My Lady laughed merrily. “Somebooks would be reduced to blank paper, I’m afraid!” she said.
“They would. Most libraries would be terribly diminished inbulk. But just think what they would gain inquality!”
“When will it be done?” she eagerly asked. “If there’s any chance of it inmytime, I think I’ll leave off reading, and wait for it!”
“Well, perhaps in another thousand years or so——”
“Then there’s no use waiting!” said my Lady. “Let’s sit down. Uggug, my pet, come and sit by me!”
“Anywhere but byme!” growled the Sub-Warden. “The little wretch always manages to upset his coffee!”
I guessed at once (as perhaps the reader will also have guessed, if, like myself, he isveryclever at drawing conclusions) that my Lady was the Sub-Warden’s wife, and that Uggug (a hideous fat boy, about the same age as Sylvie, with the expression of a prize-pig) was their son. Sylvie and Bruno, with the Lord Chancellor, made up a party of seven.
A PORTABLE PLUNGE-BATHA PORTABLE PLUNGE-BATH
A PORTABLE PLUNGE-BATH
“And you actually got a plunge-bath every morning?” said the Sub-Warden, seemingly in continuation of a conversation with the Professor. “Even at the little roadside-inns?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly!” the Professor replied with a smile on his jolly face. “Allow me to explain. It is, in fact, a very simple problem in Hydrodynamics. (That means a combination of Water and Strength.) If we take a plunge-bath, and a man of great strength (such as myself) about to plunge into it, we have a perfect example of this science. I am bound to admit,” the Professor continued, in a lower tone and with downcast eyes, “that we need a man ofremarkablestrength. He must be able to spring from the floor to about twice his own height, gradually turning over as he rises, so as to come down again head first.”
“Why, you need aflea, not aman!” exclaimed the Sub-Warden.
“Pardon me,” said the Professor. “This particular kind of bath isnotadapted for a flea. Let us suppose,” he continued, folding his table-napkin into a graceful festoon, “that this represents what is perhapsthenecessityof this Age—the Active Tourist’s Portable Bath. You may describe it briefly, if you like,” looking at the Chancellor, “by the letters A. T. P. B.”
The Chancellor, much disconcerted at finding everybody looking at him, could only murmur, in a shy whisper, “Precisely so!”
“One great advantage of this plunge-bath,” continued the Professor, “is that it requires only half-a-gallon of water——”
“I don’t call it aplunge-bath,” His Sub-Excellency remarked, “unless your Active Tourist goesright under!”
“But hedoesgo right under,” the old man gently replied. “The A. T. hangs up the P. B. on a nail—thus. He then empties the water-jug into it—places the empty jug below the bag—leaps into the air—descends head-first into the bag—the water rises round him to the top of the bag—and there you are!” he triumphantly concluded. “The A. T. is as much under water as if he’d gone a mile or two down into the Atlantic!”
“And he’s drowned, let us say, in about four minutes——”
“By no means!” the Professor answered with a proud smile. “After about a minute, he quietly turns a tap at the lower end of the P. B.—all the water runs back into the jug—and there you are again!”
“But how in the world is he to getoutof the bag again?”
“That, I take it,” said the Professor, “is the most beautiful part of the whole invention. All the way up the P. B., inside, are loops for the thumbs; so it’s something like going up-stairs, only perhaps less comfortable; and, by the time the A. T. has risen out of the bag, all but his head, he’s sure to topple over, one way or the other—the Law of Gravity securesthat. And there he is on the floor again!”
“A little bruised, perhaps?”
“Well, yes, a little bruised; buthaving had his plunge-bath: that’s the great thing.”
“Wonderful! It’s almost beyond belief!” murmured the Sub-Warden. The Professor took it as a compliment, and bowed with a gratified smile.
“Quitebeyond belief!” my Lady added—meaning, no doubt, to be more complimentarystill. The Professor bowed, but he didn’t smilethistime.
“I can assure you,” he said earnestly, “that,provided the bath was made, I used it every morning. I certainlyorderedit—thatI am clear about—my only doubt is, whether the man ever finished making it. It’s difficult to remember, after so many years——”
At this moment the door, very slowly and creakingly, began to open, and Sylvie and Bruno jumped up, and ran to meet the well-known footstep.
“It’s my brother!” the Sub-Warden exclaimed, in a warning whisper. “Speak out, and be quick about it!”
The appeal was evidently addressed to the Lord Chancellor, who instantly replied, in a shrill monotone, like a little boy repeating the alphabet, “As I was remarking, your Sub-Excellency, this portentous movement——”
“You began too soon!” the other interrupted, scarcely able to restrain himself to a whisper, so great was his excitement. “He couldn’t have heard you. Begin again!”
“As I was remarking,” chanted the obedient Lord Chancellor, “this portentous movement has already assumed the dimensions of a Revolution!”
“And whatarethe dimensions of a Revolution?” The voice was genial and mellow, and the face of the tall dignified old man, who had just entered the room, leading Sylvie by the hand, and with Bruno riding triumphantly on his shoulder, was too noble and gentle to have scared a less guilty man: but the Lord Chancellor turned pale instantly, and could hardly articulate the words “The dimensions—your—your High Excellency? I—I—scarcely comprehend!”
“Well, the length, breadth, and thickness, if you like it better!” And the old man smiled, half-contemptuously.
The Lord Chancellor recovered himself with a great effort, and pointed to the open window. “If your High Excellency will listen for a moment to the shouts of the exasperated populace——” (“of the exasperated populace!” the Sub-Warden repeated in a louder tone, as the Lord Chancellor, being in a stateof abject terror, had dropped almost into a whisper)“—you will understand what it is they want.”
And at that moment there surged into the room a hoarse confused cry, in which the only clearly audible words were “Less—bread—More—taxes!” The old man laughed heartily. “What in the world——” he was beginning: but the Chancellor heard him not. “Some mistake!” he muttered, hurrying to the window, from which he shortly returned with an air of relief. “Nowlisten!” he exclaimed, holding up his hand impressively. And now the words came quite distinctly, and with the regularity of the ticking of a clock, “More—bread—Less—taxes!”
“More bread!” the Warden repeated in astonishment. “Why, the new Government Bakery was opened only last week, and I gave orders to sell the bread at cost-price during the present scarcity! Whatcanthey expect more?”
“The Bakery’s closed, y’reince!” the Chancellor said, more loudly and clearly than he had spoken yet. He was emboldened bythe consciousness thathere, at least, he had evidence to produce: and he placed in the Warden’s hands a few printed notices, that were lying ready, with some open ledgers, on a side-table.
“Yes, yes,Isee!” the Warden muttered, glancing carelessly through them. “Order countermanded by my brother, and supposed to bemydoing! Rather sharp practice! It’s all right!” he added in a louder tone. “My name is signed to it: so I take it on myself. But what do they mean by ‘Less Taxes’? Howcanthey be less? I abolished the last of them a month ago!”
“It’s been put on again, y’reince, and by y’reince’s own orders!”, and other printed notices were submitted for inspection.
The Warden, whilst looking them over, glanced once or twice at the Sub-Warden, who had seated himself before one of the open ledgers, and was quite absorbed in adding it up; but he merely repeated “It’s all right. I accept it as my doing.”
“And they do say,” the Chancellor went on sheepishly—looking much more like a convictedthief than an Officer of State, “that a change of Government, by the abolition of the Sub-Warden—I mean,” he hastily added, on seeing the Warden’s look of astonishment, “the abolition of theofficeof Sub-Warden, and giving the present holder the right to act asVice-Warden whenever the Warden is absent—would appease all this seedling discontent. I mean,” he added, glancing at a paper he held in his hand, “all thisseethingdiscontent!”
“For fifteen years,” put in a deep but very harsh voice, “my husband has been acting as Sub-Warden. It is too long! It is much too long!” My Lady was a vast creature at all times: but, when she frowned and folded her arms, as now, she looked more gigantic than ever, and made one try to fancy what a haystack would look like, if out of temper.
“He would distinguish himself as a Vice!” my Lady proceeded, being far too stupid to see the double meaning of her words. “There has been no such Vice in Outland for many a long year, as he would be!”
“What course wouldyousuggest, Sister?” the Warden mildly enquired.
My Lady stamped, which was undignified: and snorted, which was ungraceful. “This is nojestingmatter!” she bellowed.
“I will consult my brother,” said the Warden. “Brother!”
“—and seven makes a hundred and ninety-four, which is sixteen and twopence,” the Sub-Warden replied. “Put down two and carry sixteen.”
The Chancellor raised his hands and eyebrows, lost in admiration. “Sucha man of business!” he murmured.
“Brother, could I have a word with you in my Study?” the Warden said in a louder tone. The Sub-Warden rose with alacrity, and the two left the room together.
My Lady turned to the Professor, who had uncovered the urn, and was taking its temperature with his pocket-thermometer. “Professor!” she began, so loudly and suddenly that even Uggug, who had gone to sleep in his chair, left off snoring and opened one eye. The Professor pocketed his thermometer in a moment, clasped his hands, and put his head on one side with a meek smile.
“You were teaching my son before breakfast, I believe?” my Lady loftily remarked. “I hope he strikes you as having talent?”
“Oh, very much so indeed, my Lady!” the Professor hastily replied, unconsciously rubbing his ear, while some painful recollection seemed to cross his mind. “I was very forcibly struck by His Magnificence, I assure you!”
“He is a charming boy!” my Lady exclaimed. “Even his snores are more musical than those of other boys!”
If thatwereso, the Professor seemed to think, the snores ofotherboys must be something too awful to be endured: but he was a cautious man, and he said nothing.
“And he’s so clever!” my Lady continued. “No one will enjoy your Lecture more—by the way, have you fixed the time for it yet? You’ve never given one, you know: and it was promised years ago, before you——”
“Yes, yes, my Lady,Iknow! Perhaps next Tuesday—or Tuesday week——”
“That will do very well,” said my Lady, graciously. “Of course you will let the Other Professor lecture as well?”
“I thinknot, my Lady,” the Professor said with some hesitation. “You see, he always stands with his back to the audience. It does very well forreciting; but forlecturing——”
“You are quite right,” said my Lady. “And, now I come to think of it, there would hardly be time for more thanoneLecture. And it will go off all the better, if we begin with a Banquet, and a Fancy-dress Ball——”
“It will indeed!” the Professor cried, with enthusiasm.
“I shall come as a Grass-hopper,” my Lady calmly proceeded. “What shallyoucome as, Professor?”
The Professor smiled feebly. “I shall come as—as early as I can, my Lady!”
“You mustn’t come in before the doors are opened,” said my Lady.
“I ca’n’t,” said the Professor. “Excuse me a moment. As this is Lady Sylvie’s birthday, I would like to——” and he rushed away.
Bruno began feeling in his pockets, looking more and more melancholy as he did so: then he put his thumb in his mouth, and considered for a minute: then he quietly left the room.
He had hardly done so before the Professor was back again, quite out of breath. “Wishing you many happy returns of the day, my dear child!” he went on, addressing the smiling little girl, who had run to meet him. “Allow me to give you a birthday-present. It’s a second-hand pincushion, my dear. And it only cost fourpence-halfpenny!”
“Thank you, it’sverypretty!” And Sylvie rewarded the old man with a hearty kiss.
“And thepinsthey gave me for nothing!” the Professor added in high glee. “Fifteen of em, and onlyonebent!”
“I’ll make the bent one into ahook!” said Sylvie. “To catch Bruno with, when he runs away from his lessons!”
“You ca’n’t guess whatmypresent is!” said Uggug, who had taken the butter-dish from the table, and was standing behind her, with a wicked leer on his face.
“No, I ca’n’t guess,” Sylvie said without looking up. She was still examining the Professor’s pincushion.
“It’sthis!” cried the bad boy, exultingly, as he emptied the dish over her, and then, witha grin of delight at his own cleverness, looked round for applause.
Sylvie coloured crimson, as she shook off the butter from her frock: but she kept her lips tight shut, and walked away to the window, where she stood looking out and trying to recover her temper.
Uggug’s triumph was a very short one: the Sub-Warden had returned, just in time to be a witness of his dear child’s playfulness, and in another moment a skilfully-applied box on the ear had changed the grin of delight into a howl of pain.
“My darling!” cried his mother, enfolding him in her fat arms. “Did they box his ears for nothing? A precious pet!”
“It’s not fornothing!” growled the angry father. “Are you aware, Madam, thatIpay the house-bills, out of a fixed annual sum? The loss of all that wasted butter falls onme! Do you hear, Madam!”
“Hold your tongue, Sir!” My Lady spoke very quietly—almost in a whisper. But there was something in herlookwhich silenced him. “Don’t you see it was only ajoke? And avery clever one, too! He only meant that he loved nobodybuther! And, instead of being pleased with the compliment, the spiteful little thing has gone away in a huff!”
The Sub-Warden was a very good hand at changing a subject. He walked across to the window. “My dear,” he said, “is that apigthat I see down below, rooting about among your flower-beds?”
“Apig!” shrieked my Lady, rushing madly to the window, and almost pushing her husband out, in her anxiety to see for herself. “Whose pig is it? How did it get in? Where’s that crazy Gardener gone?”
At this moment Bruno re-entered the room, and passing Uggug (who was blubbering his loudest, in the hope of attracting notice) as if he was quite used to that sort of thing, he ran up to Sylvie and threw his arms round her. “I went to my toy-cupboard,” he said with a very sorrowful face, “to see if there weresomefinfit for a present for oo! And there isn’tnuffin! They’sallbroken, every one! And I haven’t gotnomoney left, to buy oo a birthday-present! And I ca’n’t give oonuffin butthis!” (“This” was a very earnest hug and a kiss.)
“Oh, thank you, darling!” cried Sylvie. “I likeyourpresent best of all!” (But if so, why did she give it back so quickly?)
His Sub-Excellency turned and patted the two children on the head with his long lean hands. “Go away, dears!” he said. “There’s business to talk over.”
Sylvie and Bruno went away hand in hand: but, on reaching the door, Sylvie came back again and went up to Uggug timidly. “I don’t mind about the butter,” she said, “and I—I’m sorry he hurt you!” And she tried to shake hands with the little ruffian: but Uggug only blubbered louder, and wouldn’t make friends. Sylvie left the room with a sigh.
The Sub-Warden glared angrily at his weeping son. “Leave the room, Sirrah!” he said, as loud as he dared. His wife was still leaning out of the window, and kept repeating “Ica’n’tsee that pig! Whereisit?”
“It’s moved to the right—now it’s gone a little to the left,” said the Sub-Warden: but he had his back to the window, and was makingsignals to the Lord Chancellor, pointing to Uggug and the door, with many a cunning nod and wink.
REMOVAL OF UGGUGREMOVAL OF UGGUG
REMOVAL OF UGGUG
The Chancellor caught his meaning at last, and, crossing the room, took that interesting child by the ear—the next moment he and Uggug were out of the room, and the door shut behind them: but not before one piercing yell had rung through the room, and reached the ears of the fond mother.
“Whatisthat hideous noise?” she fiercely asked, turning upon her startled husband.
“It’s some hyæna—or other,” replied the Sub-Warden, looking vaguely up to the ceiling, as if that was where they usually were to be found. “Let us to business, my dear. Here comes the Warden.” And he picked up from the floor a wandering scrap of manuscript, on which I just caught the words ‘after which Election duly holden the said Sibimet and Tabikat his wife may at their pleasure assume Imperial——’ before, with a guilty look, he crumpled it up in his hand.
The Warden entered at this moment: and close behind him came the Lord Chancellor, a little flushed and out of breath, and adjusting his wig, which appeared to have been dragged partly off his head.
“But where is my precious child?” my Lady enquired, as the four took their seats at the small side-table devoted to ledgers and bundles and bills.
“He left the room a few minutes ago—with the Lord Chancellor,” the Sub-Warden briefly explained.
“Ah!” said my Lady, graciously smiling on that high official. “Your Lordship has a verytakingway with children! I doubt if any one couldgain the earof my darling Uggug so quickly asyoucan!” For an entirely stupid woman, my Lady’s remarks were curiously full of meaning, of which she herself was wholly unconscious.
The Chancellor bowed, but with a very uneasy air. “I think the Warden was about to speak,” he remarked, evidently anxious to change the subject.
But my Lady would not be checked. “He is a clever boy,” she continued with enthusiasm, “but he needs a man like your Lordship todraw him out!”
The Chancellor bit his lip, and was silent. He evidently feared that, stupid as she looked, she understood what she saidthistime, and was having a joke at his expense. He might have spared himself all anxiety: whatever accidental meaning herwordsmight have, sheherselfnever meant anything at all.
“It is all settled!” the Warden announced, wasting no time over preliminaries. “TheSub-Wardenship is abolished, and my brother is appointed to act as Vice-Warden whenever I am absent. So, as I am going abroad for a while, he will enter on his new duties at once.”
“And there will really be a Vice after all?” my Lady enquired.
“I hope so!” the Warden smilingly replied.
My Lady looked much pleased, and tried to clap her hands: but you might as well have knocked two feather-beds together, for any noise it made. “When my husband is Vice,” she said, “it will be the same as if we had ahundredVices!”
“Hear, hear!” cried the Sub-Warden.
“You seem to think it very remarkable,” my Lady remarked with some severity, “that your wife should speak the truth!”
“No, notremarkableat all!” her husband anxiously explained. “Nothingis remarkable thatyousay, sweet one!”
My Lady smiled approval of the sentiment, and went on. “And am I Vice-Wardeness?”
“If you choose to use that title,” said the Warden: “but ‘Your Excellency’ will be the proper style of address. And I trust that both‘HisExcellency’ and ‘HerExcellency’ will observe the Agreement I have drawn up. The provision I ammostanxious about is this.” He unrolled a large parchment scroll, and read aloud the words “‘item, that we will be kind to the poor.’ The Chancellor worded it for me,” he added, glancing at that great Functionary. “I suppose, now, that word ‘item’ has some deep legal meaning?”
“Undoubtedly!” replied the Chancellor, as articulately as he could with a pen between his lips. He was nervously rolling and unrolling several other scrolls, and making room among them for the one the Warden had just handed to him. “These are merely the rough copies,” he explained: “and, as soon as I have put in the final corrections—” making a great commotion among the different parchments, “—a semi-colon or two that I have accidentally omitted—” here he darted about, pen in hand, from one part of the scroll to another, spreading sheets of blotting-paper over his corrections, “all will be ready for signing.”
“Should it not be read out, first?” my Lady enquired.
“No need, no need!” the Sub-Warden and the Chancellor exclaimed at the same moment, with feverish eagerness.
“No need at all,” the Warden gently assented. “Your husband and I have gone through it together. It provides that he shall exercise the full authority of Warden, and shall have the disposal of the annual revenue attached to the office, until my return, or, failing that, until Bruno comes of age: and that he shall then hand over, to myself or to Bruno as the case may be, the Wardenship, the unspent revenue, and the contents of the Treasury, which are to be preserved, intact, under his guardianship.”
All this time the Sub-Warden was busy, with the Chancellor’s help, shifting the papers from side to side, and pointing out to the Warden the place where he was to sign. He then signed it himself, and my Lady and the Chancellor added their names as witnesses.
“Short partings are best,” said the Warden. “All is ready for my journey. My children are waiting below to see me off.” He gravely kissed my Lady, shook hands with his brother and the Chancellor, and left the room.
‘WHAT A GAME!’‘WHAT A GAME!’
‘WHAT A GAME!’
The three waited in silence till the sound of wheels announced that the Warden was out of hearing: then, to my surprise, they broke into peals of uncontrollable laughter.
“What a game, oh, what a game!” cried the Chancellor. And he and the Vice-Warden joined hands, and skipped wildly about the room. My Lady was too dignified to skip, but she laughed like the neighing of a horse, and waved her handkerchief above her head: it was clear to her very limited understanding thatsomethingvery clever had been done, but what itwasshe had yet to learn.
“You said I should hear all about it when the Warden had gone,” she remarked, as soon as she could make herself heard.
“And so you shall, Tabby!” her husband graciously replied, as he removed the blotting-paper, and showed the two parchments lying side by side. “This is the one he read but didn’t sign: and this is the one he signed but didn’t read! You see it was all covered up, except the place for signing the names——”
“Yes, yes!” my Lady interrupted eagerly, and began comparing the two Agreements.“‘Item, that he shall exercise the authority of Warden, in the Warden’s absence.’ Why, that’s been changed into ‘shall be absolute governor for life, with the title of Emperor, if elected to that office by the people.’ What! Are youEmperor, darling?”
“Not yet, dear,” the Vice-Warden replied. “It won’t do to let this paper be seen, just at present. All in good time.”
My Lady nodded, and read on. “‘Item, that we will be kind to the poor.’ Why, that’s omitted altogether!”
“Course it is!” said her husband. “We’renot going to bother about the wretches!”
“Good,” said my Lady, with emphasis, and read on again. “‘Item, that the contents of the Treasury be preserved intact.’ Why, that’s altered into ‘shall be at the absolute disposal of the Vice-Warden’! Well, Sibby, thatwasa clever trick!Allthe Jewels, only think! May I go and put them on directly?”
“Well, notjustyet, Lovey,” her husband uneasily replied. “You see the public mind isn’t quiteripefor it yet. We must feel our way. Of course we’ll have the coach-and-fourout, at once. And I’ll take the title of Emperor, as soon as we can safely hold an Election. But they’ll hardly stand our using theJewels, as long as they know the Warden’s alive. We must spread a report of his death. A little Conspiracy——”
“A Conspiracy!” cried the delighted lady, clapping her hands. “Of all things, Idolike a Conspiracy! It’s so interesting!”
The Vice-Warden and the Chancellor interchanged a wink or two. “Let her conspire to her heart’s content!” the cunning Chancellor whispered. “It’ll do no harm!”
“And when will the Conspiracy——”
“Hist!” her husband hastily interrupted her, as the door opened, and Sylvie and Bruno came in, with their arms twined lovingly round each other—Bruno sobbing convulsively, with his face hidden on his sister’s shoulder, and Sylvie more grave and quiet, but with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Mustn’t cry like that!” the Vice-Warden said sharply, but without any effect on the weeping children. “Cheer ’em up a bit!” he hinted to my Lady.
“Cake!” my Lady muttered to herself with great decision, crossing the room and opening a cupboard, from which she presently returned with two slices of plum-cake. “Eat, and don’t cry!” were her short and simple orders: and the poor children sat down side by side, but seemed in no mood for eating.
For the second time the door opened—or rather wasburstopen, this time, as Uggug rushed violently into the room, shouting “that old Beggar’s come again!”
“He’s not to have any food——” the Vice-Warden was beginning, but the Chancellor interrupted him. “It’s all right,” he said, in a low voice: “the servants have their orders.”
“He’s just under here,” said Uggug, who had gone to the window, and was looking down into the court-yard.
“Where, my darling?” said his fond mother, flinging her arms round the neck of the little monster. All of us (except Sylvie and Bruno, who took no notice of what was going on) followed her to the window. The old Beggar looked up at us with hungry eyes. “Only a crust of bread, your Highness!” he pleaded.He was a fine old man, but looked sadly ill and worn. “A crust of bread is what I crave!” he repeated. “A single crust, and a little water!”
‘DRINK THIS!’‘DRINK THIS!’
‘DRINK THIS!’
“Here’s some water, drink this!” Uggug bellowed, emptying a jug of water over his head.
“Well done, my boy!” cried the Vice-Warden. “That’s the way to settle such folk!”
“Clever boy!” the Wardeness chimed in. “Hasn’the good spirits?”
“Take a stick to him!” shoutedthe Vice-Warden, as the old Beggar shook the water from his ragged cloak, and again gazed meekly upwards.
“Take a red-hot poker to him!” my Lady again chimed in.
Possibly there was no red-hot poker handy: but somestickswere forthcoming in a moment, and threatening faces surrounded the poor old wanderer, who waved them back with quiet dignity. “No need to break my old bones,” he said. “I am going. Not even a crust!”
“Poor,poorold man!” exclaimed a little voice at my side, half choked with sobs. Bruno was at the window, trying to throw out his slice of plum-cake, but Sylvie held him back.
“Heshallhave my cake!” Bruno cried, passionately struggling out of Sylvie’s arms.
“Yes, yes, darling!” Sylvie gently pleaded. “But don’tthrowit out! He’s gone away, don’t you see? Let’s go after him.” And she led him out of the room, unnoticed by the rest of the party, who were wholly absorbed in watching the old Beggar.
The Conspirators returned to their seats, and continued their conversation in an undertone,so as not to be heard by Uggug, who was still standing at the window.
“By the way, there was something about Bruno succeeding to the Wardenship,” said my Lady. “How doesthatstand in the new Agreement?”
The Chancellor chuckled. “Just the same, word for word,” he said, “withoneexception, my Lady. Instead of ‘Bruno,’ I’ve taken the liberty to put in——” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “—to put in ‘Uggug,’ you know!”
“Uggug, indeed!” I exclaimed, in a burst of indignation I could no longer control. To bring out even that one word seemed a gigantic effort: but, the cry once uttered, all effort ceased at once: a sudden gust swept away the whole scene, and I found myself sitting up, staring at the young lady in the opposite corner of the carriage, who had now thrown back her veil, and was looking at me with an expression of amused surprise.
That I had saidsomething, in the act of waking, I felt sure: the hoarse stifled cry was still ringing in my ears, even if the startled look of my fellow-traveler had not been evidence enough: but what could I possibly say by way of apology?
“I hope I didn’t frighten you?” I stammered out at last. “I have no idea what I said. I was dreaming.”
“You said ‘Uggug indeed!’” the young lady replied, with quivering lips thatwouldcurve themselves into a smile, in spite of all herefforts to look grave. “At least—you didn’tsayit—youshoutedit!”
“I’m very sorry,” was all I could say, feeling very penitent and helpless. “ShehasSylvie’s eyes!” I thought to myself, half-doubting whether, even now, I were fairly awake. “And that sweet look of innocent wonder is all Sylvie’s, too. But Sylviehasn’tgot that calm resolute mouth—nor that far-away look of dreamy sadness, like one that has had some deep sorrow, very long ago——” And the thick-coming fancies almost prevented my hearing the lady’s next words.
“If you had had a ‘Shilling Dreadful’ in your hand,” she proceeded, “something about Ghosts—or Dynamite—or Midnight Murder—one could understand it: those things aren’t worth the shilling, unless they give one a Nightmare. But really—with only amedical treatise, you know——” and she glanced, with a pretty shrug of contempt, at the book over which I had fallen asleep.
Her friendliness, and utter unreserve, took me aback for a moment; yet there was no touch of forwardness, or boldness, about the child—forchild, almost, she seemed to be: I guessed her at scarcely over twenty—all was the innocent frankness of some angelic visitant, new to the ways of earth and the conventionalisms—or, if you will, the barbarisms—of Society. “Even so,” I mused, “willSylvielook and speak, in another ten years.”
“You don’t care for Ghosts, then,” I ventured to suggest, “unless they are really terrifying?”
“Quite so,” the lady assented. “The regular Railway-Ghosts—I mean the Ghosts of ordinary Railway-literature—are very poor affairs. I feel inclined to say, with Alexander Selkirk, ‘Their tameness is shocking to me’! And they never do any Midnight Murders. They couldn’t ‘welter in gore,’ to save their lives!”
“‘Weltering in gore’ is a very expressive phrase, certainly. Can it be done inanyfluid, I wonder?”
“I thinknot,” the lady readily replied—quite as if she had thought it out, long ago. “It has to be somethingthick. For instance, you might welter in bread-sauce. That, beingwhite, would be more suitable for a Ghost, supposing it wished to welter!”
“You have a real goodterrifyingGhost in that book?” I hinted.
“Howcouldyou guess?” she exclaimed with the most engaging frankness, and placed the volume in my hands. I opened it eagerly, with a not unpleasant thrill (like what a good ghost-story gives one) at the ‘uncanny’ coincidence of my having so unexpectedly divined the subject of her studies.
It was a book of Domestic Cookery, open at the article ‘Bread Sauce.’
I returned the book, looking, I suppose, a little blank, as the lady laughed merrily at my discomfiture. “It’s far more exciting than some of the modern ghosts, I assure you! Now there was a Ghost last month—I don’t mean arealGhost in—in Supernature—but in a Magazine. It was a perfectlyflavourlessGhost. It wouldn’t have frightened a mouse! It wasn’t a Ghost that one would even offer a chair to!”
“Three score years and ten, baldness, and spectacles, have their advantages after all!” I said to myself. “Instead of a bashful youth and maiden, gasping out monosyllables at awful intervals, here we have an old man and achild, quite at their ease, talking as if they had known each other for years! Then you think,” I continued aloud, “that we oughtsometimesto ask a Ghost to sit down? But have we any authority for it? In Shakespeare, for instance—there are plenty of ghoststhere—does Shakespeare ever give the stage-direction ‘hands chair to Ghost’?”
The lady looked puzzled and thoughtful for a moment: then shealmostclapped her hands. “Yes, yes, hedoes!” she cried. “He makes Hamlet say ‘Rest, rest, perturbed Spirit!’”
“And that, I suppose, means an easy-chair?”
“An American rocking-chair, Ithink——”
“Fayfield Junction, my Lady, change for Elveston!” the guard announced, flinging open the door of the carriage: and we soon found ourselves, with all our portable property around us, on the platform.
The accommodation, provided for passengers waiting at this Junction, was distinctly inadequate—a single wooden bench, apparently intended for three sitters only: and even this was already partially occupied by a very old man, in a smock frock, who sat, with roundedshoulders and drooping head, and with hands clasped on the top of his stick so as to make a sort of pillow for that wrinkled face with its look of patient weariness.
“Come, you be off!” the Station-master roughly accosted the poor old man. “You be off, and make way for your betters! This way, my Lady!” he added in a perfectly different tone. “If your Ladyship will take a seat, the train will be up in a few minutes.” The cringing servility of his manner was due, no doubt, to the address legible on the pile of luggage, which announced their owner to be “Lady Muriel Orme, passenger to Elveston,viâFayfield Junction.”
As I watched the old man slowly rise to his feet, and hobble a few paces down the platform, the lines came to my lips:—
“From sackcloth couch the Monk arose,With toil his stiffen’d limbs he rear’d;A hundred years had flung their snowsOn his thin locks and floating beard.”
“From sackcloth couch the Monk arose,
With toil his stiffen’d limbs he rear’d;
A hundred years had flung their snows
On his thin locks and floating beard.”
‘COME, YOU BE OFF!’‘COME, YOU BE OFF!’
‘COME, YOU BE OFF!’
But the lady scarcely noticed the little incident. After one glance at the ‘banished man,’ who stood tremulously leaning on his stick, she turned to me. “This isnotanAmerican rocking-chair, by any means! Yet may I say,” slightly changing her place, so as to make room for me beside her, “may I say, in Hamlet’s words, ‘Rest, rest——’” she broke off with a silvery laugh.
“‘—perturbed Spirit!’” I finished the sentence for her. “Yes, that describes a railway-travelerexactly! And here is an instance of it,” I added, as the tiny local train drew up alongside the platform, and the porters bustled about, opening carriage-doors—one of them helping the poor old man to hoist himself into a third-class carriage, while another of them obsequiously conducted the lady and myself into a first-class.
She paused, before following him, to watch the progress of the other passenger. “Poor old man!” she said. “How weak and ill he looks! It was a shame to let him be turned away like that. I’m very sorry——” At this moment it dawned on me that these words were not addressed tome, but that she was unconsciously thinking aloud. I moved away a few steps, and waited to follow her into the carriage, where I resumed the conversation.
“Shakespearemusthave traveled by rail, if only in a dream: ‘perturbed Spirit’ is such a happy phrase.”
“‘Perturbed’ referring, no doubt,” she rejoined, “to the sensational booklets peculiar to the Rail. If Steam has done nothing else, it has at least added a whole new Species to English Literature!”
“No doubt of it,” I echoed. “The true origin of all our medical books—and all our cookery-books——”
“No, no!” she broke in merrily. “I didn’t meanourLiterature!Weare quite abnormal. But the booklets—the little thrilling romances, where the Murder comes at page fifteen, and the Wedding at page forty—surelytheyare due to Steam?”
“And when we travel by Electricity—if I may venture to develop your theory—we shall have leaflets instead of booklets, and the Murder and the Wedding will come on the same page.”
“A development worthy of Darwin!” the lady exclaimed enthusiastically. “Onlyyoureverse his theory. Instead of developing amouse into an elephant, you would develop an elephant into a mouse!” But here we plunged into a tunnel, and I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to recall a few of the incidents of my recent dream.
“I thought I saw——” I murmured sleepily: and then the phrase insisted on conjugating itself, and ran into “you thought you saw—he thought he saw——” and then it suddenly went off into a song:—