He was a jaunty young gentleman
He was a jaunty young gentleman
He was a jaunty young gentleman
But Thomas A'Becket declined. He looked at the Archbishop, but he stayed where he was.
"He's a little out of sorts today," remarked the Archbishop, "and if he has made up his mind to stay up there, it's no use trying to make him come down."
"Isn't it, though!" cried the dragon, hastily pulling off his boxing-gloves. "Just you wait a minute. I'll make him."
"Hallo, Lobsterneck!" exclaimed the Archbishop, giving the dragon a friendly tap on the head with his crozier. "You're here, are you? Glad to see you again, old gargoyle. So you think you can make Thomas A'Becket come down, do you? All right. Go ahead, and let's see how you do it."
"I'll show you, Archbishop," replied Lobsterneck. "I'll fetch him down all right—never you fear."
Standing on the pier, the dragon stretched out his long neck and tried to pick the cat off the top of the mast with his teeth. He could not quite reach him, however, so—forgetting what a rickety sort of thing a raft is—he gathered his six feet under him and jumped aboard.
Greatly to his astonishment, the raft instantly tilted up, the mast came over and hit him a severecrack on the crown of his head, and the next thing he knew he was down at the bottom of the sea with all the dog-fish worrying and snapping at him—though this was a matter of small consequence, for Lobsterneck was so well shingled that the dog-fishes' teeth could make no impression.
A moment later, snorting and spluttering, up bobbed Lobsterneck again, with half-a-dozen of the biggest dog-fish holding on to his tail, while all the rest, leaping out of the water, turned somersaults in the air and barked encouragement.
Instead of climbing up the steps of the pier again, so confused was the amiable old snap-dragon by the worrying and the barking and the splashing of the dog-fish, that he made straight for the shore, when, having shaken himself free of his tormentors, he galloped off home to his tower, upon the top of which he presently reappeared, seated on his three-legged stool, drying his scales with his pocket handkerchief.
But though Lobsterneck's plan for getting Thomas A'Becket ashore had not turned out exactly as he had intended, it had nevertheless proved entirely successful, for when the raft tilted up and the mast hit the dragon such a crack on the top of his head, the reluctant cat was sent flying through the air, landing on the pier so close to Periwinkle that they almostbumped noses.
Periwinkle, himself, strange to say, did not notice the sudden arrival of the Archbishop's cat. With his head in the air and his eyes shut tight, he was barking and barking and barking, having the very best time he ever remembered, when, all of a sudden something sharp stuck into his nose. With a yelp of astonishment, he leaped backwards and opened his eyes, to see standing before him the angry Thomas A'Becket, who, with arched back and distended tail, swore sharply at the unoffending puppy.
"Oh!" cried everybody, throwing up their hands in dismay; for such a dreadful breach of the laws hadneverhappened before.
"Be cheerful," said law number one; and here was a cat just as angry as a cat could be.
"Be polite," said law number two; and here was a cat using language—Tut! Tut! And an archbishop's cat, too. Just think of that! If it had been a curate's cat, or even a vicar's—but, an archbishop's cat! No wonder the poor Archbishop covered his face with his hand and blushed purple with embarrassment.
For a full half-minute everyone stood speechless, with hands held up and eyes and mouths wide open, until suddenly the Court Crier, who was the firstto recover, began ringing his bell and shouting, "Blue paint! Blue paint!" as loud as he could.
Upon this, everybody else shouted, "Blue paint!"—the King and the Admiral and the little Coco Bolos, as well; though Margaret and Frances felt sure that half of them, at least, had no idea what they meant by it, especially as they kept on shouting, "Blue paint!" without ever thinking, seemingly, that it was anybody's business to go and get it.
The only one who seemed to be quite unconcerned was the one who had caused all the rumpus: Thomas A'Becket, himself. Calmly seated on the pier, he proceeded to wash his face with his paws, paying no attention at all to the King and his courtiers, who, standing in a circle around him, continued to shout, "Blue paint!" without intermission.
How long they might have gone on shouting there is no knowing, had not Margaret interfered. Losing patience, she stepped up to the King, and clapping her hand over his mouth just as he had opened it for another shout—the King almost exploded at being so suddenly "corked"—she stooped and called into his ear:
"Why don't you send for your new policeman?"
Coco Bolo, with his eyes turned up, waited till Margaret removed her hand, when he took off hiscrown with a flourish, and bowing politely, said:
"That's a capital idea of yours. Why didn't I think of it before?"
So saying, he clapped his crown upon his head again and set off running up the middle of the pier, shouting, "Police!" at the top of his voice.
Not a single one of the courtiers had the least idea that there was any such thing as a policeman on the island, but they were a well-trained company, and knowing that the first duty of a courtier is to do as the King does, they all set off running, too, shouting, "Police! Police! Police!"
Just as they got clear of the pier and had started up the hill to the carpenter's shop, round the end of the shop, itself, came the new policeman, running as fast as he could, with a butterfly net in one hand and a pot of blue paint in the other; while behind him ran the carpenter, a gimlet in his right hand and a hollow tooth in his left, calling out, "Hi! Hi! Come back! You're not finished yet!"
The policeman, however, took no notice—perhaps he thought he could get along well enough without a hollow tooth. Down the hill he came, ran along the pier to where Thomas A'Becket still sat washing his face, and made a scoop at the cat with the butterfly net.
But Thomas A'Becket was not the sort of cat to be caught quite so easily as that. He just popped between the policeman's legs and came racing up the pier, when those wooden-headed courtiers, instead of heading him off, got out of his way and allowed him to pass.
Away he went, straight for the palace, the policeman behind him and everybody else behind the policeman, until they came to the tea-garden, and there Thomas A'Becket vanished from sight.