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MINKIE
BY LOUIS TRACY
Author of "_The Wings of the Morning_," "_The Pillar of Light_," "_The
Captain of the Kansas_," etc.
Toronto McLeod & Allen Publishers 1907
COPYRIGHT, 1907 BY EDWARD J. CLODE.
_Entered at Stationers' Hall_
_The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A._
Illustration: _Minkie_
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END 3
CHAPTER II
PRINCE JOHN'S STRANGE ALLY 41
CHAPTER III
THE WHITE MAN'S WAY 73
CHAPTER IV
THE BLACK MAN'S WAY 107
CHAPTER V
THE UNDOING OF SCHWARTZ 143
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Minkie" _Frontispiece_
PAGE
"Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?" 8
Minkie took the ivory doll from her pocket and surveyed it
seriously 69
But she stood there quite motionless 91
The Old Man read the typewritten letter which Schwartz gave him 114
My first call was at a jeweller's in Piccadilly 157
HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END
CHAPTER I
HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END
_Told by Bobby, the Horse_
Minkie says I ought to begin this story, because I am the biggest
and strongest. I don't see that at all, but she thinks I can't see
much, anyhow, owing to my silly habit of wearing blinkers, which is
just her irritating way of settling an argument--as if _I_ made the
harness. And she knows better, too. I have an eye stuck on each side
of my head to enable me to look nearly all round the circle; but that
clever individual, man, tries to improve on Providence by making me don
the rogue's badge. Well, it would make any horse laugh. You watch how
the clever individual came to grief when Minkie and her gang tackled
him. Yes, that is what they call us--her "gang"--although Dandy, the
fox-terrier, won't admit that Tibbie belongs to our crowd, and he
gets furious if one even mentions the Parrot. Perhaps he is prejudiced
against Tibbie--I have noticed that most dogs seldom have a good word
for a cat--but I do agree with him about that green idiot, Polly. Of
all the back-biting, screeching--Eh, what? Oh, don't worry, as I tell
Dan when he trots in to my place to look for a rat--you'll be in the
middle of a real up-to-date yarn in two buzzes of a gad-fly....
The fun started last Christmas Eve, when a small blue boy on a big red
bicycle came to our front door and tried to pull the bell out by the
roots after playing tricks with the knocker. Everybody thought it was
a parcel for herself. Dorothy sailed out of the drawing-room; Cookie
and Evangeline, our housemaid (Mam wanted to call her Mary, but she
threatened to give notice), rushed from the kitchen; even dearest Mam
dropped her sewing and wondered what the Guv'nor had sent her; but
Minkie tobogganed downstairs on a tray, and came in an easy first. Dan
was close up, as he simply hates every sort of postman; so Minkie
grabbed him with one hand and opened the door with the other.
And it was only a telegram.
When Mam opened it, she said "Good gracious!"
"What is it, mother?" inquired Dorothy.
But Minkie had read it over Mam's shoulder and it was just this:
"Schwartz arrived unexpectedly to-day. Have invited him to spend
Christmas and New Year with us. Send victoria meet 2.15. Tom."
Tom is the Old Man. His other name is Grosvenor. He isn't really old,
but Jim calls him the Old Man, or the Guv'nor, and we are all pretty
free and easy in the stable, you know.
"Good gracious!" said Mam again, "he will be here in half an hour.
Evangeline, run and tell James to drive to the station at once. Mr.
Grosvenor is bringing a friend home with him."
Now, it is to be observed, in the first place, that ladies are always
flustered by telegrams. The Old Man said nothing about "bringing"
Schwartz by the 2.15, and Mam knew quite well that he expected to be
detained at the office until the 5.30. Next, when two-legged people are
in a hurry, they put the rush on to their four-legged helpers. I was
just enjoying a nice wisp of hay when Jim banged in and rattled me into
my harness, while Mole, the gardener, who also cleans the knives and
boots, pulled the victoria out of the shed.
I was going through the gate in fine style when Minkie came flying.
"Don't stop," she said, and skipped inside.
Jim thought Mam had sent her, but Jim is always wrong when he imagines
anything about Minkie. The fact was, as she told me afterwards, she had
heard a lot of talk about this Schwartz, and she felt that it would be
good for all parties if she took his measure a few minutes ahead of
the rest of the family; so she jammed on a pirate cap and Dorothy's
fur coat, and slid across the lawn without any one's being the wiser,
except Dan, and he was sore with her on account of the escape of the
telegraph boy. He tried to take it out of Tibbie, but she nipped up a
tree, and the parrot, who was watching him head downwards through the
drawing-room window, yelled "Yah!" at him. That settled it. He came
after me and jumped up at my bit.
"Race you to the station," he said, pretending he hadn't seen Minkie.
"Right," said I; "but, to make a match of it, you ought to get Mole to
harness you to his little girl's toy pram."
This remark seemed to hurt his feelings, but I didn't know then about
the rat-tatling messenger boy. Anyhow, he met the doctor's poodle in
the village, so he joined us at the station in a good temper.
When the train arrived, it brought heaps of people. It always puzzles
me that folk should gorge more at Christmas time than any other. Every
man, woman, and child carried half-a-dozen parcels, and nearly every
parcel held something to eat. Some of the men hugged long narrow boxes,
which looked as if they contained wax candles, but which really held a
bottle of whisky. I know, because Jim....
"Mr. Grosvenor hasn't come, miss," said Jim, when the crowd thinned.
"Who said he was coming?" asked Minkie.
"Well, Evangeline thought--"
"Evangeline never thinks. The doctor has warned her against it. If ever
she tries to do anything of the kind the excitement will kill her.
No, Jim. Dad has told a Mr. Schwartz to come on by this train, and
make himself at home until he joins him later. Schwartz is German for
black. Most Germans are dumpy. But things often go by contraries. Our
green-grocer is named Brown, so Mr. Schwartz should be a tall thin man,
with straw hair and white eyebrows."
Nail my shoes, she wasn't far out of it. A humpbacked porter came along
with a couple of portmanteaux, followed by a heavy swell who was up to
specification except as to the color of his hair, which was chestnut.
"This is Mr. Grosvenor's carriage, sir," said the porter.
"Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?" said the newcomer,
grinning at Minkie.
Illustration: "Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?"
"Are you Mr. Schwartz?" she asked, and Dan inspected his calf, because
Minkie's tone told us she had taken a violent dislike to the visitor at
first sight.
"Yes," he smirked, being so busy looking at her that he paid no heed to
the porter, who was waiting for his tip.
"Well, if you give the porter a shilling I'll drive you to our place.
Mother is expecting you."
"Are you particular as to the exact amount?" he inquired, still
grinning. In fact, he was one of those silly men who believe that you
must laugh when you want to be amiable; so please imagine Mr. Schwartz
always guffawing--at least, not always, because he could scowl very
unpleasantly at times. Tickle my withers, we made him scowl all right
before we were through with him.
"No," said Minkie, giving the porter just one little look. "As it is
Christmas time, you might make it half a crown."
Schwartz got his hand down quick. Because he was a rich man, he thought
tuppence would be ample. He produced a florin, but Minkie spotted it.
"If you haven't another sixpence I can lend you one," she said sweetly,
and I saw Dan licking his lips when he heard her speak in that way.
"Don't trouble," said Schwartz, rather shortly, and he handed the
porter three shillings. That was another of his queer ways. He liked to
impress people, but cheaply. He wanted a girl of fourteen to realize
what a grand person he was, yet he was afraid she would spring him up
to a crown, or even half a sovereign, if he didn't make haste.
Then Minkie made room for him by her side, and Dan hopped in too.
"Is that dog yours?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"And does your father permit a beast with muddy paws to sit in his
carriage?"
"Not often," said Minkie, looking at his boots. "Dandy, you wicked imp,
get out at once."
Dan took a header into the roadway, and ran up alongside me, barking
for all he was worth.
"Tell you what, Bob," he cried, nearly choking himself with joy, "this
red-headed Jew is going to find trouble. He is sure to drop into the
stable to-morrow. I'll keep you posted in affairs inside the house,
and, when I give you the office, you'll let him have both heels in the
right place, eh?"
"I'll do my best," I coughed, and Jim wondered what was the matter, as
there are no flies about in winter-time.
Meanwhile, Minkie took Schwartz in hand, and my long ears were not
given me for amusement.
"We thought you were not coming until next week," she said, by way of
being polite.
"I finished some business in Paris sooner than I expected, and Mr.
Grosvenor was good enough to ask me to spend Christmas and New Year at
Dale End. I shall enjoy the visit immensely, I am sure. I have not had
a Christmas at home for many years."
"At home?" Minkie raised her large blue eyes so innocently. I knew
exactly how she looked, and I rattled my harness to tell her I was
listening.
"Yes; in England, I mean."
"Ah."
"Don't you call England 'home,' too?"
"Of course, but I live here."
"So do I."
"Sorry. I fancied you just said you had been in some other country for
a long time."
"Well, I'm a bit of a cosmopolitan, I admit. Do you know what a
cosmopolitan is?"
"It means anything but English."
Mr. Schwartz roared. "Gad!" he cried, "that is not so far wrong."
An old gentleman passed us in a mail phaeton, drawn by a pair of fat
cobs, your bellows-to-mend and step-short sort. They don't like me,
because I always make a point of giving them the dust in summer, so one
of them snorted, "Station hack!"
"Going to have a shave?" I asked, quite civilly, he being all of a
lather.
Minkie gave the old gentleman a smile and a bow. He was rather
surprised, which was reasonable enough, seeing that she usually sails
along without seeing anybody; but he got his hat off in good time.
"Who is that?" inquired Schwartz.
"Jack's uncle," said Minkie.
"Jack is a friend of yours, eh?"
"Um, yes, but he--perhaps I shouldn't say anything about it. Jack is
twenty-five, you see."
"Oh, is he?" Schwartz was not smiling now. It was easy to guess that
by his voice. "I suppose he is better acquainted with your sister than
with you?"
"Yes, heaps."
"What is his other name?"
"Percival Stanhope."
"Mr. John Percival Stanhope, in fact? Odd that I should not have heard
of him, if he is such a great friend of the family?"
"Dolly doesn't say much about him. He's in India, and India is such a
long way off."
"Jolly good job, too, or you would be frizzling to-day." Mr. Schwartz
was brightening up again.
"I think you are mistaken," said Minkie, quietly. "Jack says it is ever
so cold in the Punjab at Christmas-time."
"Does he write to you, then?" demanded Schwartz.
"No; that was in a letter to Dolly."
"A recent letter?"
"He was talking about Christmas two years ago. But please don't mention
him to her. We have no right to discuss her affairs, have we?"
"No, no; of course not. It was just by way of conversation, eh?"
"That is the cemetery," said Minkie, pointing to a low tree-lined wall
in the distance. "Some day, if you like, I shall take you there, and
show you his mother's grave."
"Thanks, but I am not fond of cemeteries, as a rule."
"Perhaps you would prefer to be cremated?"
"I haven't considered the matter."
"But you ought to. You are quite old, nearly forty, and I saw in a pill
advertisement the other day that forty is a dangerous age if your liver
is out of order."
"Here, young lady, not quite so fast, please. How do you know I am
forty, and why do you think I have a diseased liver?"
"It said so in the paper."
"The deuce it did."
"Yes; in one of those little spicy bits, telling you all about people,
you know. It said: 'Mr. Montague Schwartz is one of the Chosen People.'
You are Mr. Montague Schwartz, aren't you?"
"Go on, do."
"Oh, I remember every word '--one of the Chosen People--' that means
you are a Jew, doesn't it?"
"Of Jewish descent, certainly."
"Well, it went on: 'His rise has been meteoric. At twenty he quitted
the paternal fried fish shop in the Mile End Road, at thirty he was
running a saloon and other industries at Kimberley, and at forty he is
building a mansion in Mayfair.' There was a lot more, but now you see
how I knew your age."
"It is perfectly clear. There only remains the liver."
"I got that from the pill advertisement. There are several sure signs
of congestion, and you have all of them in your face and eyes. Shall I
show it to you? Those pills might cure you."
"Really, you are too kind for words. May I ask if your sister shares
your knowledge of my career and state of health?"
"Did I show her the paper, do you mean?"
"Yes."
"No, I had forgotten all about it, but if you would like her to see
it--"
"Look here, Miss Millicent, you are a sharp girl. Now, I'll
make a bargain with you. Find that paper, say no more about the
paragraph--which, I may tell you, is rank nonsense from start to
finish--and your Christmas box will be five sovereigns."
"Done," said Minkie, coolly. "And here we are at Dale End. Mile
End--Dale End. Funny, isn't it, how names run together that way
occasionally."
Before Jim led me around to the stable I heard Mam express her surprise
that Mr. Schwartz had come alone. She had expected her husband by the
same train. And she did not know Millicent had gone in the victoria.
How on earth did the child recognise Mr. Schwartz, as she had never
seen him?
"I rather fancy your younger daughter would pick me out in the Strand
if she were so minded," explained the visitor, cheerfully.
"I hope she did not bore you by her chatter," said dear, innocent Mam.
"Or perhaps she was in one of her silent moods?"
"No. We got along famously; didn't we, Millicent?"
"It was a nice drive," said Minkie, "not too cold, and the village is
quite gay."
"Well, I find the air rather chilly," said Mam. "Why are we all
standing here? Come into the drawing-room, Mr. Schwartz. Dorothy is
there, and we shall have tea brought a little earlier than usual.
Evangeline, tell James to take Mr. Schwartz's portmanteaux to the Blue
Room."
Of course, I should not have heard what happened next if Tibbie had
not looked in to see me that night. As a matter of fact, the gang does
not miss much in the way of gossip. One or other of us is always on
hand. And that parrot--though he is no friend of mine--is a terror for
picking up news. Jim hangs his cage on a tree opposite my door every
fine morning, and the things he tells me are surprising. He has hardly
a good word for anybody, but then, what a dull world it would be if we
only told the nice things about our friends. Why, we should all be dumb
soon.
Dan tried to sneak in behind Minkie, but Mam had her eye on him.
"I do believe that naughty Dandy has been in the wars again," she said.
"Millicent, did you see him fighting any other dog?"
"No, mother. He met the doctor's poodle, but there was no fight."
Minkie was always strictly accurate.
"What a wonder! Anyhow, he is muddy and wet. Ask cook to rub him over
with a damp cloth."
Tibbie, pretending to be asleep, twitched one ear as she saw Dan being
led off to the kitchen. "Gnar!" muttered Dan, who hates damp cloths,
"wait till I catch you in the garden!" Tibbie just smiled. I must say
that cats take life easily; they are given the best of everything, and
do nothing. A friend of mine, a regular old stager, who pulls near in
the Black Lion bus, tells me that Tibbie's method is the only way to
get on, and he sees a lot of different people at the inn, so he ought
to be a bit of a philosopher. "Make other people work for you," he
says. "That's the ticket; when they bring you chaff tell 'em you must
have oats, an' snap their heads off if they don't move quick enough.
Bless your hoof, they like it. You hear 'em say: 'There's blood for
you, a born aristocrat, he is,' an' they'll do any mortal thing you
want."
Well, Tibbie curled up like a hedgehog, and listened, because we
don't have many strangers at Dale End. The talk turned on Ostend--no,
it's as true as I'm standing on four legs, but the very first place
mentioned had an "end" in it--where the Old Man and Mam and Dorothy had
been in the summer. Minkie had measles, or something spotty, so she
was forbidden to travel, and we had a ripping July all to ourselves.
Eclipse wasn't in it; why, I had beer every day. They met Mr. Schwartz
at Ostend, it seems, and he took such a fancy to Dolly that he wanted
to marry her straight off. She wouldn't do that, even if Mam and the
Guv'nor were agreeable, but she had not heard from Jack for ages, and
Schwartz was really very attentive, besides being tremendously rich.
Now, we at Dale End find it difficult to pay the hay and corn bills,
so you see that a wealthy son-in-law would be what the sale catalogues
call "a desirable acquisition."
I have heard a lot of people in the village say that Dolly is so pretty
she ought to make a good match. When she did a skirt dance at the
Cottage Hospital Bazaar, the local paper spoke of her as "the beautiful
Miss Grosvenor." She pretended to be very angry about that, but Tibbie
says she bought a dozen papers and sent them to her girl friends, so
the rest of the report must have been suitable. I suppose she is all
right for a grownup. For my part, I prefer Minkie, who has a yellow
mane, and blue eyes, and freckles. She is as straight as a soldier, and
has small hands and feet, and the loveliest brown legs.... Eh, what?
Well, say stockings, then, but when I took first prize and the cup for
the best hackney in the show, everybody admired my legs; so why not
Minkie's?
Anyhow, by the time tea was served, Schwartz had further established
himself in Mam's good graces. He was a clever chap in his way, and he
could say the right thing to women occasionally, and he was wise enough
not to bother Dorothy too much, though Tibbie saw, out of the tail of
her eye, that the girl could not move from one side of the room to
the other without Schwartz's watching her approvingly. Tibbie knew by
his eyes that he was saying to himself: "She will look all right in
Brook-street."
Dan announced the postman while Dorothy was pouring out the tea, and
Minkie brought in a heap of letters, mostly Christmas cards. Minkie had
a baker's dozen to herself, and five of them were addressed to "Minkie
and her Gang"; each of the five contained pictures of a girl, a horse,
a dog, a cat, and a parrot. She soon made out by the postmark and the
handwriting who had sent every card, even though the names were not
given. One seemed to puzzle her at first, and she slipped it into her
pocket. The others were handed round, before Dorothy arranged them on
the mantel-piece with a number which had come by earlier deliveries,
and Mr. Schwartz admired them immensely.
"It is so interesting to come back to the old country and find these
pleasant customs in full swing," he said. "I have neither sent nor
received a Christmas card for years. I was telling Millicent on our way
from the station that, by chance, I have been out of England at this
season every year for ten years."
"You did not mention the exact period, Mr. Schwartz," said Minkie. "I
rather thought that ten years ago you were in Kimberley?"
"Oh, one speaks in round numbers. By the way, have you received a card
from your elderly friend--the man we met driving the pair?"
"Driving a pair. Who was that, Millie?" asked her mother.
"Mr. Stanhope, Jack's uncle."
Dorothy dropped a piece of toast, and Mam bent over her letters, but
she said quietly:
"I fear my girls will not be honored by any such attention on his part,
Mr. Schwartz. Indeed, I think he is the only enemy we possess in the
neighborhood. How did you come to describe him as a friend of yours,
Millie?"
"I didn't."
"Perhaps I was mistaken," put in Schwartz, who was beginning to hate
Minkie, yet had no wish to quarrel with her.
"I said Jack was my friend. Isn't that right, mother?"
"Oh, yes. I understand now. By the way, dearie, are you going to meet
your father? It is nearly time to start. And be careful to wrap up
well."
"The victoria will not be ready for another five minutes. I have time
to bring you that paper if you would care to see it before dinner, Mr.
Schwartz."
"Thanks. I shall be delighted--you wretched little imp," he added under
his breath, but Tibbie heard him.
Minkie brought the paper.
"That is the paragraph I told you of," said she, pointing very
daintily to something on one of the pages. I have seen her point that
way to a dead rat when she wished Jim or Mole to throw it away.
"Much obliged. And here are the five sovereigns I promised you as a
Christmas box."
"Mr. Schwartz--" broke in Mam, but he turned to her with his best
manner.
"I beg of you to allow me to do this, Mrs. Grosvenor. It is really a
harmless joke between Millicent and myself," he said.
"But five pounds--" protested Mam.
"That was in the bond. Pray let me explain. By chance, she mentioned
some very useful information which this newspaper contained; I might
not have heard of it otherwise. So I am adding a little to her
Christmas present--that is all."
"It seems a great deal of money," sighed Mam, who often wanted a fiver
and had to do without it, "but you two appear to have the matter cut
and dried, so I suppose it is all right. What are you going to do with
your fabulous wealth, Millicent?"
"Make a corner in toffee. Make every kid in Dale End pay a penny for a
ha'penny-worth. That is the proper thing, isn't it, Mr. Schwartz?"
"I don't think I can teach you much," he replied with his usual grin.
"Oh yes, you can. Read the next paragraph, the one beginning: 'The
unhappy natives of the Upper Niger.' It tells about gas-pipe guns and
coal-dust powder. Yes, mother dear, going now."
It was quite dark, of course, when I brought Minkie to the station a
second time. The weather had changed, too, from what the farmers call
"soft" to a touch of frost, which made both Jim and me pleased that my
shoes had been sharped by the blacksmith that morning.
The train was rather late, so Minkie went into the station and
interviewed a porter. He told her something which seemed to interest
her, so she asked the booking-clerk for change of a sovereign and gave
the man a shilling.
She picked out her father the instant the train drew up at the
platform. He looked worried, she told me afterwards, but that passed
when he saw her. He had the usual number of parcels which people carry
at Christmas time, and Minkie grabbed all of them, but he stopped her
with a laugh.
"We can't rush off in the orthodox way to-night, Minkie," he said. "Mr.
Schwartz's servant is on this train, and I promised to take him with us
to the house. By the way, is Dandy with you in the carriage?"
"No, father dear. Why do you ask?"
"Because this valet of Schwartz's is a black man, and Dandy might not
approve of him at first sight."
"A black man."
"Yes, polished ebony. Rather smart, too. Speaks English perfectly. He
came to me at Waterloo and said--Oh, there he is. Hi, you. Just follow
me, will you."
Minkie thought that the negro was an extraordinarily fine fellow, and
very well dressed. It was odd that Schwartz had not mentioned him,
and she wondered where he would sleep. Perhaps he curled up on a mat
outside his master's room. In that case, she must make Dan clearly
understand that she rather approved of the Ethiopian than otherwise.
His luggage appeared to be a small handbag. He almost made the mistake
of entering the carriage with Minkie and her father, but he showed his
teeth in a good-natured grin, and climbed to Jim's side on the box.
I had a look at him as he passed the near lamp, and he certainly did
startle me; I am quite sure I should have shifted him if Minkie had not
said quietly:
"All right, Bobby. Steady, old chap."
On the way home I heard Minkie trying to cheer up her father by telling
him little bits of village news, and he did his best to respond, but
both of us felt there was something wrong, as the Guv'nor is likely
enough most days.
"Mr. Schwartz has arrived, of course?" he inquired, soon after we
quitted the station. "I forgot to ask you sooner. I took it for granted
when his servant turned up and told me he had missed the earlier train."
"Yes. He came according to your telegram."
"How has he got on at home?"
"Oh, first rate. Mam and Dolly seemed quite pleased to see him."
"What do _you_ think of him, Minkie?"
"I hardly know yet, father dear. I shall tell you--let me see--on New
Year's Eve."
"You demand seven days' experience, eh? Wise child. I wish some one had
taught me at your age to wait a bit before I formed my opinions."
"One might form them quickly enough, but not express them."
"Which means that you don't like Schwartz? Well, he is not exactly my
sort, I admit, but he is wealthy, Minkie, and one must bow the knee
before the golden calf occasionally. And his repute stands high in the
city, so he might be a useful friend. We must make the best of him, eh?"
"One always does that with one's guests, of course," said Minkie, who
could feel a heavy assortment of gold and silver coins in her pocket.
Minkie jumped out when I pulled up at the front entrance. Dan was
standing on the top step and wondering what in the world was sitting
beside Jim on the box. Before he could say a word, Minkie grabbed him
and whispered in his ear. But he was very uneasy, because the black
man sprang down almost as promptly as Minkie, and nearly frightened
Evangeline into a fit when she met him in the hall. He took his hat off
in quite an elegant way.
"I am Mr. Schwartz's valet," he said. "Mr. Grosvenor was good enough to
bring me with him from London. Is my master in his room now?"
"N-no, sir," stuttered Evangeline. He gave her the queerest feeling,
she told Cookie later.
"Well, if you will kindly show me to his suite I will prepare his
clothes for dinner," went on the negro, who appeared to be more anxious
to get to work than any of our servants.
Evangeline glanced at Minkie and the Guv'nor; she was sure it must be
all right, as the negro had arrived in their company, but she dared
not go upstairs with him. Wild horses would not drag her there, she
said, though I would back myself to haul her to the top attic before
she could say "knife." "It's the Blue Room," she said. "First on the
left in that corridor," and she pointed to the side of the house where
Mr. Schwartz was lodged. The big darky went up at once. Evangeline
helped to carry in some of the parcels, and Minkie took her father's
overcoat and hat, but kept an eye on Dan, who was looking at the stairs
anxiously. Dolly came running to kiss the Old Man, and Mam appeared.
"Where is Mr. Schwartz?" asked the Guv'nor.
"Here I am," said Schwartz, appearing in the drawing-room doorway. "I
am afraid you had a cold journey from town. It was exceedingly kind of
you to send me on ahead. My only regret is that you could not come with
me."
"Business, my dear fellow. It pursues me to the last hour, even in
holiday time."
"But that is good. It argues success. Your idle man is rarely
successful."
"I fear it is possible for a busy man to score a loss occasionally. I
expect you have finished tea long since? Can you squeeze the pot, Mam?"
"It will be here in a minute, Tom," said Mam, smiling. "My husband
hates to miss his tea, Mr. Schwartz. He would drink three cups now if I
were to let him, though we dine at seven."
"By the way, that reminds me," said the Old Man, dropping into his
regular chair in the drawing-room. "I fell in with your servant at
Waterloo, Schwartz."
"My servant!" said Schwartz, blankly, and both Dan and Tibbie heard
every word, as Minkie had collected Dan again before she took her usual
perch on a hassock near her father. If the Guv'nor had said he came
across Schwartz's balloon at the Southwestern terminus our visitor
could not have put more bewilderment into his voice.
"Yes, your black valet," explained the Guv'nor.
"My black valet! I don't possess such an article. I left my man at
Brook-street, and he is a Frenchman."
Schwartz had risen to his feet. He looked strangely pale--Minkie told
me his face was a flea-bitten grey. The Guv'nor jumped up, too. So did
Minkie, and Dan, and Tibbie. You see, Mam and Dorothy knew nothing
about the gentleman who had gone to Schwartz's bedroom to arrange his
dress suit and put the studs in his shirt.
"Then who the blazes is the nigger who is in your room upstairs at this
moment?" said the Old Man, forgetting that there were ladies present.
"Nigger! My room!"
Schwartz's voice cracked. He gasped as though he had run a mile. He
glared at the Guv'nor and then glared at Minkie. Stifle me, he thought
it was some trick she had played on him. But if the head of our family
was not much good at business he was in the front row where prompt
action was needed.
"Follow me, quick!" he shouted, and made for the door. He was just a
second too late. The tall negro was coming downstairs three at a time.
He bounded across the hall and had his hand on the latch just as the
Guv'nor rushed at him. Out went the black, out went Mr. Grosvenor after
him, with Minkie and Dan a dead heat half a length behind, and Schwartz
whipping in. On the level the nigger drew away; but Dan overhauled him
at the turn near the clump of rhododendrons, and Dan never makes the
mistake of advertising his whereabouts when the matter is serious. So
he nailed the make-believe valet by the ankle, and his teeth closed on
bone and sinew without ever a sound. Down went the nigger with a crash
and a yell. It was pitch dark among the shrubs, but the Old Man groped
for him and got a knee in the small of his back, bending his head
upwards at the same time by grabbing a handful of wool. That is a good
trick. It simply paralyses the other fellow.
"I've got him," he shouted, but Schwartz just roared "Help!" at the top
of his voice, and kept to the open drive. Minkie heard Dan sawing away,
and growling a bit, now; she closed in, clutched a loose leg that was
kicking wildly, and said:
"Are you all right, dad?"
"Yes. Tell James to fetch a stable lantern and a rope."
Minkie wasn't going to leave her father nor miss any of the fun. She
sung out directions, and Jim came along at a gallop. The unfortunate
nigger was screaming that the dog was eating him, but, when they had
tied his hands behind his back, and Minkie pulled Dan off, he seemed to
be more frightened than hurt. Polly told me next day that these black
fellows are always weak below the knee joints, however gigantic they
may be otherwise.
But the previous excitement was a small affair compared with the row
which sprang up when Jim held the lantern so that Schwartz could see
the negro's face.
"Gott in himmel!" he shrieked, in a kind of frenzy, "it's Prince John."
"Yes--you thief!" said the prisoner, who seemed to regain his
self-possession and his dignity when he set eyes on Schwartz.
"Where is it? Where is it? Give it to me, or I'll tear your liver
out!" squealed the other, dancing close up to him in an extraordinary
passion, being one of those men who fly into a delirium when rage gets
the better of them.
"I have not got it," said Prince John, if that was his name. He turned
to the Guv'nor. "If you will take me back to the house, Mr. Grosvenor,"
he continued, "and keep that dog off, I will explain everything,
and trust to your sense of justice to clear me of any suspicion of
wrong-doing. That man is the thief, not me," and he actually spat at
Schwartz.
Jim said that it gave him a turn to hear a buck nigger talking like
that, but it took him and the Guv'nor all their time to keep Schwartz
from using his nails on the man's eyes. Then the two began to shout at
one another, and it appeared that all the trouble arose about a thing
called a ju-ju, which the black man said Schwartz had stolen from his
people, a tribe on the Upper Niger. Anyhow, the Guv'nor marched his
captive back to the house, and Schwartz rushed upstairs. He tore down
again, more like a lunatic than ever, as the ju-ju had gone from the
dressing-case in which he had left it.
He searched the negro, and was almost ready to cut him open in case he
had swallowed it, but the ju-ju was not in the man's possession. Then
he went out with Jim and the lantern, and hunted every inch of the
drive and shrubbery, but could find nothing, though it was easy enough
to discover the place where Dan had brought down his highness.
The odd thing was that he refused to send for the police, and the more
certain it became that the ju-ju was missing, the more jubilant grew
Prince John's face as he sat in the hall. At last, there was nothing
for it but the nigger must be set at liberty. Schwartz wanted the
Guv'nor to lock him up all night. Of course, that could not be done, as
Surrey isn't West Africa, and the Old Man had come to the conclusion
that there was not much in the dispute between them, anyhow.
So Prince John's bonds were untied, and the Guv'nor told him if he
showed his black muzzle inside our gateway again he would be locked
up. He was very polite and apologetic, especially to the ladies, and
the house party went in to dinner greatly mystified by the whole
affair. Schwartz did not say much, and his appetite was spoiled. After
dinner he had another hunt in his bedroom and among the shrubs, but
finally he gave up the search until daylight, and came in and asked for
a whisky and soda.
Meanwhile, Minkie brought Dan to the stable to see me. She came the
back way, and climbed to the hay-loft with Jim's lantern. Dan began to
look around for a rat, but she stopped him.
"Are you awake, Bobby?" she asked.
"Awake!" said I. "I should rather think I am, after such goings on in
the house."
"Well," said she, pulling a small black bag from among the hay, "if
you are a good horse, and listen carefully, I will now tell you what a
ju-ju is. Come here, Dan. If it is alive, I may want you to bite it."
Skin me and sell my hide, what do you think it was? Just a small chunk
of ivory, carved to represent a man with a monkey's head. It had a
little coat of colored beads tied where its waist was meant to be, and
its eyes were two shiny green stones. And that was all.
"Well," cried Minkie, "this _is_ a surprise. At first sight, I don't
think much of a ju-ju, but that may be only my beastly ignorance, as
the man said when he tried to boil a china egg."
PRINCE JOHN'S STRANGE ALLY