Loe raamatut: «Adventures in Wallypug-Land», lehekülg 5

CHAPTER XII

BACK AGAIN AT WHY

Kis-smee was overjoyed to get out of the train, and eagerly strained at the chain which his Majesty had affixed to his collar, in his endeavor to get through the barrier.

The porter, however, who pretended not to know us, demanded our tickets.

“It’s all right,” said his Majesty, smilingly. “I’m the Wallypug, you know.”

“Nonsense,” said the porter. “The Wallypug was ugly enough, goodness knows, but he hadn’t a blue face like you; besides, Wallypug or no Wallypug, you don’t get through here without a ticket, I can tell you.”

Here was a pretty pickle. We had not thought in the least about tickets, and in fact had no idea that any would be required.

“I certainly shan’t let you pass the barrier without,” said the porter, in answer to our explanations.

“But what are we to do?” asked the Wallypug. “Can’t we pay at this end?”

“Certainly not. My instructions are to demand a ticket of every one passing this barrier, and unless you give me one you cannot go through.”

“But I tell you we haven’t any. Can’t you tell us what to do?”

“Go back for them, I should say,” said the porter, yawning unconcernedly. “Now then, one thing or another. Are you going to give me the tickets or not?”

“How can we give them to you if we haven’t any?” demanded the Wallypug. The porter slammed the door to impatiently, and went a little way up the platform, turning around to call out warningly, “If we find any suspicious-looking characters hanging about the station premises we shoot them.”

“What nonsense!” cried the Wallypug, rattling and kicking the gate. “We can’t stop here all day. Let’s call the station-master. Hi! hi! station-master!” he shouted.

No one answered for a few minutes, but eventually a door some little distance up the platform opened, and the old station-master made his appearance, puffing and blowing, and followed by the porter, carrying a huge blunderbuss.

“Now then, what’s all this noise about?” he demanded.

“We want to get out, if you please,” said the Wallypug.

“Where are your tickets,” demanded the station-master.

“We are very sorry,” I began in explanation.

“Hold your tongue, and speak when you are spoken to,” interrupted the station-master.

“Where are your tickets?”

“They haven’t any,” explained the porter officiously. “They are trying to defraud the company.”

“H’m, funny-looking lot of people, too,” remarked the station-master. “Who are they, do you know?”

“That,” said the porter, pointing to his Majesty, “says he is the Wallypug.”

“What! that color!” objected the station-master. “The Wallypug! Indeed, what nonsense!”

“But, indeed, I am the Wallypug,” declared his Majesty, “and we turned this color after we drank the tea, you know.”

“Turned blue through drinking tea!” said the station-master incredulously.

“Ha! ha! a likely story,” laughed the porter derisively.

“Perhaps it will wear off in time,” said the Wallypug, “like being sunburnt does.”

“Very well then, you had better stop here till it does,” said the station-master. “Look here!” he cried, turning to the porter, “you stop here at the barrier, and don’t let them through until they have turned a respectable color, and you can recognize them.”

“But it may take weeks,” began his Majesty.

“Hold your tongue!” said the station-master sharply. “If you have any nonsense with them, shoot them,” he added to the porter, depositing the blunderbuss beside the barrier, and going back to the other end of the platform.

Whatever we should have done I cannot think, if just at that moment the porter’s wife had not put her head out of the signal-box and called to him to “come in at once and mind the baby,” while she “did a little shopping.”

“But he’s on duty, ma’am,” expostulated the station-master.

“I don’t care anything about that; you come in at once, Bill,” shouted the woman, and the porter meekly left the barrier and disappeared within the signal-box.

Of course we all rushed through the gate at once, and the station-master catching sight of Kis-Smee, who had meanwhile slipped his chain, fled up the platform in dismay.

Kis-Smee, evidently thinking him fair game, started off in pursuit, and it was not till the station-master had bolted into his office and locked the door that we could get him to come back to our call.

So soon as we got into the street we met the Turtle and the Pelican, walking arm-in-arm, and each smoking a cigarette.

“Hullo, Wallypug!” exclaimed the Pelican. “Why, we thought you were at Wei-hai-wei.”

“Wer-har-wei, you mean,” laughed his Majesty.

“It’s all the same,” announced the Pelican. “Well, how have you been getting on?”

His Majesty explained as briefly as possible the adventures we had passed through, and then inquired how affairs were progressing at Why.

“Oh, not very well, I’m afraid,” said the Pelican. “You see, there has been no one to take the lead since you’ve been away. We tried a Republican form of government, and elected Oom-Hi as president, but he became so extravagant – wanted a new top-hat every day, and insisted on a gilded coach to ride in; and at last we caught him tampering with the public funds, so we had to dismiss him. Have you heard about Broncho?”

“No,” said his Majesty.

“Well, it didn’t answer as a cough mixture, so Oom-Hi turned it into a patent meat extract, and called it Vimbril, and it killed ever so many people.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the Wallypug, anxiously. “Any one I know?”

“Madame and a few other folk,” was the reply; “and the Doctor-in-Law is not expected to recover.”

“Good gracious! Why, we thought them at the other end of the world. However did they get back to Why again?”

“Oh, they sent us a cablegram when they got to China, and we let down an enormously long rope and pulled them up the shute again, you know. But it was a very long journey, and they had nothing to eat on the way. So as soon as we hauled them up we gave them each a large dose of Vimbril. Madame expired at once,” he added, with a sob.

The tears were streaming down the Turtle’s nose as he sympathetically joined in the Pelican’s weeping.

“What about the Doctor-in-Law?” inquired his Majesty, solicitously.

“Oh, he has a very strong constitution, you know, and he may pull through. We’ve got him back at the palace in his old quarters.”

“Poor fellow! Poor fellow!” said the Wallypug, sympathetically. “Let’s go and see what we can do for him.”

I thought this very kind of his Majesty, considering all he had suffered through the Doctor-in-Law’s ingratitude; but the good-hearted little fellow was full of sympathy, and hurried towards the palace with all speed.

CHAPTER XIII

A NEW STATE OF AFFAIRS

“Oh my! Good gracious me!” exclaimed a voice as we approached the entrance to the palace and looking up we beheld the Cockatoo perched on a window-sill. “Just look at these creatures. What a color. Why, why,” she exclaimed, peering at us closely, “I’m bothered if it isn’t the Wallypug and the Hatless Man, and the great Mr. A. Fish, Esq. Where have you been? What did you come back for? What do you want?” she screamed.

“It’s dud of your busidess,” replied A. Fish, Esq., shortly.

“Oh! isn’t it,” said the Cockatoo furiously. “I’ll soon show you whether it’s none of my business or not. To begin with, the Wallypug and the headless traitor” —

“Do you mean me?” I interrupted, “because I am not headless yet, you know.”

“Headless, or hatless, it’s all the same,” said the Cockatoo, “you might as well run about without your head for all the good it is to you,” she added insolently. “Well you two are escaped prisoners,” she ran on, “and I shall see that you are locked up again, so there.”

“But it was all a mistake,” said His Majesty mildly.

“What was?” yelled the bird.

“What I said about a ’horse a horse, my kingdom for a horse!’ you know,” said the Wallypug.

“Why don’t you say what you mean then?” cried the Cockatoo. “Well, I shall have you locked up anyhow. Here, Crocodile,” she shouted, “just come and arrest these creatures will you?”

“Shan’t!” replied a voice from within; “who are you ordering about. If you want them arrested, do it yourself. I’m not going to do as you tell me, so there! besides, all the prisoners have been set free that Madame sentenced, you know that well enough?”

“Yah! Down with him, down with Crocodiles; down with pale-blue Wallypugs and hatless men; down with fishes of all sorts. Down with everybody and everything; down with – .”

We did not stop to hear any more of her ravings, but passed through and up into the Doctor-in-Law’s old rooms.

We found him looking very weak and ill, but he recognized us all, and held out his hand to the Wallypug, who told him encouragingly that he would soon be well again.

“Yes, ad thed I’ll teach you elocutiod for dothig,” promised A. Fish, Esq.

The Doctor-in-Law smiled faintly, and whispered that what was keeping him back most was the thought of the heavy doctor’s bill which he would have to pay when he got better.

The good-natured little Wallypug made him very happy by promising to pay this amount for him, and we left the little man looking very much brighter than when we entered.

The rest of the morning was spent in his Majesty’s private apartments, discussing all sorts of plans for the future, for, as the Wallypug very properly remarked, now that the Mother-in-Law had gone he should have a freer hand in the administration of affairs.

A. Fish, Esq., busied himself in preparing an elaborate lecture, which he said he would deliver in public on the morrow, on the “Unreasonableness of Misunderstandability,” and which would, he hoped, clearly explain away the mistake which had been made, in accusing his Majesty of treason, in connection with his unfortunate recitation of “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!”

While we were thus busily engaged there came an impatient tap-tap-tapping at the door, and on opening it we beheld the Crow looking more disreputably untidy than ever. He carried a large bundle of papers and a quill pen. “Ahem!” he began importantly, “I call on behalf of the Daily Whyer a new paper which I have just established, and which I am happy to say has already an enormous circulation in Why. It is very cheap (four copies for a penny), and contains an enormous amount of totally unreliable information; besides which there is a page devoted to domestic matters, highly interesting to ladies, and includes receipts for artistically furnishing your house with old tea chests and soap boxes, painted with enamel and draped with art muslin; there are also several poems weekly on the subject of ‘Baby’s Little Socks,’ which are immensely popular with some people, here is one of them,” he cried, turning to the back page of his paper, a copy of which he had with him.

 
“Oh! the baby’s little socks,
Darling baby’s little socks;
When the kettle’s softly steaming,
When the firelight’s glow is gleaming,
And I’m sitting idly dreaming,
Whisper gently, ‘baby’s socks.’
 
 
“Oh the darling little socks;
Baby’s baby’s little socks;
Toys that baby fingers scatter,
Little feet that pitter-patter,
Tittle tongues – but there – no matter,
Let’s get back to baby’s socks.”
 

“There,” he concluded triumphantly, “what do you think of that?”

“Well, I don’t wish to be rude,” I remarked, “but I certainly think it’s the greatest rubbish I’ve ever heard in all my life.”

“Rubbish!” he exclaimed, “Why all the ladies who read the Daily Whyer think it beautiful. I have to get the same gentleman to write verses like that nearly every day.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” I replied, “that a man writes such twaddle as that.”

“Oh! you’re jealous, that’s what’s the matter with you. A man write them? of course he does.”

“And do you pay him for these precious contributions,” I exclaimed in surprise.

“I promise to pay him ever so much a year,” said the Crow, “but – er – ahem – I have a very bad memory. I have several contributors whom I pay on the same system, it’s a very cheap way,” he sniffled. “I’ve copied it from a contemporary.”

“Well, we’re very busy just dow,” said A. Fish, Esq., “would you bind telling us your busidess ad goig, because we wandt to ged to work agaid.”

“Oh! to tell you the truth,” said the Crow, “I wanted to know if the Wallypug would let me print an interview with him in to-morrow’s paper. You have just returned from Wer-har-wei, I believe, haven’t you; I was sitting on the signal post at the station just now and saw you arrive. I think my readers would be very interested in hearing your impressions of the country.”

I took his Majesty aside and pointed out to him that very possibly an interview with him appearing in the paper would have a good effect on his people, and he could use it as a means of advertising the reforms he intended making in the government of the land; and his Majesty agreeing with me on the point, he seated himself comfortably in his own particular chair, and the Crow, perching on the back of another, the interview began.

“Let’s see,” said the Crow, making a great spluttering with his pen, which was cross-nibbed and broken. “When were you born?”

“Well, really,” said his Majesty, “I, er – was so young at the time that I scarcely remember.”

“Oh, well, I’ll put it down as Y. D. 987; that will do as well as any other date.”

“Why Y. D.?” I inquired, curiously.

“Year of disgrace,” was the prompt reply. “Bless me! this must be a Post Office pen,” he went on, as the pen scattered the ink about in all directions. “They are always bad, you know.” Then, having asked the Wallypug no end of questions, not only about our journey, but on all sorts of private matters also, the wretched-looking bird gathered up his papers, which were covered with unintelligible blots and scratches and scattered in all parts of the room, and, tucking them under his wing, departed, to have the matter set up in print.

CHAPTER XIV

“GOOD FOR THE COMPLEXION.”

The Crow had scarcely left the room when there was another knock, and without waiting for a reply the Cockatoo burst into the room in a fine fluster. She was followed by the Kangaroo and Oom Hi.

“Look at them! Look at them!” she blurted out, “did you ever see such objects in all your life. What a color!”

“Hm! Eggshell blue,” said the Kangaroo, examining the Wallypug critically. “Very extraordinary tint. Never seen a face that shade before.”

“The other one is worse,” declared the Cockatoo, pointing at me derisively. “I always knew he was something disreputable. I believe,” she added, sinking her voice into a hoarse whisper, “I believe he has let himself out as an advertisement for Stephen’s Blue-black Ink, or Ricket’s Paris Blue. What depravity. Down with him! Duck him in the pond! Scrub him with sandpaper! Boil him!” and so she went on.

“What’s all this bother about?” I exclaimed. “Don’t you see that his Majesty is engaged. If you don’t immediately go about your business I will have you put out of the room.”

“Oh! will you indeed,” exclaimed the Cockatoo excitedly, “I should like to see you attempt it. It strikes me that you are the one that will be put out. We can stand a good deal down here, but a hatless object with a blue face. Ough!”

“Here, come and do your duty,” she shouted, going to the door, and the two Crocodiles entered and caught hold of me roughly by the collar. “Bring them out into the courtyard,” shouted the infuriated bird, and before I could protest I was bundled unceremoniously out of the house by the Crocodiles, the Kangaroo and Oom Hi following with the Wallypug.

“Now then,” said the Cockatoo, stopping before a large tub of water which stood on the ground, “see what soap and water will do.”

The Kangaroo rummaged about and discovered a small hard piece of yellow soap, and Oom Hi brought forth a good sized sponge, and together they gave the poor little Wallypug such a scrubbing as I should think he had never had before in all his life.

“Ough! ough!” spluttered his Majesty. “You’re putting it all in my eyes. Oh, ach! do-o-on’t! Stop! I say, do leave off. Ough!”

The poor little fellow was nearly choked.

Oom Hi sponged the soap away and the Cockatoo stared critically at the poor Wallypug, who stood there with the water streaming from his face and the tips of his fingers.

“Hasn’t done the slightest good,” she declared; “better scrape him with a putty knife, I think.”

“Stop a minute!” said the Kangaroo, “I have it,” and he went up and whispered something in Oom Hi’s ear.

“Capital! capital! go and fetch a bottle,” cried Oom Hi, and the Kangaroo rushed off, returning a minute later with a large bottle marked Vimbril.

“Oh! don’t! don’t!” cried the poor Wallypug. “I’m not going to take any of that stuff. It killed the lady who called herself my Sister-in-Law you know, and it made the Doctor-in-Law ill. Take it away.”

“Of course you are not going to take any, Wallypug,” said Oom Hi soothingly, “but there will be no harm in trying the effect upon your complexion. It might make you the proper color again you know, and in that case I could alter the name and call it ‘Wallypug’s Blush,’ and advertise it well; no doubt it would be a great success. Put some on the sponge,” he continued, holding it out to the Kangaroo, who poured out some of the nasty looking stuff.

“No! no! don’t. Ough!” shuddered his Majesty, but despite his protests his face was well rubbed with the fluid.

“Worse than ever, he’s light brown now,” said the Cockatoo.

“Oh! wipe it off! wipe it off,” implored the Wallypug.

“No!” said Oom Hi, who seemed very greatly disappointed at the non-success of his experiment, “let it dry on.”

“We had better put him in the stocks,” he declared, “to prevent him from rubbing it off.” So the poor little Wallypug was led off to the stocks and securely fastened in, with his hands spread out to dry, and with strict injunctions not to move till he was told.

The last view that I had of his Majesty was of the poor little fellow, utterly worn out with his exertions, meekly sitting in the stocks and falling into an uneasy slumber, from which, however, he was frequently awakened by the bees and flies, which, attracted by the sticky stuff on his face and hands, flocked around him as though he were a pot of jam.

“We might keep this as a curiosity,” said the Cockatoo, turning her attention to me next. “Put in a cage with a large label, ‘Blue-faced and hatless man, Dangerous!’ he ought to be an attraction to our menagerie. I think that’s what we’ll do with him,” and despite my struggles and protests I was ignominiously marched off by the Crocodiles, who continued to make rude and personal remarks about my appearance all the way to the dungeon, where it appeared I was to spend my time till a cage could be prepared for me.

Of course I was terribly indignant at my treatment, but was absolutely powerless to prevent it And the only thing that I could do when the Crocodiles had left me alone, after a few parting jeers, was to consider the best way of effecting my escape.

I was pondering seriously upon this question, when suddenly I remembered the Gombobble with which the little blue people had presented me when I left Wer-har-wei. Taking it from my pocket I idly wondered if it were good to eat or not. It felt soft and looked something like a huge blue orange or a melon; getting out my penknife I plunged it in and cut the fruit open. Inside was a white juicy pulp which looked very tempting, so trusting to its being good to eat I took a bite.

It was delicious!

I took another bite, and then, happening to look at my hands, I discovered to my great delight that they were regaining their proper color.

“Come, this is better,” I cried, tackling a third piece; and then suddenly remembering the poor Wallypug, I carefully cut the Gombobble in half and put part of it aside for his Majesty, and was just about to eat another little piece myself, when, happening to look up, I caught sight of Mr. Nobody from Nowhere, squeezing through the bars of my dungeon window.

He was as smiling and happy as ever, and made me an elaborate bow with an elegant flourish, and then looked so very knowing that I felt sure that he had something important to communicate.