he charged straight at a large stone and half a brick which lay in the middle of the roadway.
Poor Wallypug! The sudden impact threw him right over the handle-bars, and he landed in a huddled heap on his hands and knees in the gutter. The machine flew in half, and the front portion careered madly away by itself till stopped by the kerb.
We hurried up to his Majesty to discover if he was much hurt, but, with the exception of a few scratches on his hands and knees and a thorough shaking, he seemed to have come off pretty well.
the finish
“I suppose we can’t stick it together again?” he inquired, gazing ruefully at the broken bicycle, and I was obliged to tell him that there was not much chance of our doing so. The boy to whom it belonged bravely made the best of the matter, especially when I told him that the next half-holiday he had I would take him to Holborn to choose another one in its place.
And when I discovered that he had a half-holiday that very afternoon, it was arranged that General Mary Jane should order a carriage at the livery stable, and that we should all drive to the city after luncheon.
hippety-hoppety-plop
The Wallypug, after a good wash and a hearty breakfast, went to his room to lie down for an hour or two to recover from the effects of his accident, and I was just answering my morning letters when there was a knock at the study door, and the Rhymester entered.
“I sat up most of the night writing poetry,” he remarked, “and I have just brought you one or two specimens. The first one is called ‘The Ode of a Toad.’ Perhaps I had better read it to you. My writing is rather peculiar,” and he began as follows:
THE ODE OF A TOAD.
There was once an old toad who lived under a tree,
Hippety hop—Flippety flop,
And his head was as bald as bald could be,
He was deaf as a post and could hardly see,
But a giddy and frivolous toad was he,
With his hippety-hoppety-plop.
And he gambolled and danced on the village green,
Hippety hop—Flippety flop,
In a way that had never before been seen,
Tho’ he wasn’t so young as once he had been,
And the people all wondered whate’er he could mean,
With his hippety-hoppety-plop.
But the old chap kept bobbing about just the same,
Hippety hop—Flippety flop,
Till everyone thought he must make himself lame,
And not a soul ever could find out his aim,
In keeping up such a ridiculous game,
As his hippety-hoppety-plop.
Some said he was mad, tho’ as mild as a dove,
Hippety hop—Flippety flop,
And as the result of a push or a shove,
Was a little bit cracked in the storey above,
But I fancy myself the old boy was in love,
With his hippety-hoppety-plop.
“There! What do you think of it?” he asked when he had finished.
“i love but thee”
“Well, candidly, I’m afraid not very much,” I replied; “and what on earth do you call it an ode for?”
“Why, you see, ode went so well with the word toad. I was going to call it ‘Ode to a Toad,’ but it isn’t to a toad at all, though it’s about a toad. Ah! by the bye, I might call it ‘A Toad’s Ode,’ mightn’t I? I think that sounds very jolly.” He altered the title in pencil.
“I have another which I think you will say is very touching.” And after getting his handkerchief out in case he should be moved to tears, he began:
THE BALLADE OF A BUN.
Don’t talk to me of “Sally Lunn,”
Or toasted tea-cake nice and hot,
I do not care for either one
A single solitary jot;
My heart is fixed and changeth not,
In all the world—whate’er I see,
And rich or poor—whate’er my lot—
Oh! penny bun, I love but thee.
For thy dear sake all cakes I shun
Smeared o’er with jam. No apricot
Or greengage tart my heart hath won;
Their sweetness doth but cloy and clot.
What marmalade in fancy pot
Or cream meringue, though fair it be,
Thine image e’er can mar or blot?
Oh! penny bun, I love but thee.
I vowed to cherish thee, or none
(Such love thy simple charms begot),
When first I saw thee, precious one;
And now to some sweet lonely spot,
Some shady dell or mossy grot,
Come let us hasten, you and me,
And I will eat you like a shot;
Oh! penny bun, I love but thee.
Envoy.
Small boys or girls that homeward trot
From school in time for early tea,
This moral ne’er must be forgot:
“Love penny buns, and they’ll love thee.”
“Isn’t it affecting?” he inquired, wiping his eyes when he had finished.
“Well, perhaps I didn’t quite appreciate the pathos of it as I might have done,” I answered, trying hard not to laugh. “You see I was paying so much attention to the scansion. I find that you have altered the refrain in the Envoy. Surely that’s not correct, is it?”
“Oh, you are a great deal too particular,” remarked the Rhymester crossly. “Why, I should think from the Doctor-in-Law’s description of a critic that you must be one.”
“What did he say a critic was?” I asked.
“Why, he said a critic was a person who found fault with another, for not doing what he was unable to do himself. And he charged me fourpence three-farthings for the information, and as I only had fourpence halfpenny I have to pay him the odd farthing when I sell some of my poems. Can you tell me how I can set to work about it?”
“Well, I hardly know,” I replied, “unless you send them to the editors of the various magazines. They may take them, but you must not be disappointed if some of them are rejected. You see they cannot possibly print everything that is sent to them.”
There were several magazines in the study, and I suggested that the Rhymester should make a list of the addresses of the various editors, and he was busy about that till luncheon time.
At half-past two the carriage came to the door, and goodness only knows what General Mary Jane must have told the livery stable people about the Wallypug, for, evidently anxious to send an equipage worthy of royalty, they had painted an enormous monogram in gold on the sides of the carriage, while the coachman was resplendent in blue plush and gold lace, with silk stockings and a powdered wig.
“equipageous grandiosity”
The Wallypug was delighted when he saw this elaborate turn-out, and so were the others, for I overheard One-and-Nine murmuring something about “equipageous grandiosity,” as he climbed up to the seat beside the coachman. When the Wallypug, the Doctor-in-Law, A. Fish, Esq., and the Rhymester, were seated, there was no room left for the boy and myself, so we followed behind in a modest dog-cart, which was hurriedly procured from the livery stable. Many were the wondering glances bestowed upon the carriage, with its somewhat remarkable burden, as we drove along through Kensington to the Gardens. And everywhere our appearance was hailed with enthusiasm, people being evidently under the impression that the Wallypug was one of the royal guests invited to the Jubilee festivities. Who could he be? That was decidedly the question which everyone was asking, and I could not quite determine who was causing the greater sensation, the Wallypug or A. Fish, Esq. These two individuals, however, comported themselves with the calmest dignity, only the Doctor-in-Law seemed flurried by the attention which they attracted, and smiled and bowed right and left, whether the people took any notice of him or not.
As we approached Hyde-Park corner attention was diverted from the Wallypug’s carriage by the fact that another royal equipage had entered the Park gates; and as the Princess passed us, an amused glance and a whispered conversation with the other occupant of the carriage showed that the Wallypug’s extraordinary party had not escaped Her Royal Highness’s attention.
After going once round the Park we went out at the Marble Arch and along Oxford Street to Holborn, our progress through the crowded streets everywhere attracting the most excited interest. And when we stopped before one of the large bicycle depôts in Holborn the crowd around the carriage was so large that the policeman had quite a difficulty in preventing a block in the traffic. Our business was soon transacted, and, having secured an excellent machine for the boy in place of the one which his Majesty had damaged in the morning, we drove back to Kensington without further adventure.
The Wallypug’s curiosity, however, was so awakened by what he had seen that, as soon as we had been refreshed by a cup of afternoon tea, he suggested that we should go out for a walk; accordingly the whole party proceeded to Kensington Gardens, followed by a curious and somewhat derisive crowd of small boys, who would insist upon advising the Wallypug to “get his hair cut.” Now, I happened to know, from what Girlie had told me about her adventures in Why, that the Wallypug, though a kind of king, had to do as his people directed and not as he liked, and that when he had presented a petition in Parliament to be allowed to have his hair cut, they had divided upon the subject, and so he had only been allowed to have half of it cut, and as the long half had by this time grown very long indeed, he certainly did look rather remarkable; that was no excuse though for the street boys’ rudeness, and his Majesty very wisely took no notice of them. A. Fish, Esq., came in for the greatest amount of attention, and when a few drops of rain began to fall, and he put up an umbrella for fear that he should get wet, the crowd became so excited that the Doctor-in-Law wisely suggested that a return should be made. His Majesty, however, was bent upon sight-seeing, and so the party separated, the Doctor-in-Law, A. Fish, Esq., and One-and-Nine going home, while the rest of us continued our walk. When we reached the Gardens, the Wallypug was greatly interested in seeing the palace where the Queen was born, and said that he should certainly petition his Parliament to allow him to have soldiers walk up and down before the gates of his palace, like those which he saw here. He admired greatly Princess Louise’s statue of the Queen, which stands in front of the palace, and said he couldn’t imagine where-ever they could have got all the white sugar from to make it with, and I think that he was inclined to disbelieve me when I told him that it was not made of sugar at all, but of white marble; for he said that if that were the case he couldn’t think why they wanted to put such high railings around it, as no one would wish to carry away a marble statue of that size, whereas, if it were sugar, as he suggested, why, of course, the railings were there to prevent the children from climbing up and breaking off little pieces to eat.
for fear he should get wet
The Round Pond and the little model ships interested His Majesty most of all though, I fancy, and he spent quite a long time admiring them, until, while assisting a small boy to get his ship ashore, he had the misfortune to slip into the water himself, and had to be fished out with the assistance of a boathook.
His Majesty certainly did not look either dignified or regal as he stood on the bank saturated with water, and his royal robes clinging about him in the most woe-begone manner—and as the crowd had greatly increased, I was very glad to get the poor Wallypug into a cab and drive home.
his majesty has an accident
On our way there, the Rhymester, being very much afraid of getting his clothes wet, sat in the furthest corner of the cab and amused himself by writing a verse on the subject of his Majesty’s misfortune, which read somehow like this:
“King George I’ve heard is King of Greece,
But since this luckless slipping,
The Wallypug I do declare
Should be the King of Dripping.”
I think his Majesty thought it rather unkind of the Rhymester to make fun of him in this way, but before he had time to think much about the matter, we had arrived at our destination, and to my great surprise I could see a vast crowd collected at the doors of the building in which my flat is situated.
CHAPTER III
SUNDRY SMALL HAPPENINGS
Whatever could it all mean? The Doctor-in-Law stood on the steps, calling out, “Walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and see the Talking Fish,” while large posters were pasted on the walls, bearing the words, “Admission Sixpence” and “One day only.”
The Commissionaire who usually stands at the door was looking very surprised and angry, while the page boy was grinning all over his face. Whatever was happening? I hastily paid the cabman, and followed by the Wallypug made my way through the crowd to the entrance.
“Admission sixpence each,” said the Doctor-in-Law, holding out his hand.
“walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen”
“What do you mean?” I replied, “and what is all this crowd doing here?”
“Admission sixpence each!” repeated the Doctor-in-Law stubbornly, not taking the least notice of my questions, and holding his wand across the doorway so that I could not get in.
“Nonsense!” I cried; “I’m not going to pay to go into my own house.”
“Pay for the Wallypug then and I’ll let you in free,” said the little man insinuatingly.
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” I cried, pushing past him and hurrying up the stairs.
To my surprise I found my rooms occupied by strangers. Sergeant One-and-Nine was reciting some of the Rhymester’s poems in the dining room to three deaf old ladies, two of whom had ear trumpets, while A. Fish, Esq., was holding a kind of levée in my study, seated in a chair placed on the writing table, and was surrounded by an admiring crowd of people who were asking all sorts of questions.
Mrs. Putchy met me at the door.
“Oh, sir!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’ve come home. I haven’t known what to do with all these people.”
“But what does it all mean, Putchy?” I inquired. “What are they doing here at all?”
“Why, you see, sir!” said Mrs. Putchy, “Mr. Doctor-in-Law found that A. Fish, Esq., was attracting a good deal of attention out of doors, and he thought that it would be a capital idea to have a kind of show here and charge sixpence admission to see him; and if there’s been one, I’m sure there’s been a hundred people up here this afternoon. The remarks they’ve been making too, and the questions they’ve been asking. Why, one old lady, sir, wanted to know how much you paid A. Fish, Esq., a week, and if I was quite sure that you gave him enough to eat. They’ve broken three chairs too, and that little Venetian glass vase that stood on the bracket in the corner. And just now I caught some little boys tearing pictures out of one of those illustrated books you brought home last week.”
Here was a pretty state of affairs. The strangers had by this time left A. Fish, Esq., and had collected around the poor Wallypug, who had been waiting in his wet clothing in the hall, and I was obliged to politely but firmly insist upon them at once leaving the house, telling them that their money would be returned at the door.
“I should think so, indeed,” said one angry-looking stout lady. “Why, the whole thing is a fraud and you ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself. Talking fish indeed! I don’t believe he’s a fish at all—at any rate, not what I call a ‘fish,’” and she flounced down the stairs only to return a moment or two afterwards to say, “I thought you said that we were to have our money back.”
“So you are, madam,” I replied.
“Well, why don’t you see that we get it then? That man downstairs refuses to give me any money. The whole thing is a swindle. But I don’t mean to be defrauded in this way, I can tell you.”
I went downstairs and told the Doctor-in-Law that he must at once return everyone their money, and this after a great deal of grumbling he did, while the Commissionaire and the page boy tore down the posters outside the door at my request.
I explained to the Doctor-in-Law that this sort of thing must not occur again, and made him promise that he would never again use my rooms as a place in which to hold a show.
I really felt rather annoyed about it, for I could not imagine whatever the neighbours would think of me for permitting such a scene to take place in my rooms, but it evidently was useless now to say anything more about it.
The next morning, despite the wetting which the Wallypug had received at the Round Pond, his thoughts still ran upon boating, and nothing would satisfy his Majesty but that he should go for a row. I suggested Richmond as the best place to start from, and so we drove over Hammersmith Bridge and across Barnes Common.
Arrived at Richmond we had no difficulty in securing a nice boat.
“I’ll row for one,” said his Majesty.
“And I for another,” said the Rhymester.
“Very well then,” I replied. “Perhaps the Doctor-in-Law will steer, and so we will manage very nicely.”
Quite a large crowd had collected to see us start, and perhaps that is what made the Wallypug so nervous; as it was, as soon as we pushed off, his Majesty fell backwards with his feet sticking up above the seat, while the Rhymester stuck one oar deep down into the water and pulled it with all his might, while the other flourished about in the air.
his majesty fell backwards
The Doctor-in-Law’s idea of steering consisted in pulling first one string and then the other, and so we did not get along very well just at first.
When the Wallypug had picked himself up from the bottom of the boat, however, and the Rhymester and he made another attempt, I think we should have got along fairly well if the Doctor-in-Law, in trying to get out of the way of a passing boat, had not steered us into the bank, where we stuck fast in the mud till someone on the footpath very kindly pushed us off again. After that I thought it best to take the oars myself, and his Majesty steered under my direction. In this way we managed to get a little way past Teddington Lock by luncheon time, and having found an eyot with no one on it we went ashore and unpacked the hamper of good things which we had brought with us.
It was a beautiful day, and I think that we all enjoyed the picnic immensely. I know that I did for one, and so, I think, did his Majesty, for after the meal he laid aside his crown and royal robes and made himself comfortable on the grass under the trees, and looked thoroughly happy with a big cigar in his mouth.
his majesty enjoys himself
A. Fish, Esq., busied himself in preparing notes for his lecture on the “Perhapness of the Improbable,” and the Doctor-in-Law, having piled all the cushions in the boat at one end, threw himself upon them and read the newspaper.
In this way the afternoon passed very comfortably, and the Rhymester, after scribbling upon several pieces of paper, came and read to me a poem which had been inspired by our beautiful surroundings; he called it
The water’s as wet as wet can be,
And the trees, and the grass, are green,
While the little birds sing and the fishes swim;
’Tis a most delightful scene.
It makes me yearn for I don’t know what,
To come from I don’t know where,
And take me away to the thingummybob
And the what-you-may-call-’ems there;
and he told me that beautiful scenery always affected him in that way.
an unfortunate volley
It was now time for us to be thinking about getting back, especially as I should have to do all of the rowing. So we got into the boat again, and I rowed back as far as Twickenham, where we stopped at Eel-pie Island to have some tea. While we were waiting for it to be prepared, we began a game of tennis, but were obliged to leave off, as an unfortunate volley of the Doctor-in-Law’s caught the Wallypug on the nose, and so his Majesty declined to play any more.
We persuaded him to join us at cricket, though, having found some stumps and a bat and ball in an outhouse on the Island, and got on very well for some time till, at a shout of “out, leg before wicket,” the Wallypug (who had caught the ball very nicely on his shin) fell forward on to the Doctor-in-Law, crushing his hat well over his eyes, and ruffling his temper considerably.
“out”
In fact, I was very glad that tea was announced just then, for I feared that there was going to be a bother, and, as it was, the Doctor-in-Law kept scowling at his Majesty very fiercely.
“I shall make him pay for it,” declared the little man, and, during tea, which we had at wicker tables by the river’s edge, he was busy making out an account, which later he handed with great solemnity to the Wallypug. His Majesty apparently could not understand it, and passed it on to me. On examination, I found it to be worded as follows:
His Majesty the Wallypug of Why,
In account with
The Doctor-in-Law.
To damage of one hat, £0 7 6
” Physical injury, 0 2 0
” Moral deterioration, 15 6 9
————
£22 17 8
” 3 per cent. discount for cash, 3 6 2
————
£26 4 11
————
“What do you mean by moral deterioration?” demanded the Wallypug.
“Oh, I don’t know. Same as other people do, I suppose,” said the Doctor-in-Law. “It’s always charged now, I believe. I read something about it in the papers this afternoon.”
“But the addition is all wrong,” I expostulated.
“No, it isn’t,” replied the Doctor-in-Law, rudely snatching the document from me and putting it into his pocket-book, “and if it is, it’s nothing to do with you. I shall charge it in our expenses, which the people of Why have undertaken to pay, so there.” And the avaricious little fellow ran off to the boat, which we afterwards found he had been letting out on hire to small boys at a penny a head.
The return journey was accomplished without any remarkable incidents, and on reaching home I found a very pressing invitation from Girlie’s mother for the whole party to attend her “At Home” the next day.
It appears that this lady had called upon me while we were out, and Mrs. Putchy had told her of the Wallypug’s arrival.
His Majesty was good enough to say that he should be delighted to accept, and so I wrote off at once to say that she might expect us.
CHAPTER IV
LOST
We had a terrible fright the next morning, for the poor dear Wallypug got lost, and for some time we could not imagine what had become of him.
It happened in this way: directly after breakfast his Majesty said that he should like to go for a walk and look at the shops.
“I’m not going,” declared the Doctor-in-Law. “I have some very important letters to write.”
We all looked up in surprise, for we did not know that the Doctor-in-Law had any other acquaintances in London.
“Letters from which I hope to derive a princely income,” continued the little man grandly; “and, therefore, I have no time for such foolishness as looking into shop windows.”
“He’s afraid thad he bight have to sped sub buddy,” remarked A. Fish, Esq.
“Nothing of the sort,” replied the Doctor-in-Law, turning very red though.
“Well, don’t waste time talking about it; let’s go if we are going,” said the Rhymester; and so, as I also had some correspondence to attend to, it was arranged that the Wallypug, the Rhymester, and A. Fish, Esq., should go for a little stroll by themselves. I had some doubts in my own mind as to the advisability of letting them go alone, but they promised not to go beyond Kensington Gardens, and to wait for me there just inside the gates.
After they had gone I settled down to my letter-writing, and was getting along nicely when the Doctor-in-Law interrupted me with:
“I say, I wish you would let me have about twenty sheets of note-paper, will you, please?”
“Twenty!” I exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes, twenty,” said the Doctor-in-Law. “Or you had better make it a quire while you are about it.”
I thought the quickest way to get rid of him was to give him the paper, so I got up and got it for him.
“And a packet of envelopes, please,” he said, as I handed it to him.
“Anything else?” I asked rather sarcastically.
“Stamps!” he replied, calmly holding out his hand.
“Well, really—” I expostulated.
“Oh, halfpenny ones will do. You’re surely not so mean as to mind tenpence, are you?”
“I don’t think I’m mean, but—”
“Hand them over then, and don’t waste so much time talking,” said the little man impatiently, and so, just to get rid of him, I gave him the stamps and sat down to my letters again.
I had hardly begun when he came back.
“Don’t you take any other newspapers than these?” he demanded, showing me a handful.
“No, I don’t, and I think it’s rather extravagant of me to have those,” I replied.
“Well, then, how do you suppose that I am going to manage? I want at least five other papers, and it’s most important that I should have them.”
“You might buy them,” I suggested.
“They are so dear,” he grumbled.
“Well, why don’t you go to the Public Library then?” I suggested. “You know where it is, and you could see all of the papers there, you know.”
“Ah, a capital idea,” he said, putting on his hat and going out.
“Now,” I thought, “I shall have peace at last.”
I was not left undisturbed long though, for a few minutes later Mrs. Putchy came to the door.
“Oh, please, sir, will you go down? Mr. Doctor-in-Law is having such a bother with the postman.”
I hurried out, and found the little man very angry indeed.
“This postman won’t give me a letter,” he cried when he saw me.
“Perhaps he hasn’t one for you,” I answered.
“But I saw him giving them away all down the street for nothing,” persisted the Doctor-in-Law. “And when I asked him in a civil way for one, he refused to give it to me. It’s no use for him to say he hasn’t one, when he has a whole packet in his hand now, and a lot more in his bag, no doubt. Are you going to give me a letter or not?” he continued, turning to the postman.