THE ARCHBISHOP
Hardly had they finished the last chorus, when they heard once more
the clank of the Court Crier's bell, and there were the Court Crier,
himself, and all the courtiers running up the hill to join them.
The King turned to fly, when Lobsterneck, with a sudden snort,
straightened himself up, and stretching out his long neck, began
sniffing the breeze.
"What is it, Six-foot?" asked Coco Bolo.
Without waiting to reply, the dragon bolted into his tower and up the
stairway, when, no sooner had he reached the top than he clapped his
fore-paws to his mouth and began bellowing like a cow. At the very
first bellow all the dog-fish down in the bay began to bark, while
Periwinkle, excitedly jumping about, joined in the chorus, though he
had not the least idea what he was barking about.
"What is it, Lobsterneck?" shouted the King. "Who's coming?"
"Can't tell yet," the dragon shouted back. "All I can see is the upper
half of a mast with a big gray cat sitting on top of it."
"A cat!" cried the King. "Then it must be the Archbishop."
"The Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half?" asked Margaret.
"Yes, the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half. He promised to drop in
to-day. He's cruising around on his private raft."
"That's who it is!" cried the dragon, leaning over the edge of
the tower and calling down to the King. "I can see him now. He's
just come through the cloud-wall. Hooray, for the Archbishop of
Timbuctoo-and-a-half!"
With that, the enthusiastic Lobsterneck dived head-first down his
staircase, with a clash as though someone had flung a shovelful of
tenpenny nails on a stone pavement, bolted out of the arched doorway,
and galloped off down the hill toward the beach to welcome the
Archbishop.
"Come on!" shouted the King; and away he went, himself, down the hill,
followed by Margaret and Frances, the little Coco Bolos, the Admiral,
the Court Crier and all the courtiers, everyone of them running so
fast that stumpy-legged Periwinkle, the only one who had not had any
aëro-plane water, was the last in the race.
As soon as they arrived at the pier, they saw the raft slowly
approaching, escorted on all sides by the whole pack of dog-fish. It
was a trim and well built raft, about as big as a bedroom floor, with
a mast in the middle, to which was attached a square sail, blown out
tight by the wind. On top of the mast, having evidently been scared
up there by the barking of the dog-fish, sat a big gray cat; while in
front of the sail, holding his crozier in one hand and kissing the
other to the people ashore stood the Archbishop, himself.
To Margaret and Frances, who had never seen one before, an Archbishop
was almost as much of a curiosity as a snap-dragon. At the same time,
however, they had formed in their own minds a sort of picture of what
an Archbishop would be like, expecting to find him a dignified old
gentleman, dressed in black, with a bald head, a long white beard, and
most probably wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.
What was their surprise, therefore, when, as the raft drew near,
they saw that the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half was not by any
means the kind of person they had imagined. He was a jaunty young
gentleman with a neat little black moustache; instead of gold-rimmed
spectacles, he wore in his right eye an eyeglass which he kept in
place with difficulty by screwing up one corner of his mouth; on his
shoulders, concealing all but his white silk stockings and red shoes,
he wore a purple cloak embroidered all over with gold lace; while, most
noticeable of all, on his head was an archbishop's mitre of ample size
and antique design.
Slowly the raft glided forward, until it presently bumped gently
against the pier, when the frisky Archbishop, using his crozier as a
jumping pole, leaped lightly upon the steps, and running up them with
hand extended, he cried:
"Well, Coco, how goes it? How are you, old block; and how are all the
little chips? All cheerful and smiling as usual? Ah!"--catching sight
of the two little girls--"You have guests, I see. Won't you present me?"
"With pleasure," replied the King. "Ladies, let me present the
Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half. Archbishop, these are my friends,
Margaret and Frances, who have done me the honor to come to my
garden-party. And talking of garden-parties," he continued, "come along
up to the palace and have some refreshment. Bring your cat, too. I
expect he's hungry. What's his name?"
"Thomas A'Becket," replied the Archbishop. "Come on, Thomas!" he called
to the cat. "Come and have some milk."
[Illustration: _He was a jaunty young gentleman_]
But Thomas A'Becket declined. He looked at the Archbishop, but he
stayed where he was.
"He's a little out of sorts today," remarked the Archbishop, "and if he
has made up his mind to stay up there, it's no use trying to make him
come down."
"Isn't it, though!" cried the dragon, hastily pulling off his
boxing-gloves. "Just you wait a minute. I'll make him."
"Hallo, Lobsterneck!" exclaimed the Archbishop, giving the dragon a
friendly tap on the head with his crozier. "You're here, are you?
Glad to see you again, old gargoyle. So you think you can make Thomas
A'Becket come down, do you? All right. Go ahead, and let's see how you
do it."
"I'll show you, Archbishop," replied Lobsterneck. "I'll fetch him down
all right--never you fear."
Standing on the pier, the dragon stretched out his long neck and tried
to pick the cat off the top of the mast with his teeth. He could not
quite reach him, however, so--forgetting what a rickety sort of thing a
raft is--he gathered his six feet under him and jumped aboard.
Greatly to his astonishment, the raft instantly tilted up, the mast
came over and hit him a severe crack on the crown of his head, and
the next thing he knew he was down at the bottom of the sea with all
the dog-fish worrying and snapping at him--though this was a matter
of small consequence, for Lobsterneck was so well shingled that the
dog-fishes' teeth could make no impression.
A moment later, snorting and spluttering, up bobbed Lobsterneck again,
with half-a-dozen of the biggest dog-fish holding on to his tail, while
all the rest, leaping out of the water, turned somersaults in the air
and barked encouragement.
Instead of climbing up the steps of the pier again, so confused was
the amiable old snap-dragon by the worrying and the barking and the
splashing of the dog-fish, that he made straight for the shore, when,
having shaken himself free of his tormentors, he galloped off home to
his tower, upon the top of which he presently reappeared, seated on his
three-legged stool, drying his scales with his pocket handkerchief.
But though Lobsterneck's plan for getting Thomas A'Becket ashore had
not turned out exactly as he had intended, it had nevertheless proved
entirely successful, for when the raft tilted up and the mast hit the
dragon such a crack on the top of his head, the reluctant cat was sent
flying through the air, landing on the pier so close to Periwinkle that
they almost bumped noses.
Periwinkle, himself, strange to say, did not notice the sudden arrival
of the Archbishop's cat. With his head in the air and his eyes shut
tight, he was barking and barking and barking, having the very best
time he ever remembered, when, all of a sudden something sharp stuck
into his nose. With a yelp of astonishment, he leaped backwards and
opened his eyes, to see standing before him the angry Thomas A'Becket,
who, with arched back and distended tail, swore sharply at the
unoffending puppy.
"Oh!" cried everybody, throwing up their hands in dismay; for such a
dreadful breach of the laws had _never_ happened before.
"Be cheerful," said law number one; and here was a cat just as angry as
a cat could be.
"Be polite," said law number two; and here was a cat using
language--Tut! Tut! And an archbishop's cat, too. Just think of that!
If it had been a curate's cat, or even a vicar's--but, an archbishop's
cat! No wonder the poor Archbishop covered his face with his hand and
blushed purple with embarrassment.
For a full half-minute everyone stood speechless, with hands held up
and eyes and mouths wide open, until suddenly the Court Crier, who
was the first to recover, began ringing his bell and shouting, "Blue
paint! Blue paint!" as loud as he could.
Upon this, everybody else shouted, "Blue paint!"--the King and the
Admiral and the little Coco Bolos, as well; though Margaret and Frances
felt sure that half of them, at least, had no idea what they meant by
it, especially as they kept on shouting, "Blue paint!" without ever
thinking, seemingly, that it was anybody's business to go and get it.
The only one who seemed to be quite unconcerned was the one who had
caused all the rumpus: Thomas A'Becket, himself. Calmly seated on the
pier, he proceeded to wash his face with his paws, paying no attention
at all to the King and his courtiers, who, standing in a circle around
him, continued to shout, "Blue paint!" without intermission.
How long they might have gone on shouting there is no knowing, had not
Margaret interfered. Losing patience, she stepped up to the King, and
clapping her hand over his mouth just as he had opened it for another
shout--the King almost exploded at being so suddenly "corked"--she
stooped and called into his ear:
"Why don't you send for your new policeman?"
Coco Bolo, with his eyes turned up, waited till Margaret removed her
hand, when he took off his crown with a flourish, and bowing politely,
said:
"That's a capital idea of yours. Why didn't I think of it before?"
So saying, he clapped his crown upon his head again and set off running
up the middle of the pier, shouting, "Police!" at the top of his voice.
Not a single one of the courtiers had the least idea that there was any
such thing as a policeman on the island, but they were a well-trained
company, and knowing that the first duty of a courtier is to do as the
King does, they all set off running, too, shouting, "Police! Police!
Police!"
Just as they got clear of the pier and had started up the hill to the
carpenter's shop, round the end of the shop, itself, came the new
policeman, running as fast as he could, with a butterfly net in one
hand and a pot of blue paint in the other; while behind him ran the
carpenter, a gimlet in his right hand and a hollow tooth in his left,
calling out, "Hi! Hi! Come back! You're not finished yet!"
The policeman, however, took no notice--perhaps he thought he could get
along well enough without a hollow tooth. Down the hill he came, ran
along the pier to where Thomas A'Becket still sat washing his face, and
made a scoop at the cat with the butterfly net.
But Thomas A'Becket was not the sort of cat to be caught quite so
easily as that. He just popped between the policeman's legs and came
racing up the pier, when those wooden-headed courtiers, instead of
heading him off, got out of his way and allowed him to pass.
Away he went, straight for the palace, the policeman behind him and
everybody else behind the policeman, until they came to the tea-garden,
and there Thomas A'Becket vanished from sight.
[Illustration: _Away he went, straight for the palace_]