The Wallypug in London. Farrow George Edward

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СКАЧАТЬ to sleeb ad was just dreabig that sobeone was sayig, ‘Mrs. Behetable Burchison is so fod of fish, and we ofted have fish for didder,’ whed I woke ub and saw all those horrible cats lookig id ad the widdow; id quide gave be a turn. Do drive theb away please.”

      We soon did this, and, pulling down the blinds, we left A. Fish, Esq., to his dreams and soon afterwards retired to rest ourselves.

      CHAPTER II

      THE NEXT DAY’S ADVENTURES

      When I entered the breakfast room the next morning I found that the Wallypug and the Doctor-in-Law had been up for some time, and were both gazing out of the window with the greatest of interest.

      “I hope your Majesty slept well,” I remarked to the Wallypug as I approached them.

      “Very well indeed, thank you,” he replied smilingly. “The Doctor-in-Law and myself have just been saying that we are sure to have an enjoyable visit here. We have been greatly interested in the man-machines going past. We have never seen anything like them before.”

      “The man-machines!” I exclaimed, puzzled to know whatever he could mean.

      “Yes, the men with wheels instead of legs, you know.”

      “Oh, you mean the bicyclists,” I replied, laughing. “Have you really never seen any before?”

      “No, indeed,” replied his Majesty. “Are they born with wheels on, or do they grow afterwards?”

      I laughed, and fortunately just then the youngster opposite, who always rides to school on his bicycle, came out of doors wheeling his machine, and I was able to explain to the Wallypug the principle upon which they worked.

      “Dear me; the Doctor-in-Law told me that the machinery was part of the man, but now I see that it is separate. And he charged me sixpence for the information too,” he complained, looking reproachfully at the Doctor-in-Law.

      “Charged you sixpence!” I cried.

      “Yes,” replied the poor Wallypug. “He offered to tell me all about them for sixpence, and as I was really very curious to know I gave it to him, and then he informed me that they were a peculiar race of people who came from Coventry, and who were all born with wheels instead of legs.”

      “Take your old sixpence then, if you are going to make all that fuss about it,” said the Doctor-in-Law, crossly, throwing the coin down on the table and walking out of the room in a huff. “I’m sure I did read somewhere that they came from Coventry,” he added, popping his head in at the door and then slamming it violently after him.

      The boy opposite was still riding up and down the road, and I made up my mind that although I had never spoken to him before, I would ask him to let the Wallypug examine his bicycle more closely.

      “With pleasure,” he replied, raising his hat politely to the Wallypug, when I had explained who he was; “and if his Majesty would like to try it he is quite welcome to do so.”

      The Doctor-in-Law’s curiosity had so far overcome his ill-humour that, when he saw us talking to the boy, he came forward and offered to help the Wallypug to mount.

      “I really don’t think he had better,” I said, “he might damage the machine.”

      “Oh no, he won’t hurt it, I’m sure,” said the boy generously; and so with our united assistance the Wallypug got on to the bicycle, and after a few preliminary wobblings started off in fine style. Faster and faster he went, clinging desperately to the handle-bars, till we, who were running beside him, could no longer keep pace with him.

      “I can’t stop,” we heard him shout; and a moment later he charged straight at a large stone and half a brick which lay in the middle of the roadway.

      Poor Wallypug! The sudden impact threw him right over the handle-bars, and he landed in a huddled heap on his hands and knees in the gutter. The machine flew in half, and the front portion careered madly away by itself till stopped by the kerb.

      We hurried up to his Majesty to discover if he was much hurt, but, with the exception of a few scratches on his hands and knees and a thorough shaking, he seemed to have come off pretty well.

      “I suppose we can’t stick it together again?” he inquired, gazing ruefully at the broken bicycle, and I was obliged to tell him that there was not much chance of our doing so. The boy to whom it belonged bravely made the best of the matter, especially when I told him that the next half-holiday he had I would take him to Holborn to choose another one in its place.

      And when I discovered that he had a half-holiday that very afternoon, it was arranged that General Mary Jane should order a carriage at the livery stable, and that we should all drive to the city after luncheon.

      The Wallypug, after a good wash and a hearty breakfast, went to his room to lie down for an hour or two to recover from the effects of his accident, and I was just answering my morning letters when there was a knock at the study door, and the Rhymester entered.

      “I sat up most of the night writing poetry,” he remarked, “and I have just brought you one or two specimens. The first one is called ‘The Ode of a Toad.’ Perhaps I had better read it to you. My writing is rather peculiar,” and he began as follows:

THE ODE OF A TOAD

      There was once an old toad who lived under a tree,

      Hippety hop – Flippety flop,

      And his head was as bald as bald could be,

      He was deaf as a post and could hardly see,

      But a giddy and frivolous toad was he,

      With his hippety-hoppety-plop.

      And he gambolled and danced on the village green,

      Hippety hop – Flippety flop,

      In a way that had never before been seen,

      Tho’ he wasn’t so young as once he had been,

      And the people all wondered whate’er he could mean,

      With his hippety-hoppety-plop.

      But the old chap kept bobbing about just the same,

      Hippety hop – Flippety flop,

      Till everyone thought he must make himself lame,

      And not a soul ever could find out his aim,

      In keeping up such a ridiculous game,

      As his hippety-hoppety-plop.

      Some said he was mad, tho’ as mild as a dove,

      Hippety hop – Flippety flop,

      And as the result of a push or a shove,

      Was a little bit cracked in the storey above,

      But I fancy myself the old boy was in love,

      With his hippety-hoppety-plop.

      “There! What do you think of it?” he asked when he had finished.

      “Well, candidly, I’m afraid not very much,” I replied; “and what on earth do you call it an ode for?”

      “Why, you see, ode went so well with the word toad. I was going to call it ‘Ode to a Toad,’ but it isn’t to a toad at all, though it’s about a toad. Ah! by the bye, I might call it ‘A Toad’s Ode,’ mightn’t I? I think that sounds very jolly.” He altered the title in pencil.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ