It occurred to Gwendolyn that it would be a very good idea to stop
turning stones. The first one set bottom-side up had resulted in the
arrival of Jane. And whereas the Policeman had appeared when the second
was dislodged, here, following the accidental stub of a toe, were these
two--the Piper and Thomas.
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces hurried across to her, his expression dubious.
"Bitter pill!" he exclaimed, with a sidewise jerk of the ragged hat.
"Gall and wormwood!"
"Oh, yes!" For--sure enough!--there _was_ an ill-flavored taste on her
lips--a taste that made her regret having lost the candy.
Next, the Policeman came _tick-tocking_ up. "The scheme was to kidnap
you," he declared wrathfully.
"And keep me from finding my fath-er and moth-er," added Gwendolyn. Now
she understood why Jane was so pleased with the choice of the automobile
road! And she realized that all along there was never any danger of her
being kidnaped by _strangers_, but by the two who, their past
ill-feeling evidently forgotten, were at this very moment chuckling and
chattering together, ugly heads touching--the eary head and the head
with the double face!
Seeing the Policeman and the little old gentleman in conversation with
Gwendolyn, the Piper slouched over. "Look a-here!" he began roughly,
addressing all three; "you're goin' to make a great big mistake if you
antagonize a man that belongs to a Labor Union." (Just so had he spoken
the day he fixed the broken hot-water pipe.)
"Bosh!" cried the Policeman. "What do we care about _him!_ Why, he'll
never even get through the Gate!"
Gwendolyn was puzzled. _What_ Gate? And _why_ would Thomas not get
through it? Then looking round to where he was conspiring with Jane, she
saw what she believed was a very good explanation: He would never even
get through the Gate because (a simple reason!) the _nurse_ would not be
able to get through.
For by now Jane was not only as _round_ as a barrel, but she was fully
as _large_--what with so much happy giggling over Thomas's arrival.
Moreover, having toppled sidewise, she _looked_ like a barrel--a barrel
upholstered in black sateen, with a neat touch of white at collar and
cuffs!
"He's been in trouble before," continued the Policeman, stormily. "But
_this_ time--!" And letting himself down flat upon his head, he shook
both neatly shod feet in the Piper's face.
It was now that Gwendolyn chanced, for the first time, to examine the
latter's bundle. And was surprised to discover that it was nothing less
than a large _poke-bonnet_--of the fluffy, lacy, ribbony sort. And she
was admiring it, for it was of black silk, and handsome, _when something
within it stirred!_
She retreated--until the night-stick and the kidnaper knife were between
her and the poke. "Hadn't we better be st-starting?" she faltered
nervously.
The Piper marked her manner, and showed instant resentment of it. "This
here thing was handed me once in part-payment," he explained. "And I
ain't been able to get rid of it since. Every single day it's harder to
lug around. Because, you see, he's growin'."
At that, the Policeman and the Man-Who-Makes-Faces exchanged a glance
full of significance. And both shrugged--the Policeman with such an
emphatic upside-down shrug that his shoulders brushed the ground.
Gwendolyn's curiosity emboldened her. "_He?_" she questioned.
"The pig."
_The pig!_ Gwendolyn's pink mouth opened in amazement. Here was the very
pig that she heard _belonged_ in a poke!
The Piper was glowering at Jane, who was rocking gently from side to
side, displaying first one face, then the other. "Well, _I_ call that
dancing," he declared. And pulling out a small, well-thumbed
account-book, jotted down some figures.
Gwendolyn tried to think of something to say--while feeling mistrust
toward the Piper, and abhorrence toward the poke and its contents. At
last she took refuge in polite inquiry. "When did you come out from
town?" she asked.
The Piper grunted rather ill-humoredly (or was it the pig?--she could
not be certain), and colored up a little. "I didn't _come_ out," he
answered in his surly fashion. Whereupon he fell to fitting a coupling
upon the ends of two pipes.
"No?"--inquisitively.
"I--er--got run out."
"Oh!"
Again the Policeman and the Man-Who-Makes-Faces exchanged a significant
glance.
"You see," went on the Piper, "in the City everybody's in debt. Well, I
have to have my money, don't I? So I dunned 'em all good. But
maybe--er--a speck _too_ much. So--"
"Oh, dear!" breathed Gwendolyn
"Of course, I've never been what you might call popular. Who _would_
be--if everybody owed him money."
"Huh!" snorted the Policeman.
"You overcharge," asserted the little old gentleman.
Gwendolyn hastened to forestall any heated reply from the Piper. "You
don't think your pig had anything to do with it?" she suggested
considerately. "'Cause do--do _nice_ people like pigs?"
"The pig was never in sight," asserted the Piper. "Guess that's one
reason why I can't sell him. What people don't see they don't want to
buy--even when it's covered up stylish." (Here he regarded the poke
with an expression of entire satisfaction.)
The little company was well on its way by now--though Gwendolyn could
not recall the moment of starting. The Piper had not waited to be
invited, but strolled along with the others, his birch-stemmed
tobacco-pipe in a corner of his mouth, his hands in his pockets, and the
pig-poke a-swing at his elbow.
Thomas, left to get Jane along as best he could, had managed most
ingeniously. The nurse was cylindrical. All he had to do, therefore, was
to give her momentum over the smooth windings of the road by an
occasional smart shove with both hands.
Which made it clear that the likelihood of losing Jane, of leaving her
behind, was lessening with each moment! For now the more the nurse
laughed _the easier it would be to get her along_.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Gwendolyn, with a sad shake of her yellow head as
Jane came trundling up, both fat arms folded to keep them out of the
way.
"If she stopped dancin' where would I come in?" demanded the Piper,
resentfully. The pig moved in the poke. He trounced the poor thing
irritably.
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces now began to speak--in a curious, chanting
fashion. "The mode of locomotion adapted by this woman," said he,
"rather adds to, then detracts from, her value as a nurse. Think what
facilities she has for amusing a child!--on, say, an extensive slope of
lawn. And her ability to, see two ways--practically at once--gives her
further value. Would _she_ ever let a young charge fall over a cliff?"
The barrel was whopping over and over--noiselessly, except for the
faint chatter of Jane's tortoise-shell teeth. Behind it was Thomas,
limp-eared by now, and perspiring, but faithful to his task.
"The _best_ thing," whispered Gwendolyn, reaching to touch a ragged
sleeve, "would be to get rid of Thomas. Then she--"
The Policeman heard. "Get rid of Thomas?" he repeated. "Easy enough.
_Look on the ground_."
She looked.
"See the h's?"
Sure enough, the road was fairly strewn with the sixth consonant!--both
in small letters and capitals.
"Been dropped," went on the Officer.
She had heard the expression "dropping his h's." Now she understood it.
"Oh, but how'll these help?"
"Show 'em to Thomas!"
She approached the barrel--and pointed down.
Thomas followed her pointing. Instantly his expression became furious.
And one by one his ears stood up alertly. "It's him!" he shouted. "Oh,
wait till I get my hands on him!" Then heaving hard at the barrel, he
raced off along the alphabetical trail.
Gwendolyn was compelled to run to keep up with him. "What's the
trouble?" she asked the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
"A Dictionarial difference," he answered, his dark-skinned face very
grave.
"Oh!" (She resolved to hunt Dictionarial up the moment she was back in
the school-room.)
Thomas was shouting once more from where he labored in the lead. "I'll
murder him!" he threatened. "This time I'll mur-r-der him!"
Murder? That made matters clear! There was only one person against whom
Thomas bore such hot ill-will. "It's the King's English," she panted.
"It's the King's English," agreed the Policeman, _tick-tocking_ in rapid
_tempo_.
She reached again to tug gently at a ragged sleeve. "Do _you_ know him?"
she asked.
The round black eyes of the little old gentleman shone proudly down at
her. "All nice people are well acquainted with the King's English," he
declared--which statement she had often heard in the nursery. Now,
however, it embarrassed her, for she was compelled to admit to herself
that _she_ was not acquainted with the King's English--and he a
personage of such consequence!
The Piper hurried alongside, all his pipes rattling. "Just where are we
goin', anyhow?" he asked petulantly.
"We're going to the Bear's Den," informed the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
"And here's the Zoo now," announced the Policeman.
It was unmistakably the Zoo. Gwendolyn recognized the main entrance. For
above it, in monster letters formed by electric lights, was a sign,
bulbous and blinding--
_Villa Sites Borax Starch Shirts._
"So _this_ is the Gate you meant!" she called to the Policeman.
The Gate was flung invitingly wide Thomas rushed toward it, his fourteen
ears flopping horribly.
"And here _he_ is!" cried the Policeman. "On guard."
The next moment--"'Alt!" ordered a harsh voice--a voice with an English
accent.
There was a flash of scarlet before Gwendolyn's face--of scarlet so
vivid that it blinded. She flung up a hand. But she was not frightened.
She knew what it was. And rubbed at her eyes hastily to clear them.
He stood in full view.
As far as outward appearance was concerned, he was exactly the looking
person she had pictured in her own mind--young and tall and lusty, with
a florid countenance and hair as blonde as her own. And he wore the
uniform of an English soldier--short coat of scarlet, all gold braid and
brass buttons; dark trousers with stripes; and a little round cap with a
chin strap.
But he carried no cane. Instead, as he stepped forward, nose up, chin
up, eyes very bold, he swung a most amazing weapon. It was as scarlet as
his own coat, as long as he was tall, and polished to a high degree. But
it was not unbending, like a sword: It was limber to whippiness, so that
as he twirled it about his blonde head it snapped and whistled. And
Gwendolyn remembered having seen others exactly like it hanging on the
bill-board at the Face-Shop. For it was a tongue!
"Aw! Mah word!" exclaimed the King's English, surveying the halted
group.
Gwendolyn could not imagine what word he had in mind, but she thought
him very fine. With his air of proud self-assurance, and his fine
brilliant uniform, he was strikingly like her own red-coated toy!
Anxious to make a favorable impression upon him, she smoothed the
gingham dress hastily, brushed back straying wisps of yellow,
straightened her shoulders, and assumed a cordial expression of
countenance.
"How do you do," she said, curtseying.
He saluted. But blocked the way.
"May we go into the Zoo, please?"
His hand jerked down to his side. "One at a time," he answered; "--all
but Thomas."
Thomas had come short with the others. Now as Gwendolyn looked at him
she saw that he, also, was armed with a tongue--a warped and twisted
affair, rough, but thin along its edges.
"If you try to keep me out," he cried, "I certainly _will_ murder you!"
At this juncture the Policeman pit-patted forward and took his station
at the left of the Gate. Next, the King's English stepped back until he
stood at the right. Between them, hand in hand once more, passed
Gwendolyn and the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
The Piper came next. "Call that a' English tongue?" he asked, with an
impudent grin at the soldier's shining weapon.
"Yes, sir."
"Pah!"
Now Thomas gave Jane a quick shove forward--but a shove which sent her
only as far as the Gate.
The King's English stared down at her. "How are you?" he said coldly.
"I'm awful uncomfortable," was the mournful answer.
"Then take off your stays," he advised. Whereat the polished tongue
glanced through the light, caught Jane fairly around the waist, and
with a swift recoil brought her to her feet!
And now Gwendolyn, astonished, saw that too much laughter had again
remolded that sateen bulk. The nurse had grown woefully heavy about the
shoulders--which put a fearful strain on the stitches of her bodice! and
gave her the appearance of a gigantic humming-top! As she swayed a
moment on her wide-toed shoes--shoes now utterly lacking buttons--the
King's English again struck out, caught her, this time, around the neck,
and sent her spinning through the Gate!
"_Zing-g-g-g!_" she laughed dizzily--that laugh the high, persistent
note of a top!
Thomas attempted to follow. "I just _will_ come in," he cried, wielding
his warped weapon with a flourish.
"You shall _not!_" To bar the way, the King's English thrust out his
polished tongue.
"I _will!_" _Crack! Crack!_
"You won't!" _Crack! Crack!_
The fight was on! For the combatants, tongue's-length from each other,
were prowling to and fro menacingly.
"Oh, there's going to be a tongue-lashing," cried Gwendolyn, frightened.
"I'm the King's Hinglish!"--it was the soldier's slogan.
"This is me!" sang Thomas, saucily flicking at a brass button. His face
was all cunning.
Then how the tongues popped!
"This is I!" corrected the King's English promptly. But his face got a
trifle more florid.
"Steady!" counseled the little old gentleman.
"I'm hall right," the other cried back.
"Oh, Piper!" said Gwendolyn; "which side are _you_ on?"
The Piper shifted his tobacco pipe from one corner of his mouth to the
other. "I'm for the man that's got the _cash_," he declared.
There was no doubt about Jane's choice. Seeing Thomas's momentary
advantage, she came spinning close to the Gate. "Use h-words, Thomas!"
she hummed. "Use h-words!"
Thomas acted upon her advice. "Hack and hit and hammer!" he charged.
"Haggle and halve and hamper! Halt and hang and harass!"
"'Ack and 'it and 'ammer!" struck back the King's English, beginning to
breath hard. "Aggie and 'alve and 'amper! 'Alt and 'ang and 'arass!"
As the tongues met, Gwendolyn saw small bright splinters fly this way
and that--a shower of them! These splinters darted downward, falling
upon the road. And each, as it lit, was an h!
The Policeman was frightened. "Which is your best foot?" he called.
The King's English indicated his right. "This!"
"Then put it forward!"
"My goodness!" exclaimed Gwendolyn. "Am I seeing this, or is it just
Pretend?"
Thomas now warmed to the fray. "Harm!" he scourged, "Harness! Hash! Hew!
Hoodwink! Hurt and hurk!"
"'Eavens!" breathed the King's English.
"Turn your cold shoulder," advised the little old gentleman.
The King's English thrust out the right. And it helped! "Oh, hayches
don't matter," he panted. "I'm hall right has long has 'is grammar
doesn't get too bad." And off came one of Thomas's ears--a large
one--and blew along the ground like a great leaf.
That was an unfortunate boast. For Thomas, enraged by the loss of an
ear, fought with renewed zeal. "If you see he, just tell I!" he shouted.
The King's English went pallid. "If you see 'im, just tell me," he
gasped, meeting Thomas gallantly--with the loss of only one splinter.
"Oh, I want you to win!" called Gwendolyn to him.
But the contest was unequal. That was now plain. The King's English had
polish and finish. Thomas had more: his tongue, newly sharpened, cut
deep at each blow.
Unequal as was the contest, Jane's interference a second time made it
more so. For as the fighters trampled to and fro, seeking the better of
each other, she twirled near again. "Try your _verbs_, Thomas!" she
counseled. "Try your verbs!"
Eagerly Thomas grasped this second hint. "By which I could was!" he
cried, with a curling stroke of the warped tongue; "or shall am!"
At that, the King's English showed distressing weakness. He seemed
scarcely to have enough strength for another snap. "By w'ich I could
be!" he whipped back feebly; "or shall 'ave been!" And staggered
sidewise.
Now the warped and twisted tongue began to chant past-participially: "I
done! I done!! I done!!!"
"'Elp!" implored the King's English, fairly wan. "Friends, this--this
fellow 'as treated me houtrageously for--for yaaws!"
"Oh, worser and worser and worser," pursued Thomas, changing suddenly
to adverbs.
"Rawly now--!" The King's English tottered to his knees.
"I _did_," prompted Gwendolyn, eager to help him.
"I did," repeated the King's English--but the polished tongue slipped
from his grasp!
"I seen!" followed up Thomas. "I sung!" _Crack! Crack!_
It was the last fatal onslaught.
The scarlet-coated figure fell forward. Yet bravely he strove again to
give tongue-lash for tongue-lash--by reaching out one palsied hand
toward his weapon.
"I--I--s-a-w!" he muttered; "I s-s-s-ing!"--And expired, with his last
breath gasping good grammar.
Instantly Thomas leaped the prostrate figure and strode to the Gate. He
was breathing hard, but looking about him boldly. "Now _I_ come
through," he boasted.
"O-o-o!" It was Gwendolyn's cry. "Officer, don't let him! _Don't!_"
In answer to her appeal, the Policeman seized Thomas by a lower ear and
shoved him against a gate-post. "You've committed murder!" he cried.
"And I arrest you!"
"Tongue-tie him!" shouted the little old gentleman, springing to jerk
Thomas's weapon out of his hand, and to snatch up the nicked and
splintered weapon of the vanquished soldier.
Under the great blazing sign of the Zoo entrance the capture was
accomplished. And in a moment, from his feet to his very ears, Thomas
was wrapped, arms tight against sides, in the scarlet toils of the
tongues.
"So!" exclaimed the little old gentleman as he tied a last knot.
"Thomas'll never bother my little girl again." And taking Gwendolyn by
the hand, he led her away.
It was not until she had gone some distance that she turned to take a
last look back. And saw, there beside the wide Gate, a rubber-plant, its
long leaves waving gently. It was Thomas, bound securely, and abandoned.
Yet she did not pity him. He had murdered the King's English, and he
deserved his punishment. Furthermore, he looked so green, so cool, so
ornamental!