Mary Ellen was now dispatched to blow her whistle for a hansom, and almost
before we realized it we found ourselves rolling smoothly to the hotel
where father was to stay.
Next, we were in his very room, exploring, with adventurous fingers, all
his admirable, tobacco-smelling belongings. When his back was turned, Angel
even unsheathed his razor and flourished it, for one hair-lifting second.
But father caught him and promised that he should become acquainted with
the razor-strop also, if he grew too bold.
We went out and bought chocolates and toys and brought them back to his
room to play with. The morning passed in a delicious dream. Then luncheon
downstairs with him, the eyes of many people on us.
Among them I discovered, before long, the laughing blue eyes of Lady Simon.
She was not looking at me, but very eagerly at father, as though she were
trying to make him see her. In a moment she succeeded, and, without a word
of explanation to us he jumped up and strode across to the table where she
and Lord Simon sat. The Seraph ran after him and was gathered into her arms
while she smiled and talked to father over his curls.
"Wonder if she's askin' him for another lapis lazarus necklace," said
Angel, his mouth full of charlotte russe, "she'd better not, 'cos we're all
he can afford now."
I did not like the idea either, so when father came back with The Seraph
hanging to his coat tails, I remarked, with some asperity:
"She said you nearly ruined yourself once to buy her a pair of
cream-coloured ponies."
"Yes, and a lapis lazarus necklace," added Angel, accusingly.
"I want a cweam-culled pony!" shouted The Seraph.
Father leaned over us with almost the expression of Mrs. Handsomebody in
his eye.
"You shall all have ponies," he said, "any old colour you like, cream, or
pink, or blue, if you'll shut up and be good."
Dazzled by the vision of a herd of rainbow-coloured ponies we suffered
ourselves to be led in silence from the dining-room. Outside, father said,
still with the look of Mrs. Handsomebody in his eye:
"I have to make a call on a lady in Argyle Road, my godmother. Do you feel
prepared to come, and be good boys, or shall I send you back to your
governess?"
"Argyle Road!" exclaimed Angel. "That's where Giftie lived."
"Want to see Giftie!" came from The Seraph, "and Colin."
"Are you going to be good?"
"Rather," said Angel. "Please take us."
Another hansom was called. We were quite prepared to see it stop before the
large square house where Giftie lived. It stopped. There was a clamour of
barks from three Scottish terriers as we entered the gate. In a second I
had Giftie in my arms; her little, hard wriggling body pressed to my
breast; her little red tongue showing between her pointed white teeth. She
was wild with the joy of welcoming us, but Colin walked solemnly away, his
tail very much in the air. The third dog I felt sure was one of Giftie's
pups. "His name is Tam," shouted the tall grey-haired lady, having suddenly
appeared, and I discovered then that we were in the drawing-room, and
pulled off my cap, and smiled up at her.
"I've been saving him for you," she went on, "hoping you would turn up. The
other two are sold. But Tam is for you boys, and oh, Davy," turning to
father, "you must let me have them for Christmas. We shall have an enormous
Christmas Tree, and look! it's beginning to snow."
It was true. Great white flakes were softly whirling past the windows,
shutting us away from the outer world. The fire seemed to burn the brighter
for them, the air seemed full of happiness and gay adventure. We bent over
our new possession on the hearthrug in ecstasy. Tam, in ferocious
playfulness, tried to show us all part of his body at once. But when we
overcame him, and pinned him down, he lay limply, with his tongue out at
one side, and the promise of many a future romp in his roguish brown eyes.
Giftie brought a woollen bedroom slipper from upstairs to worry for our
amusement. Even Colin grew friendly. The talk went on above our heads, the
far-off talk of grown-ups. But stay--it was not so incomprehensible after
all! What was it she was saying? A pantomime! A deserving Charity. Had
tickets. Suppose we take the children. Would it bore Davy? Davy said it
wouldn't.
Was all our new life to be a whirl like this? Now we were back in the
hansom cab bowling through the madly dancing snowflakes. Now we were back
at Mrs. Handsomebody's having tea with a double portion of jam; being
scrubbed and brushed, and warned of our behaviour, sliding on the slippery
soles of new boots; sniffing the fresh linen of clean handkerchiefs;
watching Mrs. Handsomebody tie her bonnet strings with trembling fingers.
In a four-wheeler now, squeezed very closely together; the wheels moving
heavily through the ever-deepening snow; lights flashing by the snowy
windows, father's leg and boot pressing against me cruelly but giving a
delicious sense of protection and good fellowship. Then the blazing light,
and heat, and pressing crowd of the lobby; a sense of terror lest the
pompous man who took tickets would refuse to accept those tendered by
father; immense relief, as a thin, bounding individual led us down the
sloping aisle. Father's guiding hand on our shoulders; we were in our
seats.
On my right sat father, and beyond him Angel. On my left The Seraph and
Mrs. Handsomebody, her hands clasped tensely in her lap. But who was that
in the golden light beyond Angel? Who indeed but our old friend Captain
Pegg who had come, it appeared, with Giftie's mistress. Lucky Angel to be
next him, laughing and whispering with him! Then, lucky me to be pushed
between the seats to shake his hand.
"Shiver my timbers, John," he whispered, "but I have great days to tell you
of! Days of plunder and bloodshed, my hearty. I went back to the old life,
for a while, you know. Look here!" He drew aside his coat and around his
waist I saw that he wore a belt of alligator skin into which was thrust a
curved and glittering bowie knife!
The curtain was going up. I was pulled back into my seat. My pulses
throbbed as scene by scene the pantomime was disclosed before my happy
eyes. Here was I, John Curzon, part of quite as good a play as yon.
Pirates, love, fluttering banners, swashbuckling clowns, life stretched
before me, a jolly adventure with Angel and The Seraph always there to
share the fun. Now the Seraph's head had dropped to Mrs. Handsomebody's
lap. He was half asleep. Her black kid hand patted his back. She was gazing
with a rapt smile at the stage.
The pantomime was nearly over. The night of danger and dark alarm was past.
Rosy morning broke upon the mountain side, and Columbine, reclining in a
pearl-pink shell, opened her eyes and smiled upon a flowery world.