THE MOUSE-LIONTHE MOUSE-LION
THE MOUSE-LION
“Rub it some other way!” cried Bruno. “Try up-and-down! Quick!”
It was a happy thought. Up-and-down did it: and the landscape, which had been showing signs of mental aberration in various directions, returned to its normal condition of sobriety—with the exception of a small yellowish-brown mouse, which continued to run wildly up and down the road, lashing its tail like a little lion.
“Let’s follow it,” said Sylvie: and this also turned out a happy thought. The mouse at once settled down into a business-like jog-trot, with which we could easily keep pace. The only phenomenon, that gave me any uneasiness, was the rapid increase in thesizeof the little creature we were following, which became every moment more and more like a real lion.
Soon the transformation was complete: and a noble lion stood patiently waiting for us to come up with it. No thought of fear seemed to occur to the children, who patted and stroked it as if it had been a Shetland-pony.
“Help me up!” cried Bruno. And in another moment Sylvie had lifted him upon the broad back of the gentle beast, and seated herself behind him, pillion-fashion. Bruno took a good handful of mane in each hand, and made believe to guide this new kind of steed. “Gee-up!” seemed quite sufficient by way ofverbaldirection: the lion at once broke into an easy canter, and we soon found ourselves in the depths of the forest. I say ‘we,’ for I am certain thatIaccompanied them—thoughhowI managed to keep up with a cantering lion I am wholly unable to explain. But I was certainly one of the party when we came upon an old beggar-man cutting sticks, at whose feet the lion made a profound obeisance, Sylvie and Bruno at the same moment dismounting, and leaping into the arms of their father.
“From bad to worse!” the old man said to himself, dreamily, when the children had finished their rather confused account of the Ambassador’s visit, gathered no doubt from general report, as they had not seen him themselves. “From bad to worse! That is their destiny. I see it, but I cannot alter it. Theselfishness of a mean and crafty man—the selfishness of an ambitious and silly woman—the selfishness of a spiteful and loveless child—all tend one way, from bad to worse! And you, my darlings, must suffer it awhile, I fear. Yet, when things are at their worst, you can come to me. I can do but little as yet——”
Gathering up a handful of dust and scattering it in the air, he slowly and solemnly pronounced some words that sounded like a charm, the children looking on in awe-struck silence:—
“Let craft, ambition, spite,Be quenched in Reason’s night,Till weakness turn to might,Till what is dark be light,Till what is wrong be right!”
“Let craft, ambition, spite,
Be quenched in Reason’s night,
Till weakness turn to might,
Till what is dark be light,
Till what is wrong be right!”
The cloud of dust spread itself out through the air, as if it were alive, forming curious shapes that were for ever changing into others.
“It makes letters! It makes words!” Bruno whispered, as he clung, half-frightened, to Sylvie. “Only Ica’n’tmake them out! Read them, Sylvie!”
“I’ll try,” Sylvie gravely replied. “Wait a minute—if only I could see that word——”
“I should be very ill!” a discordant voice yelled in our ears.
“‘Were I to swallow this,’ he said,‘I should be very ill!’”
“‘Were I to swallow this,’ he said,
‘I should be very ill!’”
Yes, we were in the garden once more: and, to escape that horrid discordant voice, we hurried indoors, and found ourselves in the library—Uggug blubbering, the Professor standing by with a bewildered air, and my Lady, with her arms clasped round her son’s neck, repeating, over and over again, “anddidthey give him nasty lessons to learn? My own pretty pet!”
“What’s all this noise about?” the Vice-Warden angrily enquired, as he strode into the room. “And who put the hat-stand here?”And he hung his hat up on Bruno, who was standing in the middle of the room, too much astonished by the sudden change of scene to make any attempt at removing it, though it came down to his shoulders, making him look something like a small candle with a large extinguisher over it.
The Professor mildly explained that His Highness had been graciously pleased to say he wouldn’t do his lessons.
“Do your lessons this instant, you young cub!” thundered the Vice-Warden. “And takethis!” and a resounding box on the ear made the unfortunate Professor reel across the room.
“Save me!” faltered the poor old man, as he sank, half-fainting, at my Lady’s feet.
“Shave you? Of course I will!” my Lady replied, as she lifted him into a chair, and pinned an anti-macassar round his neck. “Where’s the razor?”
The Vice-Warden meanwhile had got hold of Uggug, and was belabouring him with his umbrella. “Who left this loose nail in the floor?” he shouted. “Hammer it in, I say!Hammer it in!” Blow after blow fell on the writhing Uggug, till he dropped howling to the floor.
‘HAMMER IT IN!’‘HAMMER IT IN!’
‘HAMMER IT IN!’
Then his father turned to the ‘shaving’ scene which was being enacted, and roared with laughter. “Excuse me, dear, I ca’n’t help it!” he said as soon as he could speak. “Youaresuch an utter donkey! Kiss me, Tabby!”
And he flung his arms round the neck of the terrified Professor, who raised a wild shriek, but whether he received the threatened kiss or not I was unable to see, as Bruno, who had by this time released himself from his extinguisher, rushed headlong out of the room, followed by Sylvie; and I was so fearful of being left alone among all these crazy creatures that I hurried after them.
“We must go to Father!” Sylvie panted, as they ran down the garden. “I’msurethings are at their worst! I’ll ask the Gardener to let us out again.”
“But we ca’n’twalkall the way!” Bruno whimpered. “How Iwisswe had a coach-and-four, like Uncle!”
And, shrill and wild, rang through the air the familiar voice:—
“He thought he saw a Coach-and-FourThat stood beside his bed:He looked again, and found it wasA Bear without a Head.‘Poor thing,’ he said, ‘poor silly thing!It’s waiting to be fed!’”
“He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
‘Poor thing,’ he said, ‘poor silly thing!
It’s waiting to be fed!’”
A BEAR WITHOUT A HEADA BEAR WITHOUT A HEAD
A BEAR WITHOUT A HEAD
“No, I ca’n’t let you out again!” he said, before the children could speak. “The Vice-Warden gave it me, he did, for letting you out last time! So be off with you!” And, turning away from them, he began digging frantically in the middle of a gravel-walk, singing, over and over again,
“‘Poor thing,’ he said, ‘poor silly thing!It’s waiting to be fed!’”
“‘Poor thing,’ he said, ‘poor silly thing!
It’s waiting to be fed!’”
but in a more musical tone than the shrill screech in which he had begun.
The music grew fuller and richer at every moment: other manly voices joined in the refrain: and soon I heard the heavy thud that told me the boat had touched the beach, and the harsh grating of the shingle as the men dragged it up. I roused myself, and, after lending them a hand in hauling up their boat, I lingered yet awhile to watch them disembark a goodly assortment of the hard-won ‘treasures of the deep.’
When at last I reached our lodgings I was tired and sleepy, and glad enough to settle down again into the easy-chair, while Arthur hospitably went to his cupboard, to get me out some cake and wine, without which, he declared, he could not, as a doctor, permit my going to bed.
And how that cupboard-doordidcreak! It surely could not beArthur, who was opening and shutting it so often, moving so restlessly about, and muttering like the soliloquy of a tragedy-queen!
No, it was afemalevoice. Also the figure—half-hidden by the cupboard-door—was afemalefigure, massive, and in flowing robes.Could it be the landlady? The door opened, and a strange man entered the room.
“Whatisthat donkey doing?” he said to himself, pausing, aghast, on the threshold.
The lady, thus rudely referred to, was his wife. She had got one of the cupboards open, and stood with her back to him, smoothing down a sheet of brown paper on one of the shelves, and whispering to herself “So, so! Deftly done! Craftily contrived!”
Her loving husband stole behind her on tiptoe, and tapped her on the head. “Boh!” he playfully shouted at her ear. “Never tell me again I ca’n’t say ‘boh’ to a goose!”
My Lady wrung her hands. “Discovered!” she groaned. “Yet no—he is one of us! Reveal it not, oh Man! Let it bide its time!”
“Revealwhatnot?” her husband testily replied, dragging out the sheet of brown paper. “What are you hiding here, my Lady? I insist upon knowing!”
My Lady cast down her eyes, and spoke in the littlest of little voices. “Don’t make fun of it, Benjamin!” she pleaded. “It’s—it’s—don’t you understand? It’s aDAGGER!”
“And what’sthatfor?” sneered His Excellency. “We’ve only got to make peoplethinkhe’s dead! We haven’t got tokillhim! And made of tin, too!” he snarled, contemptuously bending the blade round his thumb. “Now, Madam, you’ll be good enough to explain. First, what do you call meBenjaminfor?”
“It’s part of the Conspiracy, Love! Onemusthave an alias, you know——”
“Oh, analias, is it? Well! And next, what did you get this dagger for? Come, no evasions! You ca’n’t deceiveme!”
“I got it for—for—for——” the detected Conspirator stammered, trying her best to put on the assassin-expression that she had been practising at the looking-glass. “For——”
“Forwhat, Madam!”
“Well, for eighteenpence, if youmustknow, dearest! That’s what I got it for, on my——”
“Nowdon’tsay your Word and Honour!” groaned the other Conspirator. “Why, they aren’t worth half the money, put together!”
“On mybirthday,” my Lady concluded in a meek whisper. “Onemusthave a dagger, you know. It’s part of the——”
“Oh, don’t talk of Conspiracies!” her husband savagely interrupted, as he tossed the dagger into the cupboard. “You know about as much how to manage a Conspiracy as if you were a chicken. Why, the first thing is to get a disguise. Now, just look at this!”
And with pardonable pride he fitted on the cap and bells, and the rest of the Fool’s dress, and winked at her, and put his tongue in his cheek. “Isthatthe sort of thing, now?” he demanded.
My Lady’s eyes flashed with all a Conspirator’s enthusiasm. “The very thing!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You do look, oh, such aperfectFool!”
The Fool smiled a doubtful smile. He was not quite clear whether it was a compliment or not, to express it so plainly. “You mean a Jester? Yes, that’s what I intended. And what do you thinkyourdisguise is to be?” And he proceeded to unfold the parcel, the lady watching him in rapture.
“Oh, how lovely!” she cried, when at last the dress was unfolded. “What asplendiddisguise! An Esquimaux peasant-woman!”
“An Esquimaux peasant, indeed!” growled the other. “Here, put it on, and look at yourself in the glass. Why, it’s aBear, ca’n’t you use your eyes?” He checked himself suddenly, as a harsh voice yelled through the room
“He looked again, and found it wasA Bear without a Head!”
“He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head!”
But it was only the Gardener, singing under the open window. The Vice-Warden stole on tip-toe to the window, and closed it noiselessly, before he ventured to go on. “Yes, Lovey, aBear: but not without ahead, I hope! You’re the Bear, and me the Keeper. And if any one knows us, they’ll have sharp eyes, that’s all!”
“I shall have to practise the steps a bit,” my Lady said, looking out through the Bear’s mouth: “one ca’n’t help being rather human just at first, you know. And of course you’ll say ‘Come up, Bruin!’, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” replied the Keeper, laying hold of the chain, that hung from the Bear’s collar, with one hand, while with the other he cracked a little whip. “Now go round the room in a sort of a dancing attitude. Verygood, my dear, very good. Come up, Bruin! Come up, I say!”
‘COME UP, BRUIN!’‘COME UP, BRUIN!’
‘COME UP, BRUIN!’
He roared out the last words for the benefit of Uggug, who had just come into the room, and was now standing, with his hands spread out, and eyes and mouth wide open, the very picture of stupid amazement. “Oh, my!” was all he could gasp out.
The Keeper pretended to be adjusting the bear’s collar, which gave him an opportunity of whispering, unheard by Uggug, “myfault, I’m afraid! Quite forgot to fasten the door. Plot’s ruined ifhefinds it out! Keep it up a minute or two longer. Be savage!” Then, while seeming to pull it back with all his strength, he let it advance upon the scared boy: my Lady, with admirable presence of mind, kept up what she no doubt intended for a savage growl, though it was more like the purring of a cat: and Uggug backed out of the room with such haste that he tripped over the mat, and was heard to fall heavily outside—an accident to which even his doting mother paid no heed, in the excitement of the moment.
The Vice-Warden shut and bolted the door. “Off with the disguises!” he panted. “There’s not a moment to lose. He’s sure to fetch the Professor, and we couldn’t takehimin, you know!” And in another minute the disguises were stowed away in the cupboard, the door unbolted, and the two Conspirators seated lovingly side-by-side on the sofa, earnestly discussing a book the Vice-Warden had hastilysnatched off the table, which proved to be the City-Directory of the capital of Outland.
The door opened, very slowly and cautiously, and the Professor peeped in, Uggug’s stupid face being just visible behind him.
“It is a beautiful arrangement!” the Vice-Warden was saying with enthusiasm. “You see, my precious one, that there are fifteen houses in Green Street,beforeyou turn into West Street.”
“Fifteenhouses! Is itpossible?” my Lady replied. “I thought it was fourteen!” And, so intent were they on this interesting question, that neither of them even looked up till the Professor, leading Uggug by the hand, stood close before them.
My Lady was the first to notice their approach. “Why, here’s the Professor!” she exclaimed in her blandest tones. “And my precious child too! Are lessons over?”
“A strange thing has happened!” the Professor began in a trembling tone. “His Exalted Fatness” (this was one of Uggug’s many titles) “tells me he has just seen, in this very room, a Dancing-Bear and a Court-Jester!”
The Vice-Warden and his wife shook with well-acted merriment.
“Not inthisroom, darling!” said the fond mother. “We’ve been sitting here this hour or more, reading——,” here she referred to the book lying on her lap, “—reading the—the City-Directory.”
“Let me feel your pulse, my boy!” said the anxious father. “Now put out your tongue. Ah, I thought so! He’s a little feverish, Professor, and has had a bad dream. Put him to bed at once, and give him a cooling draught.”
“I ain’t been dreaming!” his Exalted Fatness remonstrated, as the Professor led him away.
“Bad grammar, Sir!” his father remarked with some sternness. “Kindly attend tothatlittle matter, Professor, as soon as you have corrected the feverishness. And, by the way, Professor!” (The Professor left his distinguished pupil standing at the door, and meekly returned.) “There is a rumour afloat, that the people wish to elect an—in point of fact, an—you understand that I mean an——”
“Notanother Professor!” the poor old man exclaimed in horror.
“No! Certainly not!” the Vice-Warden eagerly explained. “Merely anEmperor, you understand.”
“AnEmperor!” cried the astonished Professor, holding his head between his hands, as if he expected it to come to pieces with the shock. “What will the Warden——”
“Why, theWardenwill most likelybethe new Emperor!” my Lady explained. “Where could we find a better? Unless, perhaps——” she glanced at her husband.
“Where indeed!” the Professor fervently responded, quite failing to take the hint.
The Vice-Warden resumed the thread of his discourse. “The reason I mentioned it, Professor, was to askyouto be so kind as to preside at the Election. You see it would make the thingrespectable—no suspicion of anything underhand——”
“I fear I ca’n’t, your Excellency!” the old man faltered. “What will the Warden——”
“True, true!” the Vice-Warden interrupted. “Your position, as Court-Professor, makes it awkward, I admit. Well, well! Then the Election shall be held without you.”
“Better so, than if it were heldwithinme!” the Professor murmured with a bewildered air, as if he hardly knew what he was saying. “Bed, I think your Highness said, and a cooling-draught?” And he wandered dreamily back to where Uggug sulkily awaited him.
I followed them out of the room, and down the passage, the Professor murmuring to himself, all the time, as a kind of aid to his feeble memory, “C, C, C; Couch, Cooling-Draught, Correct-Grammar,” till, in turning a corner, he met Sylvie and Bruno, so suddenly that the startled Professor let go of his fat pupil, who instantly took to his heels.
“We were looking for you!” cried Sylvie, in a tone of great relief. “Wedowant you so much, you ca’n’t think!”
“What is it, dear children?” the Professor asked, beaming on them with a very different look from what Uggug ever got from him.
“We want you to speak to the Gardener for us,” Sylvie said, as she and Bruno took the old man’s hands and led him into the hall.
“He’s ever so unkind!” Bruno mournfully added. “They’sallunkind to us, now that Father’s gone. The Lion weremuchnicer!”
“But you must explain to me, please,” the Professor said with an anxious look, “whichis the Lion, andwhichis the Gardener. It’smostimportant not to get two such animals confused together. And one’s very liable to do it in their case—both having mouths, you know——”
“Doos ooalwaysconfuses two animals together?” Bruno asked.
“Pretty often, I’m afraid,” the Professor candidly confessed. “Now, for instance, there’s the rabbit-hutch and the hall-clock.” The Professor pointed them out. “One gets a little confused withthem—both having doors, you know. Now, only yesterday—would you believe it?—I put some lettuces into the clock, and tried to wind up the rabbit!”
“Did the rabbitgo, after oo wounded it up?” said Bruno.
The Professor clasped his hands on the top of his head, and groaned. “Go? I should think itdidgo! Why, it’sgone! And where ever it’s gone to—that’s what Ica’n’tfind out! I’ve done my best—I’ve read all the article ‘Rabbit’ in the great dictionary—— Come in!”
“Only the tailor, Sir, with your little bill,” said a meek voice outside the door.
“Ah, well, I can soon settlehisbusiness,” the Professor said to the children, “if you’ll just wait a minute. How much is it, this year, my man?” The tailor had come in while he was speaking.
“Well, it’s been a doubling so many years, you see,” the tailor replied, a little gruffly, “and I think I’d like the money now. It’s two thousand pound, it is!”
“Oh, that’s nothing!” the Professor carelessly remarked, feeling in his pocket, as if he always carried at leastthatamount about with him. “But wouldn’t you like to wait just another year, and make itfourthousand? Just think how rich you’d be! Why, you might be aKing, if you liked!”
“I don’t know as I’d care about being aKing,” the man said thoughtfully. “But itdewsound a powerful sight o’ money! Well, I think I’ll wait——”
“Of course you will!” said the Professor. “There’s good sense inyou, I see. Good-day to you, my man!”
“Will you ever have to pay him that four thousand pounds?” Sylvie asked as the door closed on the departing creditor.
“Never, my child!” the Professor replied emphatically. “He’ll go on doubling it, till he dies. You see it’salwaysworth while waiting another year, to get twice as much money! And now what would you like to do, my little friends? Shall I take you to see the Other Professor? This would be an excellent opportunity for a visit,“ he said to himself, glancing at his watch: “he generally takes a short rest—of fourteen minutes and a half—about this time.”
Bruno hastily went round to Sylvie, who was standing at the other side of the Professor, and put his hand into hers. “Ithinkswe’d like to go,” he said doubtfully: “only please let’s go all together. It’s best to be on the safe side, oo know!”
“Why, you talk as if you wereSylvie!” exclaimed the Professor.
“I know I did,” Bruno replied very humbly. “I quite forgotted I wasn’t Sylvie. Only I fought he might be rarver fierce!”
The Professor laughed a jolly laugh. “Oh, he’s quite tame!” he said. “He never bites. He’s only a little—a littledreamy, you know.” He took hold of Bruno’s other hand, and led the children down a long passage I had never noticed before—not that there was anything remarkable inthat: I was constantly coming on new rooms and passages in that mysterious Palace, and very seldom succeeded in finding the old ones again.
Near the end of the passage the Professor stopped. “This is his room,” he said, pointing to the solid wall.
“We ca’n’t get in throughthere!” Bruno exclaimed.
Sylvie said nothing, till she had carefully examined whether the wall opened anywhere. Then she laughed merrily: “You’re playing us a trick, you dear old thing!” she said. “There’s nodoorhere!”
“There isn’t any door to the room,” said the Professor. “We shall have to climb in at the window.”
THE OTHER PROFESSORTHE OTHER PROFESSOR
THE OTHER PROFESSOR
So we went into the garden, and soon found the window of the Other Professor’s room. It was a ground-floor window, and stood invitingly open: the Professor first lifted the two children in, and then he and I climbed in after them.
The Other Professor was seated at a table, with a large book open before him, on which his forehead was resting: he had clasped his arms round the book, and was snoring heavily. “He usually reads like that,” the Professor remarked, “when the book’s very interesting: and then sometimes it’s very difficult to get him to attend!”
This seemed to be one of the difficult times: the Professor lifted him up, once or twice, and shook him violently: but he always returned to his book the moment he was let go of, and showed by his heavy breathing that the book was as interesting as ever.
“How dreamy he is!” the Professor exclaimed. “He must have got to averyinteresting part of the book!” And he rained quite a shower of thumps on the Other Professor’s back, shouting “Hoy! Hoy!” all the time. “Isn’t itwonderfulthat he should be so dreamy?” he said to Bruno.
“If he’s always assleepyas that,” Bruno remarked, “acoursehe’s dreamy!”
“But what are we todo?” said the Professor. “You see he’s quite wrapped up in the book!”
“Suppose ooshutsthe book?” Bruno suggested.
“That’s it!” cried the delighted Professor. “Of course that’ll do it!” And he shut up the book so quickly that he caught the Other Professor’s nose between the leaves, and gave it a severe pinch.
The Other Professor instantly rose to his feet, and carried the book away to the end of the room, where he put it back in its place in the book-case. “I’ve been reading for eighteen hours and three-quarters,” he said, “and now I shall rest for fourteen minutes and a half. Is the Lecture all ready?”
“Very nearly,” the Professor humbly replied. “I shall ask you to give me a hint or two—there will be a few little difficulties——”
“And a Banquet, I think you said?”
“Oh, yes! The Banquet comesfirst, of course. People never enjoy Abstract Science,you know, when they’re ravenous with hunger. And then there’s the Fancy-Dress-Ball. Oh, there’ll be lots of entertainment!”
“Where will the Ball come in?” said the Other Professor.
“Ithinkit had better come at the beginning of the Banquet—it brings people together so nicely, you know.”
“Yes, that’s the right order. First the Meeting: then the Eating: then the Treating—for I’m sure any Lectureyougive us will be a treat!” said the Other Professor, who had been standing with his back to us all this time, occupying himself in taking the books out, one by one, and turning them upside-down. An easel, with a black board on it, stood near him: and, every time that he turned a book upside-down, he made a mark on the board with a piece of chalk.
“And as to the ‘Pig-Tale’—whichyouhave so kindly promised to give us—” the Professor went on, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “I think that had better come at theendof the Banquet: then people can listen to it quietly.”
“Shall Isingit?” the Other Professor asked, with a smile of delight.
“If youcan,” the Professor replied, cautiously.
“Let me try,” said the Other Professor, seating himself at the pianoforte. “For the sake of argument, let us assume that it begins on A flat.” And he struck the note in question. “La, la, la! I think that’s within an octave of it.” He struck the note again, and appealed to Bruno, who was standing at his side. “Did I sing it likethat, my child?”
“No, oo didn’t,” Bruno replied with great decision. “It were more like a duck.”
“Single notes are apt to have that effect,” the Other Professor said with a sigh. “Let me try a whole verse.
There was a Pig, that sat alone,Beside a ruined Pump.By day and night he made his moan:It would have stirred a heart of stoneTo see him wring his hoofs and groan,Because he could not jump.
There was a Pig, that sat alone,
Beside a ruined Pump.
By day and night he made his moan:
It would have stirred a heart of stone
To see him wring his hoofs and groan,
Because he could not jump.
Would you call that a tune, Professor?” he asked, when he had finished.
The Professor considered a little. “Well,” he said at last, “some of the notes are the same as others—and some are different—but I should hardly call it atune.”
“Let me try it a bit by myself,” said the Other Professor. And he began touching the notes here and there, and humming to himself like an angry bluebottle.
“How do you like his singing?” the Professor asked the children in a low voice.
“It isn’t verybeautiful,” Sylvie said, hesitatingly.
“It’s very extremelyugly!” Bruno said, without any hesitation at all.
“All extremes are bad,” the Professor said, very gravely. “For instance, Sobriety is a very good thing, when practisedin moderation: but even Sobriety, when carried to anextreme, has its disadvantages.”
“What are its disadvantages?” was the question that rose in my mind—and, as usual, Bruno asked it for me. “Whatareits lizard bandages?”
“Well, this isoneof them,” said the Professor. “When a man’s tipsy (that’s one extreme,you know), he sees one thing as two. But, when he’sextremelysober (that’s the other extreme), he sees two things as one. It’s equally inconvenient, whichever happens.”
“What does ‘illconvenient’ mean?” Bruno whispered to Sylvie.
“The difference between ‘convenient’ and ‘inconvenient’ is best explained by an example,” said the Other Professor, who had overheard the question. “If you’ll just think over any Poem that contains the two words—such as——”
The Professor put his hands over his ears, with a look of dismay. “If you once let him begin aPoem,” he said to Sylvie, “he’ll never leave off again! He never does!”
“Did he ever begin a Poem and not leave off again?” Sylvie enquired.
“Three times,” said the Professor.
Bruno raised himself on tiptoe, till his lips were on a level with Sylvie’s ear. “What became of them three Poems?” he whispered. “Is he saying them all, now?”
“Hush!” said Sylvie. “The Other Professor is speaking!”
“I’ll say it very quick,” murmured the Other Professor, with downcast eyes, and melancholy voice, which contrasted oddly with his face, as he had forgotten to leave off smiling. (“At least it wasn’t exactly asmile,” as Sylvie said afterwards: “it looked as if his mouth was made that shape.”)
“Go on then,” said the Professor. “What must be must be.”
“Remember that!” Sylvie whispered to Bruno, “It’s a very good rule for whenever you hurt yourself.”
“And it’s a very good rule for whenever I make a noise,” said the saucy little fellow. “Soyouremember it too, Miss!”
“Whateverdoyou mean?” said Sylvie, trying to frown, a thing she never managed particularly well.
“Oftens and oftens,” said Bruno, “haven’t oo told me ‘There mustn’t be so much noise, Bruno!’ when I’ve tolded oo ‘Theremust!’ Why, there isn’t no rules at all about ‘There mustn’t’! But oo never believesme!”
“As if any onecouldbelieveyou, you wicked wicked boy!” said Sylvie. Thewordsweresevere enough, but I am of opinion that, when you are reallyanxiousto impress a criminal with a sense of his guilt, you ought not to pronounce the sentence with your lipsquiteclose to his cheek—since a kiss at the end of it, however accidental, weakens the effect terribly.
“As I was saying,” the Other Professor resumed, “if you’ll just think over any Poem, that contains the words—such as
‘Peter is poor,’ said noble Paul,‘And I have always been his friend:And, though my means to give are small,At least I can afford tolend.How few, in this cold age of greed,Do good, except on selfish grounds!But I can feel for Peter’s need,AndI will lend him fifty pounds!’
‘Peter is poor,’ said noble Paul,
‘And I have always been his friend:
And, though my means to give are small,
At least I can afford tolend.
How few, in this cold age of greed,
Do good, except on selfish grounds!
But I can feel for Peter’s need,
AndI will lend him fifty pounds!’
How great was Peter’s joy to findHis friend in such a genial vein!How cheerfully the bond he signed,To pay the money back again!‘We ca’n’t,’ said Paul, ‘be too precise:’Tis best to fix the very day:So, by a learned friend’s advice,I’ve made it Noon, the Fourth of May.’
How great was Peter’s joy to find
His friend in such a genial vein!
How cheerfully the bond he signed,
To pay the money back again!
‘We ca’n’t,’ said Paul, ‘be too precise:
’Tis best to fix the very day:
So, by a learned friend’s advice,
I’ve made it Noon, the Fourth of May.’
‘HOW CHEERFULLY THE BOND HE SIGNED!’‘HOW CHEERFULLY THE BOND HE SIGNED!’
‘HOW CHEERFULLY THE BOND HE SIGNED!’
‘But this is April!’ Peter said.‘The First of April, as I think.Five little weeks will soon be fled:One scarcely will have time to wink!Give me a year to speculate—To buy and sell—to drive a trade—’Said Paul ‘I cannot change the date.On May the Fourth it must be paid.’
‘But this is April!’ Peter said.
‘The First of April, as I think.
Five little weeks will soon be fled:
One scarcely will have time to wink!
Give me a year to speculate—
To buy and sell—to drive a trade—’
Said Paul ‘I cannot change the date.
On May the Fourth it must be paid.’
‘Well, well!’ said Peter, with a sigh.‘Hand me the cash, and I will go.I’ll form a Joint-Stock Company,And turn an honest pound or so.’‘I’m grieved,’ said Paul, ‘to seem unkind:The money shall of course be lent:But, for a week or two, I findIt will not be convenient.’
‘Well, well!’ said Peter, with a sigh.
‘Hand me the cash, and I will go.
I’ll form a Joint-Stock Company,
And turn an honest pound or so.’
‘I’m grieved,’ said Paul, ‘to seem unkind:
The money shall of course be lent:
But, for a week or two, I find
It will not be convenient.’
So, week by week, poor Peter cameAnd turned in heaviness away;For still the answer was the same,‘I cannot manage it to-day.’And now the April showers were dry—The five short weeks were nearly spent—Yet still he got the old reply,‘It is not quite convenient!’
So, week by week, poor Peter came
And turned in heaviness away;
For still the answer was the same,
‘I cannot manage it to-day.’
And now the April showers were dry—
The five short weeks were nearly spent—
Yet still he got the old reply,
‘It is not quite convenient!’
The Fourth arrived, and punctual PaulCame, with his legal friend, at noon.‘I thought it best,’ said he, ‘to call:One cannot settle things too soon.’Poor Peter shuddered in despair:His flowing locks he wildly tore:And very soon his yellow hairWas lying all about the floor.
The Fourth arrived, and punctual Paul
Came, with his legal friend, at noon.
‘I thought it best,’ said he, ‘to call:
One cannot settle things too soon.’
Poor Peter shuddered in despair:
His flowing locks he wildly tore:
And very soon his yellow hair
Was lying all about the floor.
The legal friend was standing by,With sudden pity half unmanned:The tear-drop trembled in his eye,The signed agreement in his hand:But when at length the legal soulResumed its customary force,‘The Law,’ he said, ‘we ca’n’t control:Pay, or the Law must take its course!’
The legal friend was standing by,
With sudden pity half unmanned:
The tear-drop trembled in his eye,
The signed agreement in his hand:
But when at length the legal soul
Resumed its customary force,
‘The Law,’ he said, ‘we ca’n’t control:
Pay, or the Law must take its course!’
Said Paul, ‘How bitterly I rueThat fatal morning when I called!Consider, Peter, what you do!You won’t be richer when you’re bald!Think you, by rending curls away,To make your difficulties less?Forbear this violence, I pray:You do but add to my distress!’
Said Paul, ‘How bitterly I rue
That fatal morning when I called!
Consider, Peter, what you do!
You won’t be richer when you’re bald!
Think you, by rending curls away,
To make your difficulties less?
Forbear this violence, I pray:
You do but add to my distress!’
‘POOR PETER SHUDDERED IN DESPAIR’‘POOR PETER SHUDDERED IN DESPAIR’
‘POOR PETER SHUDDERED IN DESPAIR’
‘Not willingly would I inflict,’Said Peter, ‘on that noble heartOne needless pang. Yet why so strict?Isthisto act a friendly part?However legal it may beTo pay what never has been lent,This style of business seems to meExtremely inconvenient!
‘Not willingly would I inflict,’
Said Peter, ‘on that noble heart
One needless pang. Yet why so strict?
Isthisto act a friendly part?
However legal it may be
To pay what never has been lent,
This style of business seems to me
Extremely inconvenient!
‘No Nobleness of soul have I,Likesomethat in this Age are found!’(Paul blushed in sheer humility,And cast his eyes upon the ground.)‘This debt will simply swallow all,And make my life a life of woe!’‘Nay, nay, my Peter!’ answered Paul.‘You must not rail on Fortune so!
‘No Nobleness of soul have I,
Likesomethat in this Age are found!’
(Paul blushed in sheer humility,
And cast his eyes upon the ground.)
‘This debt will simply swallow all,
And make my life a life of woe!’
‘Nay, nay, my Peter!’ answered Paul.
‘You must not rail on Fortune so!
‘You have enough to eat and drink:You are respected in the world:And at the barber’s, as I think,You often get your whiskers curled.Though Nobleness you ca’n’t attain—To any very great extent—The path of Honesty is plain,However inconvenient!’
‘You have enough to eat and drink:
You are respected in the world:
And at the barber’s, as I think,
You often get your whiskers curled.
Though Nobleness you ca’n’t attain—
To any very great extent—
The path of Honesty is plain,
However inconvenient!’
‘’Tis true,’ said Peter, ‘I’m alive:I keep my station in the world:Once in the week I just contriveTo get my whiskers oiled and curled.But my assets are very low:My little income’s overspent:To trench on capital, you know,Is always inconvenient!’
‘’Tis true,’ said Peter, ‘I’m alive:
I keep my station in the world:
Once in the week I just contrive
To get my whiskers oiled and curled.
But my assets are very low:
My little income’s overspent:
To trench on capital, you know,
Is always inconvenient!’
‘But pay your debts!’ cried honest Paul.‘My gentle Peter, pay your debts!What matter if it swallows allThat you describe as your “assets”?Already you’re an hour behind:Yet Generosity is best.It pinches me—but never mind!I will not charge you interest!’
‘But pay your debts!’ cried honest Paul.
‘My gentle Peter, pay your debts!
What matter if it swallows all
That you describe as your “assets”?
Already you’re an hour behind:
Yet Generosity is best.
It pinches me—but never mind!
I will not charge you interest!’
‘How good! How great!’ poor Peter cried.‘Yet I must sell my Sunday wig—The scarf-pin that has been my pride—My grand piano—and my pig!’Full soon his property took wings:And daily, as each treasure went,He sighed to find the state of thingsGrow less and less convenient.
‘How good! How great!’ poor Peter cried.
‘Yet I must sell my Sunday wig—
The scarf-pin that has been my pride—
My grand piano—and my pig!’
Full soon his property took wings:
And daily, as each treasure went,
He sighed to find the state of things
Grow less and less convenient.
Weeks grew to months, and months to years:Peter was worn to skin and bone:And once he even said, with tears,‘Remember, Paul, that promised Loan!’Said Paul ‘I’ll lend you, when I can,All the spare money I have got—Ah, Peter, you’re a happy man!Yours is an enviable lot!
Weeks grew to months, and months to years:
Peter was worn to skin and bone:
And once he even said, with tears,
‘Remember, Paul, that promised Loan!’
Said Paul ‘I’ll lend you, when I can,
All the spare money I have got—
Ah, Peter, you’re a happy man!
Yours is an enviable lot!
‘SUCH BOOTS AS THESE YOU SELDOM SEE’‘SUCH BOOTS AS THESE YOU SELDOM SEE’
‘SUCH BOOTS AS THESE YOU SELDOM SEE’
‘I’m getting stout, as you may see:It is but seldom I am well:I cannot feel my ancient gleeIn listening to the dinner-bell:But you, you gambol like a boy,Your figure is so spare and light:The dinner-bell’s a note of joyTo such a healthy appetite!’
‘I’m getting stout, as you may see:
It is but seldom I am well:
I cannot feel my ancient glee
In listening to the dinner-bell:
But you, you gambol like a boy,
Your figure is so spare and light:
The dinner-bell’s a note of joy
To such a healthy appetite!’