By Order.
A. B. FEATER,
_Custodier._
[Sidenote: MUST I, THOUGH?]
Now “must” is a word that people are constantly telling little boys
not to use, but are just as constantly using themselves in speaking to
them. Accordingly it is not very surprising that when boys see the word
“must” painted up in large letters, they should feel inclined to resist.
When Norval, and Jaques, and Ranulf saw “must go out at the top” on the
placard, their bump of combativeness at once became irritated; and, after
a short conference, they resolved they would go into the tower, and
would not go out at the top. Norval’s idea was that there was some one
inside to catch anybody that entered, and force him to the top, so he
told Jaques and Ranulf that he would peep in, if they would be ready to
pull him back should any one try to take hold of him. He then advanced
cautiously, and put his head in at the door. The moment he did so, he
called out—
“OH HOLD ME!”
[Sidenote: A NECKSCRESCENCE.]
The “oh” was very loud, but the “hold” sounded more distant, and the
“me” was so far off as to be difficult to hear. Jaques and Ranulf held on
stoutly to Norval’s legs, but found they could not haul him out, though
pulling with all their might. While they were still struggling, Norval’s
voice behind them said, “It’s no use, you had better let them go.” On
looking round they were amazed to see Norval’s head upside down just at
their backs, hanging by a long neck, not thicker than a sausage, from the
top of the tower.
In ordinary circumstances this would have shocked them horribly, but then
wonders began to come almost as matters of course, and Norval’s head
drooping down like a ball at the end of a string had such an irresistibly
comical appearance, that they both burst into a loud fit of laughter,
in which Norval himself joined most heartily. But when they had enjoyed
their laugh, and began to look matters and Norval in the face, the puzzle
was what to do; for they saw that to resist going out at the top would be
useless, and feared that if Norval’s legs were released, his body would
go out at the top and be smashed. After thinking a little, Jaques asked
Ranulf for his top-cord, proposing to tie it to Norval’s legs, and let
him down quietly. “Oh, but,” said Ranulf, “the cord would never reach so
far.”
[Sidenote: EXTENDED ARMS.]
[Illustration]
[Sidenote: THE MISSING BOX.]
[Sidenote: EXTENSION MOTIONS.]
[Sidenote: PULLING, BUT NO PULING.]
“Oh yes,” said Jaques; “don’t you see that whatever goes in at the bottom
must come out at the top? so the string will get long if we hold it, just
as Norval’s neck did.” This proved to be correct; for on tying the cord
to Norval’s legs and letting them go, they flew up at once, and Jaques
and Ranulf holding on prevented Norval tumbling over. But while Jaques
was easing the cord down, by moving his hands forward, he thoughtlessly
brought them within the doorway, when at once his arms flew up the
tower, and Norval had in his turn to assist Ranulf to hold Jaques, whose
hands shot out at the top of the tower, and hung down behind them as
Norval’s head had done before. Norval and Ranulf began to get the cord
ready to let Jaques down safely in his turn, but Jaques (mechanical
again) relieved them from the trouble by making use of his long arms. He
seized each of his heels firmly in one hand, and bidding the other boys
let go, eased his body gently up the tower, out at the top, and down
to the ground, and then drew his hands out. The sight of him, with his
monstrous arms, produced another burst of laughter, which increased when
Jaques, wanting to give Ranulf a box on the ear[6] for laughing, found
that his hand, instead of touching him, flew into a rhododendron bush
ever so far down the garden-walk. Although neither he nor his brother
could shorten their drawn-out members to their original size, still these
were so far elastic, that they could draw them in to about half their
enormous length, and throw them out again as they pleased. After they
had experimented a little with their unwieldy projections, making them
perform all sorts of antics, so that the three screamed with laughter,
Norval took it into his head that he would like to have a look into the
tower; for on his previous journey through it, he had been so hurried
that he saw nothing—in fact, had gone through like winking. He therefore
raised his head, drawing in his long neck, till he and the tower looked
like a gigantic pewter pot with its handle. On getting his nose to the
edge, he at once exclaimed, “Oh, what a jolly smell!” This excited
Ranulf’s curiosity, so he at once rushed to the door to have a sniff, and
to make sure he was not caught as his brothers had been, he took care not
to put even his hands in at the door. But unfortunately he forgot the
slightly Roman tendency of his nose, which, as he tried to get a whiff of
the scent, flew up the tower, nearly poking out Norval’s eye at the top,
and ran down the outside to the ground. Ranulf, who did not like having
his nose pulled in this fashion, was just going to cry, but remembering
the fairy’s caution, exclaimed to himself, “Not if I knows it,” pulled
out his handkerchief, and turning round gently did as boys usually do
when they have had to gulp down a sob.
“Now, then, get on,” cried Jaques.
“But what shall I do?” said Ranulf.
[Sidenote: BRIDGING THE DIFFICULTY.]
“Do! follow your nose, to be sure. Why don’t you come down by your
bridge?”
“What bridge?”
“Why, the bridge of your nose. I’ll hold it steady for you.”
[Sidenote: YOU BE BLOWED.]
Jaques accordingly seized Ranulf’s nose in his long arms, and giving
it a hitch round the lightning-conductor at the top of the tower, held
the end slanting, making it hang like the rope for the terrific ascents
of tight-rope performers, and down this improvised bridge Ranulf slid
successfully to the ground, after which Jaques removed the hitch from
the lightning-conductor, and Ranulf, who had a taste for the sea, coiled
his nose neatly upon the ground, like a hawser on board ship, and taking
the coils in his hand, threw them over his shoulder. His brothers seeing
this, stowed away their slack also, and had scarcely done so, when there
was a tremendous flourish of trumpets, and a being that might have passed
for a pantaloon, as he was clothed entirely in golden trouser-legs (the
Blunderland substitute for coats of arms) entered the gate. In reality
he was a herald, although you would not have guessed it, as he wore no
ruff round his throat Behind him strode six stalwart trumpeters, each of
whom, instead of blowing his own trumpet—as is too common nowadays—held
his instrument to the mouth of his left-hand neighbour. There was an
awkwardness about this arrangement, however, for the man at the right
end of the line had no trumpet for his mouth, and the man at the other
end had no mouth for his trumpet. But in Blunderland, difficulties
which elsewhere would be thought insurmountable are soon overleapt.
Accordingly, the sixth trumpet was managed thus: The moment the others
were raised, trumpeter No. 1, who had no instrument, looked hard along
the line, and called out, “No. 6, you be blowed!” and as obedience is the
rule in Blunderland, as opposed to what occurs elsewhere, this command
was quite enough to make trumpet No. 6 tootle-ootle away as loud as the
rest.
[Sidenote: TRUMPERY OBSTRUCTION.]
It seemed to be the business of these trumpeters to make as much noise as
they could whenever the unfortunate herald opened his lips to make his
proclamation. The sort of thing that went on was this: The herald, having
unrolled his paper, cleared his throat, of which there was much need; for
if there was no ruff outside, that was more than could be said of the
interior. If he had had colera he could not have been more nekroky.[7]
Having given a hem, long enough to go round the skirt of a lady’s dress,
even of modern proportions, he began to read—
“Roy——”
Instantly his thread was broken by tra ta ta, ti ta ta, tatata ta tum,
tatatraratatata, from all the trumpets at once.