A TERRIBLE NIGHT.
MY reception at Why had been such a very peculiar one that I had fully
made up my mind to return home at once, but his Majesty the Wallypug
begged me so earnestly to stay with him, at any rate for a few days,
that I determined, out of friendship to him, to put up as best I could
with that extraordinary person the Sister-in-Law, and the rest of the
creatures, and remain, in order to help him if possible to establish
his position at Why on a firmer basis.
So I took possession of a suite of rooms in the west wing of the
palace, near his Majesty’s private apartments, and we spent a very
pleasant evening together in my sitting-room, playing draughts till
bedtime, when his Majesty left me to myself, promising that he would
show me around the palace grounds the first thing in the morning.
After he had gone, there being a bright wood fire burning in my
bedroom, I drew a high-backed easy-chair up to the old-fashioned
fireplace, and made myself comfortable for a little while before
retiring for the night.
My bedroom was a large, old-fashioned apartment, with a low ceiling
and curiously carved oak wainscoting, and I watched the firelight
flickering, and casting all sorts of odd shadows in the dark corners,
till I must have fallen asleep, for I remember awaking with a start,
at hearing a crash in the corridor outside my bedroom door. A muttered
exclamation, and a Pelican, carrying a bedroom candlestick marched in,
and carefully fastened the door behind him.
“Great clumsy things—I can’t think who can have left them there,”
he grumbled, sitting down and rubbing one foot against the other, as
though in pain. And I suddenly came to the conclusion that he must have
stumbled over my boots, which I had stood just outside the door, in
order that they might be cleaned for the morning.
The Pelican had not noticed me in my high-backed chair, and, being
rather curious to see what he was up to, I kept perfectly still.
Going over to a clothes press, which stood in one corner of the room,
the bird drew forth a long white night-gown and a nightcap; these he
proceeded solemnly to array himself in, and then, getting up on a
chair, he turned back the bedclothes with his enormous beak, and was
just about to hop into bed, when I thought that it was time for me to
interfere.
“Here! I say, what are you up to?” I called out in a stern voice.
[Illustration: “He turned back the bedclothes with his enormous beak,
and was just about to hop into bed.”—Page 42.
_Wallypugland._]
“Oh—h-h! Ah—h-h! There’s a man in my room!” screamed the Pelican,
evidently greatly alarmed. “Murder! Fire! Police! Thieves!”
“Hold your tongue!” I commanded. “What do you mean by making all that
noise at this time of night, and what are you doing in my room?”
“Your room, indeed!” gasped the bird; “my room you mean, you
featherless biped, you!”
“Look here!” I remarked, going up to the Pelican, and shaking him till
his beak rattled again. “Don’t you talk to me like that, my good bird,
for I won’t put up with it.” You see I was getting tired of being
treated so contemptuously by all of these creatures, and was determined
to put a stop to it, somehow.
“But it _is_ my room. Let me go, I say!” screamed the bird, struggling
to get free, and dabbing at me viciously with his great beak.
“It is not your room,” I maintained; “and what is more, you are not
going to stay here,” and I pushed the creature towards the door.
“We’ll soon see all about that,” shouted the Pelican, wrenching himself
from my grasp, and rushing at me with his beak wide open, and his wings
outstretched.
He was an enormous bird, and I had a great struggle with him. We went
banging about the room, knocking over the furniture and making a
terrible racket. At last, however, I managed to get him near the door,
and giving a terrific shove I pushed him outside, and, pulling the door
to, quickly turned the key.
I could hear Mr. Pelican slipping and stumbling about on the highly
polished floor of the corridor outside, and muttering indignantly.
Presently he came to the door, and banging with his beak, he cried,
“Look here! this is beyond a joke—let me in, I say—where do you
suppose I am going to sleep?”
“Anywhere you like except here,” I replied, feeling that I had got the
best of it. “Go and perch or roost, or whatever you call it, on the
banisters, or sleep on the mat if you like—I don’t care what you do!”
“Impertinent wretch!” yelled the bird. “You only wait till the morning.
I’ll pay you out;” and I could hear him muttering and mumbling in
an angry way as he waddled down the corridor to seek some other
resting-place. “What ridiculous nonsense it is,” I thought, as I
tumbled into bed shortly after this little episode; “these creatures
giving themselves such airs. No wonder the Wallypug is such a meek
little person if he has been subjected to this sort of treatment
all his life.” And pondering over the best method of altering the
extraordinary state of affairs, I dropped off to sleep.
I do not know how long it may have been after this, but a terrific din,
this time in the courtyard below my window, caused me once more to
jump from my bed in alarm. I could hear a most unearthly yelling going
on, a babel of voices, and occasionally a resounding crash as though
something hollow had been violently struck.
[Illustration: HE WAS INTERRUPTED BY A SHOWER OF MISSILES.]
Pushing open the latticed windows I saw in the moonlight a little man
dressed in a complete suit of armor with an enormous shield, like a
dishcover, arranged over his head, playing the guitar, and endeavoring
to sing to its accompaniment. He was continually interrupted, however,
by a shower of missiles thrown from all of the windows overlooking the
courtyard, out of which angry heads of animals and other occupants of
the palace were thrust; he was surrounded by a miscellaneous collection
of articles which had evidently been thrown at him, and some of them,
had it not been for his suit of armor and the erection over his head,
would have caused him considerable injury.
[Illustration: THE MUSICIAN TOOK TO HIS HEELS AND FLED.]
He did not seem to mind them in the least, though, and continued
singing amid a perfect storm of boots, brushes, and bottles, as though
he was quite accustomed to such treatment: and it was only when an
irate figure, which somehow reminded me of his Majesty’s Sister-in-Law,
clad in white garments and flourishing a pair of tongs, appeared in
the courtyard, that he took to his heels and fled, pursued by the
white-robed apparition, till both disappeared beneath an archway at
the farther end of the courtyard. Most of the windows were thereupon
closed, and the disturbed occupants of the palace returned to their
rest. I was just about to close my lattice too, when I caught sight of
a familiar figure at the adjoining window. It was my old friend A.
Fish, Esq.
“Oh! id’s you iz id,” he cried. “You _have_ cub thed, I heard that you
were egspegded.”
“Yes, here I am,” I replied. “How are you? How is your cold?”
“Oh, id’s quide cured, thags; dote you dotice how butch better I speak?”
“I’m very glad to hear it, I’m sure,” I replied, waiving the question
and trying to keep solemn. “What’s all this row about?”
“Oh! thad’s the troubadour, up to his old gabes agaid; he’s ad awful
dusadce. I’ll tell you aboud hib in the bordig—good dight.” And A.
Fish, Esq., disappeared from view.