THE PICNIC--FIGGINS AGAIN IN TROUBLE.
After Jack had placed the beautiful girl in safety, he arranged for Mr.
Mole to tell him the news from home.
"Your dear father and mother are in a woeful state about you, Jack,"
said Mole.
"Why?" asked young Jack.
"I don't like beginning with reproaches, my boy," returned Mr. Mole,
"but I must, of course, tell you. Your little extravagances have been
troubling your father a great deal."
"I can throw some light on that subject," replied Jack. "I have been
robbed. Cheques have been stolen from my book, and my signature
forged."
Mr. Mole looked grave.
"Is this the fact?" he asked.
"Of course. However, we need not go further into that just now. Give me
the news. How is Emily?"
"Very well in health, but spirits low--sighing for her Jack," said
Mole, wickedly.
"Did she tell you so?" demanded Jack.
"Not exactly, but I can see as far through a stone wall as most
people."
"Yes, sir, I believe you can," said Jack. "That is about the limit of
your powers of observation."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Mole. "But I know how to comfort Emily, dear
girl. She'll be quite resigned to your prolonged absence when she gets
news of you. I have already written home to explain the odd
circumstances under which I met you--that you were shut up in some dark
room with a lovely Circassian girl, and that you subsequently rescued
her, and how very fond of you the lovely Circassian seems, and----"
"I wish you would only meddle with affairs that concern you, Mr. Mole,"
said Jack, stiffly. "I don't want you to furnish information to any
body about my movements."
"Very good," replied Mr. Mole, "I won't, then. I thought I might send a
second letter, to say that I was quite sure you did not care a fig for
the lovely Circassian."
Jack thought that this might be a desirable move, and so he tried to
square matters a bit.
"Do so, and I will be your friend," he said.
"Consider it done," exclaimed Mole. "I like you as I did, and do, your
father, but I must have my joke."
* * * *
The perilous adventures which our friends had encountered on their
expedition did not deter them from further enterprises.
Only two days after the events just recorded, Jack's party set out on a
picnic excursion, to examine the beauties of the surrounding
neighbourhood.
It was not towards the desert that they directed their steps this time,
but in the opposite direction.
Mr. Figgins, upon this journey, showed his usual talent for getting
into scrapes.
On passing under a group of fine fig-trees, nothing would suit him but
he must stand upon his mule's saddle in order to reach some of the
fruit.
As he was still not high enough to do this, he made a spring up and
caught one of the lower branches, to which he clung.
Suddenly the mule, we know not from what cause, bolted from underneath,
leaving the luckless orphan suspended.
Mr. Figgins soon relinquished the search in his anxiety for his own
safety.
He saw beneath him a descent of some ten feet, and at the bottom a
dense bed of stinging nettles.
How was he to get down?
Dropping was out of the question, for it would be like a leap into
certain torture.
However, Harkaway called out to him to hold on, but not so loudly as
Figgins bawled all the while for help.
Meanwhile, Bogey and Tinker had started after the escaped mule, which
they found some difficulty in capturing.
When it was at length secured, the animal was placed in his former
position under the tree, and firmly held by the two negroes.
"Now let yourself down, Figgins," cried Jack; "drop straight and
steady."
Figgins tried his best to obey.
When he let go the branch, it rebounded with a force that threw him out
of the perpendicular, and instead of landing upon the mule's back, he
fell and landed on the bed of stinging nettles.
The orphan roared lustily--as indeed well he might--for, besides being
shaken by the fall, the pain he soon felt in every portion of his frame
exposed to the nettles was excruciating.
When the party emerged from the forest, a scene of unusual beauty broke
upon their vision.
"This is a charming spot," observed Harkaway.
"And just the thing for a picnic," added Harry. "I vote we halt under
those trees and begin operations."
Hampers were then unpacked, bottles uncorked, and application made to a
pure stream of water which flowed near the spot.
At length all was ready.
Poor orphan, the first mouthful he took seemed to consist of cayenne
pepper.
The cup of water, to which he naturally applied for relief, also
appeared to have been tampered with, for it tasted as salt as the briny
ocean itself.
Next, and also naturally, he drew forth his pockethandkerchief, but ere
he could carry it to his mouth, dropped it in haste and with a cry of
horror, for it contained an enormous frog, which, in its struggles to
escape, fell plump into his plate.
Mr. Mole laughed loudly, whereat Mr. Figgins was naturally offended at
the schoolmaster, and began to suspect that it was he who had been
playing these practical jokes upon him.
Bogey and Tinker, the real promoters of the orphan's discomfiture,
observed this with great inward mirth, but they soon afterwards got
into a little trouble themselves.
Harkaway, turning suddenly round, discovered the two black imps making
sad havoc with the sweets.
"You young scoundrels," shouted Jack, angrily grasping his riding-whip;
"take your fingers off that jam pot immediately."
"I was on'y a-openin' it, sar, ready for de company," exclaimed the
unabashed Tinker.
"What's that you have in your hand, Bogey?" proceeded Harkaway,
alluding to something which the darkey was hiding suspiciously behind
him.
"Only a bit o' bread I brought in my pocket, sar," was the reply.
"Show it us, then, directly, sir."
Bogey accordingly produced a crust from apparently a loaf of the week
before last, but while doing so, Jack's sharp eyes detected that the
nigger dropped some other eatable, in his hurried endeavour to ram it
into his pockets unseen.
"There, our large currant and raspberry tart!" exclaimed Harkaway. "You
artful monkey. I owe you one for this, and I mean to pay you now."
Darting at them, Jack just managed to give Bogey and Tinker a cut each
on the shoulders with his whip as they nimbly scampered off, both
bellowing as though they were being murdered.
But rapid as was the action, Nero saw an opportunity in it whereof he
took advantage, for he pounced upon the well-bitten tart, and bore it
away in triumph.
This episode, however, was soon forgotten, and Mole began to relate
adventures of himself which would have done credit to Baron Munchausen,
while Figgins, not to be outdone, told wonderful stories of high life
in which he had been personally engaged.