HIS MAJESTY AT THE SEASIDE
I sent Mrs. Putchy and General Mary Jane down to the house, which I
had engaged on the "Lees" at Folkestone, the day before we were to go,
in order to see that everything was ready for us.
"The only thing that is wrong is the kitchen chimney, and that smokes,
sir," said Mrs. Putchy, in answer to my inquiry on the night of our
arrival. "I think that we had better have the sweep in the morning,
sir."
"Very well, Mrs. Putchy, I'm sure you know best," I replied, and
thought no more of the matter.
Early in the morning, however, I was awakened by screams and cries
proceeding from the lower part of the house.
"Help! help! Burglars! Fire and police! Thieves!" screamed a voice,
and hastily dressing myself, I rushed out into the passage, and was
confronted by the Rhymester, who had evidently just jumped out of bed,
and who, though it was broad daylight, bore a lighted candle in one
hand, and a pair of fire tongs in the other.
His teeth were chattering with fright, and his knees were knocking
together from the same cause.
"What's the matter," I asked in alarm.
"Oh! oh! there are burglars in the house," he cried excitedly, "and
the others have gone down to them; I'm sure they'll be killed--I told
them not to go, but they would. Let's go and hide under a bed
somewhere. Oh! oh, what will become of us?"
"Don't be such a coward," I cried, hurrying down stairs, while the
poor little Rhymester, afraid to be left alone upstairs, tremblingly
followed.
Sure enough there was a sound of struggling going on, and voices
raised in loud dispute.
"Oh, that story won't do for me," I heard the Doctor-in-Law exclaim.
"But I tell yez, sor," chimed in another strange voice, "I waz only
going to----"
"Never mind what you were going to do, give up the sack," said the
Doctor-in-Law.
Then there were sounds of struggling, and amidst the confusion a voice
saying:
"Hold him down! Sit on him! That's right! Now for the sack."
And, bursting the door open, a curious sight met my eyes. A poor sweep
lay flat upon the floor, with the Wallypug sitting upon him, and
One-and-Nine keeping guard; while the Doctor-in-Law and A. Fish, Esq.,
examined his bag of soot in the corner. The poor little Rhymester
summoned up sufficient courage to peep in at the doorway, and stood
there making a piteous picture, with his white face and trembling
limbs.
"Whatever is the matter," I inquired as soon as I entered.
"We've caught him!" exclaimed his Majesty, complacently wriggling his
toes about.
"But what's he been doing," I asked.
[Illustration: "WE'VE CAUGHT HIM!"]
"Av ye plaze, sor," groaned the man, panting beneath the Wallypug's
weight, "I have been doing nothing at all, at all. I waz just
a-finishin' me warrak of swapin' the chimneys, wen one ov the ould
gintleman came up an' poked me in the nose with a sthick, and the
other ould gintleman knocked me over and sthole me bag, while the
soger hild me down till the other gintleman sat on me--it's among a
lot of murtherin' thaves I've got entoirely, savin' yer presince,
sor."
"The man is a burglar," declared the Doctor-in-Law emphatically. "I
happened to hear a very suspicious noise down here, and calling to the
others, rushed down just in time to catch this man making off with a
bag of things. I think he was trying to escape up the chimney, for his
head was half-way up when we entered, and this bag, which evidently
contains plunder of some kind, is covered with soot too."
"Why, the man is a sweep, and was sweeping the chimney," I cried,
pointing to his brushes and sticks; and after a lot of explanations
the man was told to get up and his Majesty, followed by the others,
retired to his bedroom, evidently greatly disappointed that it was not
a real burglar that they had been combating.
The sweep, who was a very good-natured Irishman, took it in very good
part, and the present of half-a-crown sent him away quite reconciled
to his assailants.
The Rhymester afterwards made a great boast that he had not taken any
part in the melee.
"Of course I knew all along that he wasn't a burglar," he declared,
"and that's the reason why I wouldn't interfere."
"You managed to do a good deal of screaming though, I noticed,"
remarked the Doctor-in-Law grumpily.
"Ah! that was only for fun," asserted the Rhymester.
This was really about the only remarkable incident which occurred
during our holiday at Folkestone, which passed very pleasantly and
very quietly. We went for a sea bathe nearly every day, and his
Majesty would insist upon wearing his crown in the water on every
occasion.
"No one will know that I am a king if I don't," he declared; and I am
bound to admit that his Majesty did not look very regal in his bathing
costume, particularly when he was dripping with water and his long
straight hair hung half over his face, and even when he wore his
crown he was continually catching bits of seaweed in it, which gave
him a singularly untidy appearance for a king.
[Illustration: HIS MAJESTY DID NOT LOOK VERY REGAL]
A. Fish, Esq., with the assistance of a lifebuoy, nearly learned to
swim while we were down there; but the Doctor-in-Law thought that
hiring bathing machines was a foolish waste of money, and contented
himself with taking off his shoes and stockings and paddling, which he
could do without having to pay. One day, however, he was knocked
completely over by an incoming wave, and got wet to the skin.
We could never persuade the Rhymester either, to go out further than
just to his knees; but I rather fancy that that was because he was
afraid of wetting his bathing costume, of which he was particularly
proud, and which was decorated with smart little bows of ribbon
wherever they could be conveniently put.
Fear may have had something to do with it though, for I noticed that
he always clung very tightly to the rope, and never by any chance went
beyond its length.
The switchback railway was a source of infinite amusement, and a great
deal of time was spent on it. Boating was not much indulged in, as it
made one or two of the party, particularly A. Fish, Esq., very ill;
but we all enjoyed the beautiful drives in the neighbourhood. There
was an excellent Punch and Judy show in the town too, which so
fascinated his Majesty that we could scarcely tear him away whenever
he joined the admiring crowd which daily surrounded it.
The fickle One-and-Nine, while we were here, fell in love with a wax
figure exhibited in a hair-dresser's window in Sandgate Road. It
represented a beautiful lady with her hair dressed in the latest
fashion, and the wooden soldier was greatly infatuated. He spent
hours gazing through the window, watching the lady slowly revolve by
clockwork; and he became frightfully jealous of the hair-dresser, whom
he caught one morning rearranging the drapery around the lady's
shoulders.
Eventually, with the assistance of the Rhymester, he composed the
following piece of poetry--which he stuck, by means of six gelatine
sweets, on to the hair-dresser's window with the writing inside, in
order that the lady might see it.
TO THE BEAUTIFUL LADY IN THE HAIRDRESSER'S WINDOW.
I love you, oh! I love you,
And I beg you to be mine;
I'm a gallant wooden soldier,
And my name is 1/9.
If you will only marry me,
'Twill be the greatest fun
To puzzle folks by telling them,
That we're both 2/1.
'Twill be the truth, for man and wife
Are one, I beg to state,
This fact's as clear as 4/4,
Or 2/6 make 8.
They tell me, dear, you have no feet;
But what is that to me?
2 feet be 4/2 behind
On animals you see.
That you have none, is 0 to me,
Dear 1/4 your sake,
No trifles such as these shall e'er
My true affections shake.
I bought some penny tarts for you,
But I am much distrest
To tell you by mistake I sat
On 1/8 the rest.
One-and-Nine was quite happy in finding that the paper had disappeared
from the shop window when he passed by a little later, and declared
that it must mean that the lady had accepted him and his poetry.
I think the funniest incident of all though, in connection with our
visit to Folkestone, was when his Majesty and the others went into
Carlo Maestrani's for some ices.
They had never tasted any before, and were very much surprised to find
them so cold. I shall never forget the expression on the Wallypug's
face when, having rather greedily taken a very large mouthful, he
could not swallow it, or dispose of it in any way. A. Fish, Esq.,
declared that it gave him a violent toothache; while the Doctor-in-Law
called for the waiter, and insisted upon him taking it away.
[Illustration: "IT'S NOT PROPERLY COOKED"]
"It's not properly cooked," he declared angrily. "It's cold."
"Cook, sare, no, sare, it is not cook," agreed the waiter.
"Very well, then, take it away and bring us some that is. Have it
warmed up; do something with it. It's disgraceful bringing us stuff
like that."
And no argument or persuasion would convince the little man that the
ices were as they should be.