It was just at the end of the school term, and I had received a letter
from my young cousin Lionel, who was at Marlborough, reminding me of my
promise that he should spend a part at least of his holidays with me.
"Mind you're at the station in time," he had said; "and, I say! please
don't call me Lionel if there are any of our fellows about, it sounds so
kiddish. Just call me Sutcliffe, and I'll call you sir--as you're so
old--like we do the masters. Oh yes! and there's something I want you to
buy for me, very particularly--it's for my study. I've got a study this
term, and I share it with a fellow named Gammage. He's an awfully good
egg!"
"What extraordinary language schoolboys do manage to get hold of," I
thought as I re-read the letter while bowling along in the cab on my
way to the station, which, a very few minutes later, came in sight, the
platform being crowded with parents, relatives and friends waiting to
meet the train by which so many Marlburians were travelling.
There was a shriek from an engine, and a rattle and clatter outside the
station, as the train, every window filled with boys' excited faces,
came dashing up to the platform.
"There's my people!" "There's Tom!" "Hi! hi! Here I am!" "There's the
pater with the trap!" "Hooray!" To the accompaniment of a babel of cries
like these, and amidst an excited scramble of half-wild schoolboys, I
at last discovered my small cousin.
"There he is!" he said, pointing me out to a young friend who was with
him; and coming up he hurriedly offered his hand.
"How are you, _Sutcliffe_?" I asked, remembering his letter.
"All right, thanks," he replied. "This is Gammage. I wanted to show you
to him. He wouldn't believe I had a cousin as old as you are. See,
Gammage?"
Gammage looked at me and nodded. "'Bye, Sutcliffe; good-bye, sir," said
he, raising his hat to me and hurrying off to his "people."
"I say! don't forget the rug, Sutcliffe!" he bawled over his shoulder
before finally disappearing.
"Oh no! I say, sir! _That's_ what I want to ask you about," said
Sutcliffe, scrambling into the taxi, and settling himself down with a
little nod of satisfaction.
"What?" I inquired, as we bowled out of the station.
"Why, a rug for my--our--study," said the boy. "Gammage has bought no
end of things to make our room comfortable, and they've sent me up some
pictures and chairs and things from home--and--it would be awfully
decent of you if you'd buy me a rug to put in front of the fire-place.
It's rather cheek to ask, but you generally give me something when I
come over to see you, and I arranged with Gammage to say I'd rather have
that than anything. What sort of a shop do you get rugs at? Couldn't we
get it on our way now, and then it would be done with? I might forget to
ask you about it later on."
"What sort of a rug do you want?" I asked, as the taxi turned into
Tottenham Court Road.
"Oh, I don't know, sir. Any sort of an ordinary kind of rug will do.
There's some in that window; one of those would do."
I stopped the taxi and we got out. The window was filled with Oriental
rugs and carpets, and a card in their midst stated that they were "a
recent consignment of genuine old goods direct from Arabia."
"Oh, they're too expensive, I expect," I remarked, as we stood amongst a
small crowd of people in front of the window, "those Oriental rugs are
generally so--"
But Sutcliffe suddenly nudged my arm, and, with an amused twinkle in his
eye, called my attention to a remarkable little figure standing beside
him, dressed in an extraordinary yellow costume, and wearing a turban.
"Why! bless me! It's Shin Shira!" I exclaimed. "I hadn't noticed you
before."
"No," said the Yellow Dwarf, "I've only just appeared. How very strange
meeting you here!"
I told him what we were doing, and introduced my young cousin, who was
greatly interested and somewhat awe-struck at the extraordinary little
personage in the Oriental costume, whose remarkable appearance was
causing quite a sensation amongst the bystanders.
"Oh, these rugs," he said, looking at them casually. "No, I don't fancy
they are much good for your purpose, they seem to be too--hullo!" he
suddenly cried excitedly, "what's that? Good gracious! I really believe
it's--Why, yes! I'm sure of it! I recognise it quite well by the
pattern. There's not another in the world like it. How could it possibly
have got here?"
"What _are_ you talking about?" I asked.
"Why, this carpet," cried Shin Shira, pointing excitedly to a very
quaint-looking Oriental rug in the corner of the window. "It's the Magic
Carpet which everybody has read about in the _Arabian Nights_. It
enables anybody in whose possession it is to travel anywhere they
wish--surely you must have heard about it."
"No!" cried Lionel, his eyes sparkling with eagerness, "not really? Oh,
sir! Do--_do_ please buy it--it will be simply ripping! Do! do! Why, it
will be better than an aeroplane."