THE NEXT DAY'S ADVENTURES
When I entered the breakfast room the next morning I found that the
Wallypug and the Doctor-in-Law had been up for some time, and were
both gazing out of the window with the greatest of interest.
"I hope your Majesty slept well," I remarked to the Wallypug as I
approached them.
"Very well indeed, thank you," he replied smilingly. "The
Doctor-in-Law and myself have just been saying that we are sure to
have an enjoyable visit here. We have been greatly interested in the
man-machines going past. We have never seen anything like them
before."
"The man-machines!" I exclaimed, puzzled to know whatever he could
mean.
"Yes, the men with wheels instead of legs, you know."
"Oh, you mean the bicyclists," I replied, laughing. "Have you really
never seen any before?"
"No, indeed," replied his Majesty. "Are they born with wheels on, or
do they grow afterwards?"
I laughed, and fortunately just then the youngster opposite, who
always rides to school on his bicycle, came out of doors wheeling his
machine, and I was able to explain to the Wallypug the principle upon
which they worked.
"Dear me; the Doctor-in-Law told me that the machinery was part of the
man, but now I see that it is separate. And he charged me sixpence for
the information too," he complained, looking reproachfully at the
Doctor-in-Law.
"Charged you sixpence!" I cried.
"Yes," replied the poor Wallypug. "He offered to tell me all about
them for sixpence, and as I was really very curious to know I gave it
to him, and then he informed me that they were a peculiar race of
people who came from Coventry, and who were all born with wheels
instead of legs."
"Take your old sixpence then, if you are going to make all that fuss
about it," said the Doctor-in-Law, crossly, throwing the coin down on
the table and walking out of the room in a huff. "I'm sure I did read
somewhere that they came from Coventry," he added, popping his head in
at the door and then slamming it violently after him.
The boy opposite was still riding up and down the road, and I made up
my mind that although I had never spoken to him before, I would ask
him to let the Wallypug examine his bicycle more closely.
"With pleasure," he replied, raising his hat politely to the Wallypug,
when I had explained who he was; "and if his Majesty would like to try
it he is quite welcome to do so."
The Doctor-in-Law's curiosity had so far overcome his ill-humour that,
when he saw us talking to the boy, he came forward and offered to help
the Wallypug to mount.
"I really don't think he had better," I said, "he might damage the
machine."
"Oh no, he won't hurt it, I'm sure," said the boy generously; and so
with our united assistance the Wallypug got on to the bicycle, and
after a few preliminary wobblings started off in fine style. Faster
and faster he went, clinging desperately to the handle-bars, till we,
who were running beside him, could no longer keep pace with him.
[Illustration: THE START]
"I can't stop," we heard him shout; and a moment later he charged
straight at a large stone and half a brick which lay in the middle of
the roadway.
Poor Wallypug! The sudden impact threw him right over the handle-bars,
and he landed in a huddled heap on his hands and knees in the gutter.
The machine flew in half, and the front portion careered madly away
by itself till stopped by the kerb.
We hurried up to his Majesty to discover if he was much hurt, but,
with the exception of a few scratches on his hands and knees and a
thorough shaking, he seemed to have come off pretty well.
[Illustration: THE FINISH]
"I suppose we can't stick it together again?" he inquired, gazing
ruefully at the broken bicycle, and I was obliged to tell him that
there was not much chance of our doing so. The boy to whom it belonged
bravely made the best of the matter, especially when I told him that
the next half-holiday he had I would take him to Holborn to choose
another one in its place.
And when I discovered that he had a half-holiday that very afternoon,
it was arranged that General Mary Jane should order a carriage at the
livery stable, and that we should all drive to the city after
luncheon.
The Wallypug, after a good wash and a hearty breakfast, went to his
room to lie down for an hour or two to recover from the effects of his
accident, and I was just answering my morning letters when there was a
knock at the study door, and the Rhymester entered.
[Illustration: HIPPETY-HOPPETY-PLOP]
"I sat up most of the night writing poetry," he remarked, "and I have
just brought you one or two specimens. The first one is called 'The
Ode of a Toad.' Perhaps I had better read it to you. My writing is
rather peculiar," and he began as follows:
THE ODE OF A TOAD.
There was once an old toad who lived under a tree,
Hippety hop--Flippety flop,
And his head was as bald as bald could be,
He was deaf as a post and could hardly see,
But a giddy and frivolous toad was he,
With his hippety-hoppety-plop.
And he gambolled and danced on the village green,
Hippety hop--Flippety flop,
In a way that had never before been seen,
Tho' he wasn't so young as once he had been,
And the people all wondered whate'er he could mean,
With his hippety-hoppety-plop.
But the old chap kept bobbing about just the same,
Hippety hop--Flippety flop,
Till everyone thought he _must_ make himself lame,
And not a soul ever could find out his aim,
In keeping up such a ridiculous game,
As his hippety-hoppety-plop.
Some said he was mad, tho' as mild as a dove,
Hippety hop--Flippety flop,
And as the result of a push or a shove,
Was a little bit cracked in the storey above,
_But I fancy myself the old boy was in love_,
With his hippety-hoppety-plop.
"There! What do you think of it?" he asked when he had finished.
"Well, candidly, I'm afraid not very much," I replied; "and what on
earth do you call it an ode for?"
"Why, you see, ode went so well with the word toad. I was going to
call it 'Ode to a Toad,' but it isn't _to_ a toad at all, though it's
about a toad. Ah! by the bye, I might call it 'A Toad's Ode,' mightn't
I? I think that sounds very jolly." He altered the title in pencil.
[Illustration: "I LOVE BUT THEE"]
"I have another which I think you will say is very touching." And
after getting his handkerchief out in case he should be moved to
tears, he began:
THE BALLADE OF A BUN.
Don't talk to me of "Sally Lunn,"
Or toasted tea-cake nice and hot,
I do not care for either one
A single solitary jot;
My heart is fixed and changeth not,
In all the world--whate'er I see,
And rich or poor--whate'er my lot--
Oh! penny bun, I love but thee.
For thy dear sake all cakes I shun
Smeared o'er with jam. No apricot
Or greengage tart my heart hath won;
Their sweetness doth but cloy and clot.
What marmalade in fancy pot
Or cream meringue, though fair it be,
Thine image e'er can mar or blot?
Oh! penny bun, I love but thee.
I vowed to cherish thee, or none
(Such love thy simple charms begot),
When first I saw thee, precious one;
And now to some sweet lonely spot,
Some shady dell or mossy grot,
Come let us hasten, you and me,
And I will eat you like a shot;
Oh! penny bun, I love but thee.
_Envoy._
Small boys or girls that homeward trot
From school in time for early tea,
This moral ne'er must be forgot:
"Love penny buns, and they'll love thee."
"Isn't it affecting?" he inquired, wiping his eyes when he had
finished.
"Well, perhaps I didn't quite appreciate the pathos of it as I might
have done," I answered, trying hard not to laugh. "You see I was
paying so much attention to the scansion. I find that you have altered
the refrain in the Envoy. Surely that's not correct, is it?"
"Oh, you are a great deal too particular," remarked the Rhymester
crossly. "Why, I should think from the Doctor-in-Law's description of
a critic that you must be one."
"What did he say a critic was?" I asked.
"Why, he said a critic was a person who found fault with another, for
not doing what he was unable to do himself. And he charged me
fourpence three-farthings for the information, and as I only had
fourpence halfpenny I have to pay him the odd farthing when I sell
some of my poems. Can you tell me how I can set to work about it?"
"Well, I hardly know," I replied, "unless you send them to the editors
of the various magazines. They may take them, but you must not be
disappointed if some of them are rejected. You see they cannot
possibly print everything that is sent to them."
There were several magazines in the study, and I suggested that the
Rhymester should make a list of the addresses of the various editors,
and he was busy about that till luncheon time.
At half-past two the carriage came to the door, and goodness only
knows what General Mary Jane must have told the livery stable people
about the Wallypug, for, evidently anxious to send an equipage worthy
of royalty, they had painted an enormous monogram in gold on the sides
of the carriage, while the coachman was resplendent in blue plush and
gold lace, with silk stockings and a powdered wig.
[Illustration: "EQUIPAGEOUS GRANDIOSITY"]
The Wallypug was delighted when he saw this elaborate turn-out, and
so were the others, for I overheard One-and-Nine murmuring something
about "equipageous grandiosity," as he climbed up to the seat beside
the coachman. When the Wallypug, the Doctor-in-Law, A. Fish, Esq.,
and the Rhymester, were seated, there was no room left for the boy
and myself, so we followed behind in a modest dog-cart, which was
hurriedly procured from the livery stable. Many were the wondering
glances bestowed upon the carriage, with its somewhat remarkable
burden, as we drove along through Kensington to the Gardens. And
everywhere our appearance was hailed with enthusiasm, people being
evidently under the impression that the Wallypug was one of the royal
guests invited to the Jubilee festivities. Who could he be? That was
decidedly the question which everyone was asking, and I could not
quite determine who was causing the greater sensation, the Wallypug or
A. Fish, Esq. These two individuals, however, comported themselves
with the calmest dignity, only the Doctor-in-Law seemed flurried by
the attention which they attracted, and smiled and bowed right and
left, whether the people took any notice of him or not.
As we approached Hyde-Park corner attention was diverted from the
Wallypug's carriage by the fact that _another_ royal equipage had
entered the Park gates; and as the Princess passed us, an amused
glance and a whispered conversation with the other occupant of the
carriage showed that the Wallypug's extraordinary party had not
escaped Her Royal Highness's attention.
After going once round the Park we went out at the Marble Arch and
along Oxford Street to Holborn, our progress through the crowded
streets everywhere attracting the most excited interest. And when
we stopped before one of the large bicycle _depots_ in Holborn the
crowd around the carriage was so large that the policeman had quite a
difficulty in preventing a block in the traffic. Our business was soon
transacted, and, having secured an excellent machine for the boy in
place of the one which his Majesty had damaged in the morning, we
drove back to Kensington without further adventure.
The Wallypug's curiosity, however, was so awakened by what he had seen
that, as soon as we had been refreshed by a cup of afternoon tea, he
suggested that we should go out for a walk; accordingly the whole
party proceeded to Kensington Gardens, followed by a curious and
somewhat derisive crowd of small boys, who would insist upon advising
the Wallypug to "get his hair cut." Now, I happened to know, from what
Girlie had told me about her adventures in Why, that the Wallypug,
though a kind of king, had to do as his people directed and not as he
liked, and that when he had presented a petition in Parliament to be
allowed to have his hair cut, they had divided upon the subject, and
so he had only been allowed to have _half_ of it cut, and as the long
half had by this time grown very long indeed, he certainly did look
rather remarkable; that was no excuse though for the street boys'
rudeness, and his Majesty very wisely took no notice of them. A. Fish,
Esq., came in for the greatest amount of attention, and when a few
drops of rain began to fall, and he put up an umbrella for fear that
he should get wet, the crowd became so excited that the Doctor-in-Law
wisely suggested that a return should be made. His Majesty, however,
was bent upon sight-seeing, and so the party separated, the
Doctor-in-Law, A. Fish, Esq., and One-and-Nine going home, while the
rest of us continued our walk. When we reached the Gardens, the
Wallypug was greatly interested in seeing the palace where the Queen
was born, and said that he should certainly petition his Parliament to
allow him to have soldiers walk up and down before the gates of his
palace, like those which he saw here. He admired greatly Princess
Louise's statue of the Queen, which stands in front of the palace,
and said he couldn't imagine where-ever they could have got all the
white sugar from to make it with, and I think that he was inclined to
disbelieve me when I told him that it was not made of sugar at all,
but of white marble; for he said that if that were the case he
couldn't think why they wanted to put such high railings around it, as
no one would wish to carry away a marble statue of that size, whereas,
if it were sugar, as he suggested, why, of course, the railings were
there to prevent the children from climbing up and breaking off little
pieces to eat.
[Illustration: FOR FEAR HE SHOULD GET WET]
The Round Pond and the little model ships interested His Majesty most
of all though, I fancy, and he spent quite a long time admiring them,
until, while assisting a small boy to get his ship ashore, he had the
misfortune to slip into the water himself, and had to be fished out
with the assistance of a boathook.
His Majesty certainly did not look either dignified or regal as he
stood on the bank saturated with water, and his royal robes clinging
about him in the most woe-begone manner--and as the crowd had greatly
increased, I was very glad to get the poor Wallypug into a cab and
drive home.
[Illustration: HIS MAJESTY HAS AN ACCIDENT]
On our way there, the Rhymester, being very much afraid of getting his
clothes wet, sat in the furthest corner of the cab and amused himself
by writing a verse on the subject of his Majesty's misfortune, which
read somehow like this:
"King George I've heard is King of Greece,
But since this luckless slipping,
The Wallypug I do declare
Should be the King of _Dripping_."
I think his Majesty thought it rather unkind of the Rhymester to make
fun of him in this way, but before he had time to think much about
the matter, we had arrived at our destination, and to my great
surprise I could see a vast crowd collected at the doors of the
building in which my flat is situated.