A MENAGERIE RACE
The first time that Jim returned from school was for the Easter
holidays.
He brought a couple of mates with him—boys from New South Wales and
Queensland, Harry Trevor and Walter Meadows. Harry was a little older
than Jim—a short, thick-set lad, very fair and solemn, with
expressionless grey eyes, looking out beneath a shock of flaxen hair.
Those who knew him not said that he was stupid. Those who knew him said
that you couldn’t tell old Harry much that he didn’t know. Those who
knew him very well said that you could depend on Trevor to his last
gasp. Jim loved him—and there were few people Jim loved.
Walter—or Wally—Meadows was a different type; long and thin for
fourteen, burnt to almost Kaffir darkness; a wag of a boy, with merry
brown eyes, and a temperament unable to be depressed for more than five
minutes at a time. He was always in scrapes at school, but a great
favourite with masters and boys notwithstanding; and he straightway
laid his boyish heart down at Norah’s feet, and was her slave from the
first day they met.
Norah liked them both. She had been desperately afraid that they would
try to take Jim away from her, and was much relieved to find that they
welcomed her cheerfully into their plans. They were good riders, and
the four had splendid gallops over the plains after hares. Also they
admired Bobs fervently, and that was always a passport to Norah’s
heart.
It was on the third day of their visit, and they were making the
morning round of the pets, when a brilliant idea came to Wally.
“Let’s have a menagerie race!” he cried suddenly.
“What’s that?” Norah asked blankly.
“Why, you each drive an animal,” explained Wally, the words tumbling
over one another in his haste. “Say you drive the kangaroo, ’n me the
wallabies, ’n Jim the Orpington rooster, ’n we’ll give old Harry the
tortoise—turloise, I beg pardon!”
“Thanks,” said Harry dryly. “The tortoise scored once, you know, young
Wally!”
“Well, old man, you take him,” Wally said kindly. “Wouldn’t stand in
your way for a moment. We can use harness, can’t we?”
“Don’t know,” Jim said. “I never studied the rules of menagerie racing.
Use bridles, anyhow. It’s a good idea, I think. Let’s see how many
starters we can muster.”
They cruised round. Dogs were barred as being too intelligent—horses
were, of course, out of the question. Finally they fixed on the
possible candidates. They were the kangaroo, the wallabies, a big black
Orpington “rooster,” Fudge the parrot, Caesar the cockatoo, Mrs.
Brown’s big yellow cat, Tim, and the “turloise.”
“Eight,” said Harry laconically. The starters were all mustered in one
enclosure, and were on the worst of terms. “We’ll need more jockeys—if
you call ’em jockeys.”
“Well, there’s black Billy,” Jim said; “he’s available, and he’ll drive
whichever he’s told, and that’s a comfort. That’s five. And we’ll rouse
out old Lee Wing, and Hogg, that’s a ripping idea, ’cause they hate
each other so. Seven. Who’s eight? Oh, I know! We’ll get Mrs. Brown.”
Mrs. Brown was accordingly bearded in her den and, protesting
vigorously that she had no mind for racing, haled forth into the open.
She was a huge woman, as good-natured as she was fat, which said a good
deal. In her print dress, with enormous white apron and flapping sun
bonnet, she looked as unlikely a “jockey” as could be imagined.
Lee Wing, discovered in the onion bed, was presently brought to the
scratch, despite his protests. He said he “couldn’t lun,” but was told
that in all probability no running would be required of him. He also
said “no can dlive” many times, and further remarked, “Allee same gleat
bosh.” When he saw his arch enemy Hogg among the competitors his
resentment was keen, and Wally was told off to restrain him from
flight. Wally’s own idea was to tie him up by the pigtail, but this Jim
was prudent enough to forbid.
Hogg was, as Jim put it, rooting amongst the roses, and grunted freely
on his way to the post. He could never refuse Norah anything, but this
proceeding was much beneath his dignity, and the sight of Lee Wing did
not tend to improve his view of the matter. He stood aloof, with a
cold, proud smile, like a hero of melodrama.
Black Billy was, of course, in the stables, and came with alacrity. He
had not much English and that little was broken, but he worshipped the
Linton children—Jim especially, and would obey him with the
unquestioning obedience of a dog.
“All here?” asked Jim, looking round. “Five, six, eight—that’s all
serene. Now who’s going to drive who?”
Opinions on that point were mixed. Every one wanted the kangaroo, and
at last a general vote gave him to Norah. Wally chose one Wallaby. He
said it was only natural, and made a further remark about the feelings
of the others when “Wally and his wallaby should wallow by them” that
was happily quenched by Harry, who adopted the simple plan of sitting
on the orator. Harry secured the second wallaby, and black Billy was
given the Orpington rooster as his steed. Mrs. Brown from the first
applied for the tortoise. She said it meant less exertion, and she
preferred to be slow and sure, without any risk of over-work. Hogg
chose the yellow cat, Tim, and Lee Wing was given Caesar, the cockatoo.
“Leaving old Fudge for me,” Jim said ruefully. “What sort of a chance
do you think I’ve got? Never mind, I’m used to being suppressed.”
“Good for you,” observed Harry. “Now, how about harness?”
“Well, we’ll leave that to individual taste,” Jim said. “Here’s a ball
of string, and there are plenty of light straps. Mrs. Brown—you’re the
leading lady. How shall I harness your prancing steed for you?”
“You will have your joke, Master Jim,” retorted Mrs. Brown, bridling
and beaming. “Now, I don’t think I’ll harness my poor beastie at all.
Give me a couple of sticks to keep his head the right way and to poke
him gently, and we’ll beat you all yet!”
Norah and the two boys fixed up fearful and wonderful harness for their
nominations—collars of straps, and long string headpieces and reins.
The animals objected strongly to being harnessed, and the process was
most entertaining. Mrs. Brown was particularly appreciative, and at
length in a paroxysm of mirth narrowly escaped sitting down on the
tortoise.
Black Billy’s harness was not extensive. He tied a string round the
black Orpington’s leg, and retired to the stable for a few minutes,
returning with a bulging pocket, the contents of which he did not
communicate. Hogg did not attempt to bit and bridle the yellow cat,
which was much annoyed at the whole proceeding. Instead he fixed up a
collar and traces of string, and chose a long cane, more, he said, for
purposes of defence than for anything else. Lee Wing and Jim harnessed
their steeds in the same way—with a long string tied to each leg.
“All ready?” Jim queried. “Toe the line!”
The course was across a small paddock near the house—a distance of
about thirty yards—and the competitors were ranged up with no little
difficulty. Luckily, the line was a wide one, admitting of considerable
space between each starter, or the send-off might have been
inextricably confused. However, they were all arranged at last, and
Jim, in a stentorian voice, gave the word to “Go.”
As the signal was given, the drivers urged on their steeds according to
their judgment, and with magnificent results.
First to get off the line were the wallabies and the kangaroo. They
fled, each his several way, and after them went their drivers, in great
haste. The kangaroo had all the best of the start. So remarkable was
his bound that he twitched his reins quite out of Norah’s hands, and
made for the fence of the paddock. It was an open one, which let him
through easily. The wallabies, seeing his shining success, followed his
course, and midway managed to entangle their reins, at which Wally and
Harry were wildly hauling. Confusion became disorder, and the wallabies
at length reduced themselves to a tangle, out of which they had to be
assisted by means of Harry’s pocket knife.
Jim had no luck. The parrot went off well, but very soon seemed to
regret his rashness and, despite all Jim’s endeavours, returned with
solemnity to the start, where he paused and talked fluently in the
mixed language that was all his own. In desperation Jim tried to pull
him along, but Fudge simply walked round and round him, until he had
exhausted his driver’s patience, and was “turned out.”
The most spirited of the competitors were decidedly the cockatoo and
Tim. They were panting for each other’s blood from the start, and
before they had been urged over a quarter of the way they found an
opportunity of warfare, and seized it simultaneously. Then the air grew
murky with sound—cockatoo shrieks, mingled with cat calls and fluent
Chinese, cutting across Hogg’s good, broad Scots. Naturally, the
strings of the harness became fatally twisted immediately, and soon the
combatants were bound together with a firmness which not all the
efforts of their drivers could undo. A sudden movement of the pair made
Lee Wing spring back hastily, whereupon he tripped and stumbled
violently against Hogg.
Hogg’s temper was at vanishing point, and this was the last straw.
“Ye pig-tailed image!” he exclaimed furiously. Drawing back, he aimed a
blow at Lee Wing, which would have effectively put that gentle
Mongolian out of the race had he not dodged quickly. He shouted
something in his own language, which was evidently of no complimentary
nature, and hurled himself like a yellow tornado upon the angry
Scotsman. They struck out at each other with all possible ill-will, but
their science was much impeded by the fact that the cat and cockatoo
were fighting fiercely amongst their legs. Finally Lee Wing tripped
over Tim, and sat down abruptly, receiving as he did so an impassioned
peck from Caesar which elicited from him a loud yell of anguish. Hogg,
attempting to follow up his advantage, was checked suddenly by Jim, who
left his parrot to its own devices, and arrived on the scene at full
gallop.
“You are a blessed pair of duffers!” said Jim wrathfully. “Look here,
if father catches you fighting there’ll be the most awful row—and I’ll
be in it too, what’s worse. Clear out, for goodness’ sake, before he
comes along, and don’t get in each others’ road again!” and each
nursing bitterness in his heart, the rival gardeners returned to their
respective beds of roses and onions.
Left to their own devices, the yellow cat and the cockatoo departed
also, in a turmoil of wrath, with fur and feathers flying in equal
proportions. Eventually Tim found discretion the better part of valour
and scurried away to the safe shelter of the kitchen, pursued by Caesar
with loud shrieks of defiance and victory—sounds of joyful triumph
which lasted long after he had regained his perch and been securely
fastened by the leg with his hated chain.
Black Billy, meanwhile, had paid strict attention to business. The
vagaries of wallabies and kangaroo, of cat and parrot and cockatoo, had
no attraction for the dusky leader of the big black Orpington rooster.
The Orpington—Jonah, Norah called him—was not inclined to race. He had
tugged furiously at his leg rope, with much outcry and indignation,
until Billy, finding himself alone, owing to the eccentric behaviour of
the other starters, had resorted to different tactics by no means
devoid of native cunning. Slackening the line, he suddenly produced
from his pocket a few grains of wheat, and spread them temptingly
before Jonah.
Now Jonah was a tame bird. He was accustomed to being handled, and had
only been indignant at the disgrace of bonds. This new departure was
something he understood; so he gobbled up the wheat with alacrity and
looked up inquiringly for more.
“Right oh!” said Bffly, retiring a few steps down the track and
bringing out another grain. Jonah sprang after it, and then was dazzled
with the view of two lying yet a few yards farther off. So, feeding and
coaxing, black Billy worked his unsuspecting steed across the little
paddock.
No one was near when he reached the winning post, to which he promptly
tied Jonah, and, his purpose being accomplished, and no need of further
bribery being necessary, sat down beside him and meditatively began to
chew the remainder of his wheat. Jonah looked indignant, and poked
round after more grains, an attention which Billy met with jeers and
continued heartless mastication, until the Orpington gave up the quest
in disgust, and retired to the limit of his tether. Billy sat quietly,
with steadfast glittering eyes twinkling in his dusky face.
“Hallo!” It was Jim’s voice. “Where are all the rest? D’you mean to say
you’re the only one to get here?”
Billy grinned silently.
Sounds of mirth floated over the grass, and Norah, Harry and Wally
raced up.
“Where are your mokes?” queried Jim.
“The good knights are dust,
Their mokes are rust,”
misquoted Wally cheerfully.
“We don’t know, bless you. Cleared out, harness and all. We’ll have a
wallaby and kangaroo hunt after this. Who’s won?”
“Billy,” said Jim, indicating that sable hero. “In a common walk. Fed
him over. All right, now, Billy, you catch-um kangaroo, wallaby—d’you
hear?”
Billy showed a set of amazingly white teeth in a broad grin, and
departed swiftly and silently.
“Where’s Lee Wing?”
“Had to tear him off Hogg!” Jim grinned. “You never saw such a shindy.
They’ve retired in bad order.”
“Where’s Fudge?”
“Left at the post!”
“Where’s Mrs. Brown—and the tortoise?”
“Great Scott!” Jim looked round blankly. “That never occurred to me.
Where is she, I wonder?”
The course was empty.
“Tortoise got away with her!” laughed Wally.
“H’m,” said Jim. “We’ll track her to her lair.”
In her lair—the kitchen—Mrs. Brown was discovered, modestly hiding
behind the door. The tortoise was on the table, apparently cheerful.
“Poor dear pet!” said Mrs. Brown. “He wouldn’t run. I don’t think he
was awake to the situation, Master Jim, dear, so I just carried him
over—I didn’t think it mattered which way I ran—and my scones were in
the oven! They’re just out—perhaps you’d all try them?”—this
insinuatingly. “I don’t think this tortoise comes of a racing
family!”—and the great menagerie race concluded happily in the kitchen
in what Wally called “a hot buttered orgy.”