“ ‘Were I to swallow this,’ he said,
‘I should be very ill!’ ”
IX
A Jester and a Bear
Yes, we were in the garden once more: and, to escape that horrid discordant voice, we hurried indoors, and found ourselves in the library—Uggug blubbering, the Professor standing by with a bewildered air, and my Lady, with her arms clasped round her son’s neck, repeating, over and over again, “and did they give him nasty lessons to learn? My own pretty pet!”
“What’s all this noise about?” the Vice-Warden angrily enquired, as he strode into the room. “And who put the hatstand here?” And he hung his hat up on Bruno, who was standing in the middle of the room, too much astonished by the sudden change of scene to make any attempt at removing it, though it came down to his shoulders, making him look something like a small candle with a large extinguisher over it.
The Professor mildly explained that His Highness had been graciously pleased to say he wouldn’t do his lessons.
“Do your lessons this instant, you young cub!” thundered the Vice-Warden. “And take this!” and a resounding box on the ear made the unfortunate Professor reel across the room.
“Save me!” faltered the poor old man, as he sank, half-fainting, at my Lady’s feet.
“Shave you? Of course I will!” my Lady replied, as she lifted him into a chair, and pinned an antimacassar round his neck. “Where’s the razor?”
The Vice-Warden meanwhile had got hold of Uggug, and was belabouring him with his umbrella. “Who left this loose nail in the floor?” he shouted. “Hammer it in, I say! Hammer it in!” Blow after blow fell on the writhing Uggug, till he dropped howling to the floor.
Then his father turned to the “shaving” scene which was being enacted, and roared with laughter. “Excuse me, dear, I can’t help it!” he said as soon as he could speak. “You are such an utter donkey! Kiss me, Tabby!”
And he flung his arms round the neck of the terrified Professor, who raised a wild shriek, but whether he received the threatened kiss or not I was unable to see, as Bruno, who had by this time released himself from his extinguisher, rushed headlong out of the room, followed by Sylvie; and I was so fearful of being left alone among all these crazy creatures that I hurried after them.
“We must go to Father!” Sylvie panted, as they ran down the garden. “I’m sure things are at their worst! I’ll ask the Gardener to let us out again.”
“But we can’t walk all the way!” Bruno whimpered. “How I wiss we had a coach-and-four, like Uncle!”
And, shrill and wild, rang through the air the familiar voice:—
“He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
‘Poor thing,’ he said, ‘poor silly thing!
It’s waiting to be fed!’ ”
“No, I can’t let you out again!” he said, before the children could speak. “The Vice-Warden gave it me, he did, for letting you out last time! So be off with you!” And, turning away from them, he began digging frantically in the middle of a gravel-walk, singing, over and over again,
“ ‘Poor thing,’ he said, ‘poor silly thing!
It’s waiting to be fed!’ ”
but in a more musical tone than the shrill screech in which he had begun.
The music grew fuller and richer at every moment: other manly voices joined in the refrain: and soon I heard the heavy thud that told me the boat had touched the beach, and the harsh grating of the shingle as the men dragged it up. I roused myself, and, after lending them a hand in hauling up their boat, I lingered yet awhile to watch them disembark a goodly assortment of the hard-won “treasures of the deep.”
When at last I reached our lodgings I was tired and sleepy, and glad enough to settle down again into the easy-chair, while Arthur hospitably went to his cupboard, to get me out some cake and wine, without which, he declared, he could not, as a doctor, permit my going to bed.
And how that cupboard-door did creak! It surely could not be Arthur, who was opening and shutting it so often, moving so restlessly about, and muttering like the soliloquy of a tragedy-queen!
No, it was a female voice. Also the figure—half-hidden by the cupboard-door—was a female figure, massive, and in flowing robes. Could it be the landlady? The door opened, and a strange man entered the room.
“What is that donkey doing?” he said to himself, pausing, aghast, on the threshold.
The lady, thus rudely referred to, was his wife. She had got one of the cupboards open, and stood with her back to him, smoothing down a sheet of brown paper on one of the shelves, and whispering to herself “So, so! Deftly done! Craftily contrived!”
Her loving husband stole behind her on tiptoe, and tapped her on the head. “Boh!” he playfully shouted at her ear. “Never tell me again I can’t say ‘boh’ to a goose!”
My Lady wrung her hands. “Discovered!” she groaned. “Yet no—he is one of us! Reveal it not, oh Man! Let it bide its time!”
“Reveal what not?” her husband testily replied, dragging out the sheet of brown paper. “What are you hiding here, my Lady? I insist upon knowing!”
My Lady cast down her eyes, and spoke in the littlest of little voices. “Don’t make fun of it, Benjamin!” she pleaded. “It’s—it’s—don’t you understand? It’s a dagger!”
“And what’s that for?” sneered His Excellency. “We’ve only got to make people think he’s dead! We haven’t got to kill him! And made of tin, too!” he snarled, contemptuously bending the blade round his thumb. “Now, Madam, you’ll be good enough to explain. First, what do you call me Benjamin for?”
“It’s part of the Conspiracy, Love! One must have an alias, you know—”
“Oh, an alias, is it? Well! And next, what
