THE FIRST OF APRIL.
It was the first day of April, and a lovely morning, as Alfred was
strolling slowly to school. In the distance he saw Cox and King talking
earnestly together, and as he came near they took out some coppers and
counted them. Since the boat accident they had been less unfriendly,
and often walked to school with him.
“Davidson,” said King, “I wish you would just get us something from
Mr. Cottenham’s; there’s a good fellow. Here’s a piece of paper with
the names of the things written down, so you need only give it to him.
Here’s threepence to pay for them. We will wait here for you.”
Alfred read the paper. On it was written: _1d. of pidgon’s milk in
a peny vile, and 1d. of strongest strap-oil for the barer for his
trouble_.
“You wrote this, Cox, didn’t you?” inquired Alfred, smiling the smile
of the innocent.
“Yes; why do you ask? It’s written plain enough, isn’t it?” asked Cox.
“Yes, it’s plain enough, and I can read it all right.”
“Then what do you want to know for?”
“Because the spelling is not right. _P-i-g-e-o-n_ spells _pigeon_, and
a bottle is _vial_ not _vile_, and _bearer_ is spelt with an _e_ in it.”
“Any more mistakes?” said Cox angrily. “It was a bad pen I’d got, and I
should like to know how anyone can be expected to spell with a rotten
old nib.”
Cox’s weakness in spelling was a cause of many impositions at school,
as Mr. Harmer made him write out ten times every word which was not
correctly spelt.
“Come, youngster,” said King, “will you take this to Mr. Cottenham’s,
or won’t you? If you won’t, I can go myself.”
“I will go with pleasure,” said Alfred, pleased to do anything for
anyone at any time, especially for those with whom he now hoped to make
friends.
[Illustration]
“Here’s the money,” said Cox, winking at King. “Mind you tell Mr.
Cottenham that the strap-oil is for yourself--for your trouble in
getting the things.”
“Thank you,” replied Alfred, “but I don’t want to be paid for doing a
little thing like that.”
“All right, Davidson!” said Cox; “you did us a good turn the other day,
and so I want to pay you back for it, you see.”
“Thanks, very much,” said Alfred amicably, running off to the chemist’s
shop, which was quite near.
Mr. Cottenham was a very big man, with a very big moustache and a very
big voice; but withal a very jolly man and very popular with everybody.
He was standing in his shop, whistling a merry tune and talking to his
gray parrot, when Alfred came in. He knew Mr. Cottenham by sight, as
he was often in the cathedral, being very fond of music. As he walked
into the shop, the parrot gave a whistle and a scream, and said: “Shop!
you’re wanted!”
Alfred looked at the parrot and laughed.
“Do you want a pill?” said the bird, and then it whistled again, and
sighed in a very natural manner. “Come, Joe, hurry up!” continued the
parrot.
“All right, Poll!” said Mr. Cottenham, “I will. You are one of the
choir-boys, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Alfred, “Will you kindly let me have these things?
The strap-oil is for myself, for the trouble of bringing the note.”
“Let me see. What is to-day?”
“The first of April, sir.”
“So I should imagine. I often get orders like yours on this day.”
Mr. Cottenham enjoyed a joke as much as anyone, and nothing pleased him
more than to turn a joke against those who tried to victimize others.
He gave Alfred some nice jujubes, saying that that was the best form
of strap-oil for taking. Then he got a small bottle, and put something
into it which smelt like very strong onions, and to this he added some
liquid like water, also with a very strong odour. Then all the liquid
became milky.
“Phew!” whistled the bird, and added: “Cork it up.”
Alfred could not help laughing at the droll sayings of the parrot,
which seemed so suitable.
“Can you whistle?” said Poll, giving a loud shrill whistle.
“Here you are, my boy,” said Mr. Cottenham, smiling, “give this to the
boy who sent you.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Alfred.
“Stop!” screamed out Poll.
Alfred stopped.
“What’s the time?” said Poll; and then it laughed just like a human
being.
Mr. Cottenham went to the door and watched the boys.
“Here’s the pigeon’s milk,” said Alfred, handing Cox the bottle.
Cox tore the paper off and saw the milky liquid, and eagerly pulled out
the cork to smell it. It was so strong, that he jerked the contents
over King’s coat.
“He laughs loudest who laughs last,” said Mr. Cottenham, smiling. “That
joke has cost you threepence, at all events.”
The boys ran off quickly, and turned round the corner of the street
before they stopped.
“What a little fool you are,” said King, “to bring that stinking stuff!
I must wash my coat or it will smell in the cathedral.”
King rubbed his jacket with his moistened handkerchief, but he could
not get rid of the smell.
Now it happened that his seat was close to the dean’s, and as they were
returning from morning service, walking down the cloisters, the dean
called to one of the boys to send King to him.
He went at once.
[Illustration]
“How dare you eat strong onions just before a service?” demanded the
dean, who had been head-master of one of the big public schools. “Once
a schoolmaster always a schoolmaster,” which means that when a man has
been a schoolmaster, he always treats every one afterwards, whether men
or boys, just as if they were schoolboys under him.
“If you please, sir, I haven’t been eating onions,” replied King.
“How dare you stand there and tell me such an untruth?” said the dean.
“Do you suppose I cannot smell? I say you have been eating onions, and
the odour is very nasty indeed.”
“Please, sir, I have not really eaten any onions,” said King.
“What! Do you persist in telling me such a falsehood. You shall be
punished at once. Mr. Harmer!”
“Yes, sir,” said the master.
“Give this boy at once a good caning. He has dared to tell me a lie and
persist in it.”
As the dean said this, he walked away.
When Mr. Harmer was about to cape King, the boy said he really had not
been eating onions.
“I can smell them,” said the master.
“That’s something I’ve got on my coat,” replied King.
“How did you get it on your coat?”
King explained, but the master caned him all the same, saying it
served him right for playing practical jokes on a little boy. King felt
very angry with Alfred, as if he had been the cause of his punishment.
It would be well for all boys, when they are going to play jokes on
others, to think how they would like them if turned against themselves.
As Alfred was going home in the afternoon with Steve, Mr. Cottenham was
standing at his door and called out to them as they passed.
“Come here,” he said, “I want to speak to you for a few minutes.”
They went up to him. Alfred readily guessed why he wanted them.
“What is your name?” he asked Alfred.
“Alfred Davidson.”
“Well, Alfred, how did your friends like the pigeon’s milk?”
“Not much, sir. Herbert King got into a row over it,” replied Steve
laughingly. “He even got caned.”
Steve told him about the dean being angry, because he did not like the
smell of onions, and would not believe what King said; also that Mr.
Harmer would not listen to his excuse, but had caned him, and said he
deserved it, for playing practical jokes.
“King is very angry with Alfred now, sir,” continued Steve, “because he
thinks it was all through him that he got into such a row, and he says
he will be even with him yet.”
“It served him right,” remarked Mr. Cottenham, laughing loudly; “he has
sent boys here before on fools’ errands, but I don’t think he will do
so again.”
“Come, come,” said Poll, “where’s the bottle?”
“Do you know these boys again?” said Mr. Cottenham, rubbing the bird’s
head.
“Look out!” said Poll.
“That’s a very clever bird, Mr. Cottenham,” said Steve.
“Yes, it is,” replied the chemist, “and I got it in a Very peculiar
way. If you can come and have tea with me, I will tell you a short
story of how I got Poll.”
“Thank you, sir! We will just run home and ask, and be back in less
than ten minutes,” said Steve.
Away ran the two boys, and in much less than ten minutes they were back
again.
“Wipe your boots!” said the parrot. “Come, Joe, hurry up!”
A lady entered, so the boys waited a few minutes while Mr. Cottenham
attended to her. They looked at the parrot, who kept turning its head,
first to one side and then to the other, chuckling as it did so.
Mr. Cottenham told them to go into his parlour at the back of the shop;
behind it was a large garden, which ran down to the river. The chemist
was very fond of gardening; his garden was always neat and trim, and
full of flowers, according to the season of the year. There was a door
which opened from the parlour into the garden, and they could see a dog
chained up. It was a big collie, and it wagged its tail when it saw
Steve.
“Rover,” called Steve to the dog through the open window, “good
doggie!” Rover barked and frisked about.
Stephen Gray’s father was an intimate friend of Mr. Cottenham, and
Steve had often had tea with him. Mr. Cottenham was a bachelor, and
his chief companion was his parrot. He was very fond of music, and
played the fiddle well, and he usually assisted when there was a grand
festival at the cathedral. Stephen Gray’s father was a solo-bass in the
choir, and also played the violoncello.
Mr. Cottenham brought in Poll, took it out of its cage, and put it on
the bar of its stand, when it began to chatter again.
“Poor Poll wants some cake. Oh dear! oh dear! where’s the sugar?” said
the bird.
“Now, Poll,” observed the chemist, “you must not talk, as I don’t want
to be interrupted.”
“Poor Poll wants some cake,” said the bird.
“Then Poll shall have some,” said Mr. Cottenham, picking out a piece,
while the bird watched every movement. “Now, Poll, draw a cork, and
then you shall have this piece of cake.”
Poll made a wonderful imitation of the popping of a cork and the
gurgling sound of liquid being poured out.
“Now, Poll, sneeze!” said its master.
Poll jumped up and down, and sneezed, and then laughed exactly like
a human being. Mr. Cottenham’s parrot was known for miles round, and
children would come to his shop on purpose to hear it talk.
A customer entered the shop, and Poll called out “Shop!” Mr. Cottenham
went, and returned in a few minutes.
The boys had a hearty tea. “Now, would you like to hear how it was I
bought Poll?” said their host.
“Yes, sir, very much,” said both of the boys.
“It was seven years ago last autumn, when I was out some distance from
here, going for a walk across country. I am very fond of a good walk,
and often go out all day when I take a holiday. It was very hot, and
so I had my big white umbrella, as I don’t care what people think or
say. I like to be comfortable if I can. It was rather difficult on that
day to feel very comfortable, though, as the sun was shining not only
brightly, but nearly as hot as I have felt it in India.”
[Illustration]
“Have you been in India, sir?” asked Steve.
“Yes, Steve, I was in a government medical store for five years when
I was quite a young man. Well, I have never felt in India so hot as I
felt on that particular day. I like warm weather, and feel as lively
as a kitten when it is hot. What are you laughing at? You think I am
rather too big to be a kitten?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Steve, laughing, “just a little bit.”
“Well, then, I will say as lively as an elephant. They can be lively
at times; for you must not judge of an elephant by what you see in
a circus procession in this cold country. To return to my tale. I
was just a bit too hot to feel as lively as a kitten or an elephant
on that particular day, but still I was enjoying myself. I had my
dinner at a country inn, and then walked into a wood and lay down,
and went fast asleep. When I woke up I found that it was getting
late, so I determined to take a short cut across the country to the
railway-station, and save about two miles. I got up and walked on for
some time, when the sky became overcast, and it got darker and darker.
In fact, it was nearly as dark as night, and I had great difficulty in
tracing out the right path. I had left the high-road for some time,
and felt certain that I could not mistake the direction, as I had been
twice before by the same way. After walking for an hour, a few big
spots of rain fell. I knew that there would be a thunderstorm soon, and
so I got out into the open country, as it is dangerous to walk near
trees.”
“So I have heard father say,” remarked Alfred. “He has told me if ever
I should be overtaken by a thunderstorm never to get near a tree, but
to lie down in the open, if there are no houses near.”
“You are quite right, Alfred,” said Mr. Cottenham. “There is rarely
any danger if you do so. Mind you never get into a cart-shed where the
front is all open, if there are any iron implements such as a plough in
it. Lightning always strikes the highest object, or one which is a good
conductor.”
“What is that, sir?”
“A good conductor is something, Alfred, through which electricity can
easily pass. For instance, glass will not let electricity pass through
it, but wire, whether it is copper or iron, will readily conduct it.
You know that lightning is electricity from the clouds.”
“Yes, sir,” said Steve, who wished him to continue the tale, not being
so desirous of gaining knowledge as his younger friend.
“Let me see; what was I saying?” observed Mr. Cottenham.
“You said, sir, that you got out in the open when you heard the
thunder,” replied Steve, readily, lest Alfred should ask any more
questions about storms.
“Yes, I remember. The rain now fell in torrents. I was wet through and
through. The lightning was very vivid, and the thunder almost as loud
as in India. It was, for England, a terrible storm. I had completely
lost my way, and walked on, not knowing at all where I was going. I
looked in vain in all directions for a house or cottage of any kind,
in which I could rest a while, as, although I am a fair walker, I was
very tired. The storm became a little less severe for a few minutes,
but then it came on worse than ever. The rain again poured, and I was
almost blinded by the lightning. Suddenly I heard a loud whistle, and
a voice called out--‘Look out!’ I paused, and stood still a moment,
when a very bright flash lighted up all around. Imagine my surprise
and horror when I saw that I was on the very edge of a deep old mine.
One more step, and I must have been killed. For a moment I stood
still, looking at the dark pit, then I felt very thankful for such a
providential escape, and looked round to see who had called out and
thus saved my life. I could see no one; but another flash of lightning
showed me a cottage only a few yards off. I went to it, and after
knocking at the door, was let in. I asked if I might stay until the
storm left off. They said ‘Yes’, at once, and gave me some supper
and dried my coat. While I was eating the food, the wife said to her
husband, ‘Where’s Polly?’ ‘Outside, I suppose,’ he replied. ‘I had
quite forgotten her.’ He went out and brought in a gray parrot, which
was wet through. No sooner did Poll come in than it began to shake its
feathers, and, putting its head on one side, while it looked at me,
said ‘Look out!’ I knew that it was the parrot’s timely warning that
had saved my life, and so I determined to buy it. I gave the miner five
pounds for it, and I would not sell it for fifty pounds. Now you know,
boys, why I value Polly so much, and should still value it, even if it
could not speak so well.”
Polly had been listening very intently, and when Mr. Cottenham had
finished, it said, “Look out!”
“Yes, Poll,” said its master, “I did look out, or I should not be here
to say so, eh?”
As he stroked his pet, the bird perched on his shoulder and ate a piece
of sugar out of his hand; then it rested on one foot, and blinked its
eyes, as if ready to go to sleep.
“Polly is ready for bed,” said the bird, and away it flew off to its
place for the night, which was on a shelf, and it was soon asleep.
The boys thanked Mr. Cottenham for his tale, and for their tea, and
accepted an invitation to come again another day, and bring Walter
Parker with them.