It is wonderful how the state of mind of a whole household is influenced
by the heads of it. Mr Skratdj was a very kind master, and Mrs
Skratdj was a very kind mistress, and yet their servants lived in a
perpetual fever of irritability that just fell short of discontent.
They jostled each other on the back stairs, said sharp things in the
pantry, and kept up a perennial warfare on the subject of the duty of
the sexes with the general man-servant. They gave warning on the
slightest provocation.
The very dog was infected by the snapping mania. He was not a brave
dog, he was not a vicious dog, and no high-breeding sanctioned his
pretensions to arrogance. But like his owners, he had contracted a bad
habit, a trick, which made him the pest of all timid visitors, and
indeed of all visitors whatsoever.
The moment anyone approached the house, on certain occasions when he was
spoken to, and often in no traceable connection with any cause at all,
Snap the mongrel would rush out, and bark in his little sharp
voice--"Yap! yap! yap!" If the visitor made a stand, he would bound
away sideways on his four little legs; but the moment the visitor went
on his way again, Snap was at his heels--"Yap! yap! yap!" He barked at
the milkman, the butcher's boy, and the baker, though he saw them every
day. He never got used to the washerwoman, and she never got used to
him. She said he "put her in mind of that there black dog in the
Pilgrim's Progress." He sat at the gate in summer, and yapped at every
vehicle and every pedestrian who ventured to pass on the high road. He
never but once had the chance of barking at burglars; and then, though
he barked long and loud, nobody got up, for they said, "It's only Snap's
way." The Skratdjs lost a silver teapot, a Stilton cheese, and two
electro christening mugs, on this occasion; and Mr and Mrs Skratdj
dispute who it was who discouraged reliance on Snap's warning to the
present day.
One Christmas-time, a certain hot-tempered gentleman came to visit the
Skratdjs. A tall, sandy, energetic young man, who carried his own bag
from the railway. The bag had been crammed rather than packed, after
the wont of bachelors; and you could see where the heel of a boot
distended the leather, and where the bottle of shaving-cream lay.
As he came up to the house, out came Snap as usual--"Yap! yap! yap!"
Now the gentleman was very fond of dogs, and had borne this greeting
some dozen of times from Snap, who for his part knew the visitor quite
as well as the washerwoman, and rather better than the butcher's boy.
The gentleman had good, sensible, well-behaved dogs of his own, and was
greatly disgusted with Snap's conduct. Nevertheless he spoke friendly
to him; and Snap, who had had many a bit from his plate, could not help
stopping for a minute to lick his hand. But no sooner did the gentleman
proceed on his way, than Snap flew at his heels in the usual fashion--
"Yap! Yap! Yap!"
On which the gentleman--being hot-tempered, and one of those people with
whom it is (as they say) a word and a blow, and the blow first--made a
dash at Snap, and Snap taking to his heels, the gentleman flung his
carpet-bag after him. The bottle of shaving-cream hit upon a stone and
was smashed. The heel of the boot caught Snap on the back, and sent him
squealing to the kitchen. And he never barked at that gentleman again.
If the gentleman disapproved of Snap's conduct, he still less liked the
continual snapping of the Skratdj family themselves. He was an old
friend of Mr and Mrs Skratdj, however, and knew that they were really
happy together, and that it was only a bad habit which made them
constantly contradict each other. It was in allusion to their real
affection for each other, and their perpetual disputing, that he called
them the "Snapping Turtles."
When the war of words waxed hottest at the dinner-table between his host
and hostess, he would drive his hands through his shock of sandy hair,
and say, with a comical glance out of his umber eyes, "Don't flirt, my
friends. It makes a bachelor feel awkward."
And neither Mr nor Mrs Skratdj could help laughing.
With the little Skratdjs his measures were more vigorous. He was very
fond of children, and a good friend to them. He grudged no time or
trouble to help them in their games and projects, but he would not
tolerate their snapping up each other's words in his presence. He was
much more truly kind than many visitors, who think it polite to smile at
the sauciness and forwardness which ignorant vanity leads children so
often to "shew off" before strangers. These civil acquaintances only
abuse both children and parents behind their backs, for the very bad
habits which they help to encourage.
The hot-tempered gentleman's treatment of his young friends was very
different. One day he was talking to Polly, and making some kind
inquiries about her lessons, to which she was replying in a quiet and
sensible fashion, when up came Master Harry, and began to display his
wit by comments on the conversation, and by snapping at and
contradicting his sister's remarks, to which she retorted; and the usual
snap-dialogue went on as usual.
"Then you like music," said the hot-tempered gentleman.
"Yes, I like it very much," said Polly.
"Oh, do you?" Harry broke in. "Then what are you always crying over it
for?"
"I'm not always crying over it."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not. I only cry sometimes, when I stick fast."
"Your music must be very sticky, for you're always stuck fast."
"Hold your tongue!" said the hot-tempered gentleman.
With what he imagined to be a very waggish air, Harry put out his
tongue, and held it with his finger and thumb. It was unfortunate that
he had not time to draw it in again before the hot-tempered gentleman
gave him a stinging box on the ear, which brought his teeth rather
sharply together on the tip of his tongue, which was bitten in
consequence.
"It's no use _speaking_," said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his
hands through his hair.
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Children are like dogs, they are very good judges of their real friends.
Harry did not like the hot-tempered gentleman a bit the less because he
was obliged to respect and obey him; and all the children welcomed him
boisterously when he arrived that Christmas which we have spoken of in
connection with his attack on Snap.
It was on the morning of Christmas Eve that the china punch bowl was
broken. Mr Skratdj had a warm dispute with Mrs Skratdj as to whether
it had been kept in a safe place; after which both had a brisk encounter
with the housemaid, who did not know how it happened; and she, flouncing
down the back passage, kicked Snap; who forthwith flew at the gardener
as he was bringing in the horse-radish for the beef; who stepping
backwards trode upon the cat; who spat and swore, and went up the pump
with her tail as big as a fox's brush.
To avoid this domestic scene, the hot-tempered gentleman withdrew to the
breakfast-room and took up a newspaper. By-and-by, Harry and Polly came
in, and they were soon snapping comfortably over their own affairs in a
corner.
The hot-tempered gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the top of
his newspaper at them for some time, before he called, "Harry, my boy!"
And Harry came up to him.
"Shew me your tongue, Harry," said he.
"What for?" said Harry; "you're not a doctor."
"Do as I tell you," said the hot-tempered gentleman; and as Harry saw
his hand moving, he put his tongue out with all possible haste. The
hot-tempered gentleman sighed. "Ah!" he said in depressed tones; "I
thought so!--Polly, come and let me look at yours."
Polly, who had crept up during this process, now put out hers. But the
hot-tempered gentleman looked gloomier still, and shook his head.
"What is it?" cried both the children. "What do you mean?" And they
seized the tips of their tongues in their fingers, to feel for
themselves.
But the hot-tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room without
answering; passing his hands through his hair, and saying, "Ah! Hum!"
and nodding with an air of grave foreboding.
Just as he crossed the threshold, he turned back, and put his head into
the room. "Have you ever noticed that your tongues are growing
pointed?" he asked.
"No!" cried the children with alarm. "Are they?"
"If ever you find them becoming forked," said the gentleman in solemn
tones, "let me know."
With which he departed, gravely shaking his head.
In the afternoon the children attacked him again. "_Do_ tell us what's
the matter with our tongues."
"You were snapping and squabbling just as usual this morning," said the
hot-tempered gentleman.
"Well, we forgot," said Polly. "We don't mean anything, you know. But
never mind that now, please. Tell us about our tongues. What is going
to happen to them?"
"I'm very much afraid," said the hot-tempered gentleman, in solemn
measured tones, "that you are both of you--fast--going--to--the--"
"Dogs?" suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions.
"Dogs!" said the hot-tempered gentleman, driving his hands through his
hair. "Bless your life, no! Nothing half so pleasant! (That is,
unless all dogs were like Snap, which mercifully they are not.) No, my
sad fear is, that you are both of you--rapidly--going--_to the
Snap-Dragons_!"
And not another word would the hot-tempered gentleman say on the
subject.
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