The Wallypug in London

CHAPTER VII

MORE ADVENTURES

“It’s the most contraryish place I’ve ever seen,” declared One-and-Nine.

“Yes,” agreed the Wallypug. “There was no water in the moat.”

“The Drawbridge didn’t draw,” echoed the Rhymester.

“Ad the beefeaters didn’t eat beef,” chimed in A. Fish, Esq., while the Doctor-in-Law declared that for his part he “considered the morning spent there had been entirely wasted.”

They were talking about the Tower of London, and were telling Girlie and Boy, who were spending the afternoon with us, all about their visit there on the previous day.

I was sitting in an adjoining room – but the door being open I could hear all that was said.

“How did you go?” asked Boy.

“Oh!” exclaimed the Wallypug, “in the most extraordinary way you can possibly imagine. We went into a house in High Street, Kensington, and bought some little tickets, and then we handed them to a man at a barrier, who cut a little piece out of each one as we passed through.”

“To rebebber us by,” chimed in A. Fish, Esq.

“Yes,” continued the Wallypug; “and then we went down two flights of stairs, and by-and-bye a lot of little houses on wheels came rushing into the station, and we got into one of them and before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’ we were rushing through a big black tunnel under the ground.”

“Why, you mean the Underground Railway,” declared Girlie.

“Yes,” agreed his Majesty. “And the little room we sat in had beautiful soft cushions and a big light in the middle of the roof, and little texts printed on the wall – ”

“Texts!” exclaimed both of the children.

“Texts,” repeated the Wallypug. “What were they? Do you remember?” he asked of the others.

“Oh, one was, ‘You are requested not to put your feet on the cushions,’” said the Rhymester.

“Oh, yes, and ‘To seat five,’ and ‘Wait till the train stops’ – I remember now,” continued the Wallypug. “Well, we kept rushing through the tunnel till we came to ‘Holman’s Mustard,’ and a lot of people got out, and then we went on again till we came to ‘Smears’ Soap.’”

“It wasn’t ‘Smears’ Soap,’” contradicted the Doctor-in-Law. “It was somebody’s Ink.”

“Well, there were such a lot of names,” declared the Wallypug, “it was impossible to really tell which was which. I always took the name opposite to my window to be the right one. The funniest part of it all was, we kept coming to ‘Holman’s Mustard’ over and over again. I can’t think how on earth the people know when to get out.”

“Why, those weren’t the names of the stations at all,” laughed Boy. “They were advertisements!”

“Well, where were the names of the stations then?” demanded his Majesty.

“Why, in big letters on the walls of course,” was the reply.

“They couldn’t have been much bigger than those of ‘Holman’s Mustard,’” persisted the Wallypug somewhat ungrammatically.

“Never mind about that; get on with your story,” remarked the Doctor-in-Law impatiently.

“Well, after going through a lot of tunnels and stopping ever so many times, we got out at one of the stations and went upstairs into the light again, and almost opposite the station we could see a lot of grey stone buildings with towers and battlements.”

“I know! You mean the Tower. We’ve been there,” interrupted Girlie.

“Did you see the Lions?” asked the Wallypug eagerly.

“Lions! No!” exclaimed the children. “There weren’t any; you didn’t see any, did you?”

“No, we didn’t,” admitted the Wallypug, “but the Doctor-in-Law told us that there were some there.”

“I read it in a book,” declared the Doctor-in-Law. “But I daresay it was all a pack of stories, like the rest of the things they said. Look at the Crown Jewels for instance – bits of glass and rubbish. That’s why they put them in an iron cage, so you can’t get at them to see if they are real.”

“Oh! I think they are real,” said Boy. “The Guide told us that they were worth ever so many thousands of pounds.”

“Yes, he may have said so,” remarked the Doctor-in-Law, “but I’ll be bound he wouldn’t let you take them away and examine them for yourself. I asked them to let me have one or two of the crowns and things to take home and test, but they positively refused, although I promised to return them within a week. They are afraid that we should find out that they are only imitations – that’s what’s the matter.”

“There weren’t any kings or queens executed either the day we were there,” he continued, grumbling.

“Well, I’m sure I’m very glad that that fashion has died out,” declared his Majesty. “I don’t mind admitting now that I was rather nervous about going at all, for fear that I should have my head chopped off, and I should feel so very awkward without one, you know.”

“Pooh! You needn’t have been alarmed, for there wasn’t a Lord High Executioner on the premises, because I asked,” declared the Rhymester.

“No, but do you know,” said his Majesty, “I’ve found out since, that he lives at the bottom of our street, and mends shoes for a living – he does a little executing still on the sly, for I have seen his bill in the window, ‘Orders executed with promptness and dispatch.’ I asked him one day what class he executed most, and he said that his connection was principally amongst the ‘Uppers.’ He seems a very kind man though, and not only executes orders, but heals them too, poor souls! He charges 1s. 3d. for healing. His education has been sorely neglected, I am afraid, however, for he spells it ‘heeling.’”

“Did you see the Armoury at the Tower?” asked Boy.

“Yes, and there was another instance of deception,” declared the Doctor-in-Law.

“What do you mean?” asked Boy.

“Well, what is an armoury?” inquired the Doctor-in-Law.

“A place where arms are kept, I suppose,” replied Boy.

“Just so, and there wasn’t an arm in the place except our own,” said the Doctor-in-Law wrathfully.

“Why, they call guns and things arms,” said Boy, laughing.

“Oh! do they?” remarked the Doctor-in-Law sarcastically. “Why don’t they call things by their proper names then? they might as well call them legs, or turnips, or paraffin oil – bah! I’ve no patience with such folly!”

“I think they bight feed the raveds1 bedder,” complained A. Fish, Esq. “They went for by calves, and if wud of those Beefeaters hadn’d cub and driven theb away I shouldn’t have had a leg left to stand up od.”

“Beefeaters, yes!” remarked the Rhymester, “and a pretty lot they were. I tried several of them with a piece that I had brought with me in a little paper bag, and not one of them would touch it.”

“Madame Tussaud’s was better; we went there in the afternoon,” said his Majesty.

“Yes, but who was to know which were wax figures and which were not?” asked the Doctor-in-Law.

“Well, you made a pretty muddle of it anyhow,” said the Wallypug. “Do you know,” he went on, “the Doctor-in-Law made us all pay sixpence each towards the catalogue, and then went around with us explaining the various groups. He had just finished telling us that several ladies, who were standing together, were Henry the Eighth’s wives, when they all marched off looking highly indignant.”

“Well, how was I to know?” remarked the Doctor-in-Law pettishly. “I’d never met a single one of Henry the Eighth’s wives in my life, and how was I to recognize them?”

“I don’t think they would have binded so butch if the Rhymebster hadn’t pinched wud of theb to see if they were alive or dot,” remarked A. Fish, Esq.

“Did you see the Sleeping Beauty?” asked Girlie.

“Oh, yes! Isn’t it cruel to keep her shut up in that case,” cried the Wallypug. “I’m sure she’s alive, for we could see her breathing quite distinctly. I was so concerned about it that I asked the Doctor-in-Law to speak to a policeman who was standing near by about it. But he could get no answer from him, and we found out afterwards that he was only a wax figure.”

“The best thig of all,” remarked A. Fish, Esq., “was whed we all pretended that we – ”

“Dear me, it’s very warm!” interrupted the Doctor-in-Law. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Pretended that we – ” continued A. Fish, Esq.

“Hush – sh – sh – !” cried the Doctor-in-Law in a warning voice.

“The fact of the matter is,” explained the Rhymester, “the Doctor-in-Law got us all to pretend that we were wax figures ourselves, and he tied little money boxes in front of us with the words: ‘Put a penny in the slot and the figure will move,’ written on them, and when anyone put a penny in we all moved our heads and rolled our eyes about.”

“I didn’t!” said the Wallypug.

“No, I know you didn’t,” replied the Rhymester. “And the Doctor-in-Law had to explain that you were out of order, and that’s how we were found out, for the people wanted their money back and he wouldn’t give it to them, so they called the attendant, and we had to go out as quickly as we could.”

“Ad wasn’t id beade?” said A. Fish, Esq. “There were four shillings ad threepedce id the boxes, ad the Doctor-id-Law wouldn’t give us a penny of id.”

“Well, I let you pay my fare home. That amounted to the same thing,” replied the little man.

Just then Mrs. Putchy came in with afternoon tea, and I joined my guests in the drawing-room.

CHAPTER VIII

HIS MAJESTY IS INTERVIEWED

The next morning we were all seated around the breakfast table laughing over our adventures of the evening before, when we had visited the Earl’s Court Exhibition together. We had been up in the Great Wheel, and having passed through the pretty old English village were walking around the artificial lake listening to the band playing in their little pavilion on the island in the middle, when the Doctor-in-Law declared that he heard a strange trumpeting sound, and asked me what it could be. I had not heard it and so could not tell him, and we were just discussing the matter when the Wallypug clutched wildly at his crown, and turning around we saw a huge elephant lifting it gracefully off his head with its trunk.

Directly his Majesty realized what it was, he gave a wild scream and took to his heels, as did all the others, with the exception of the Rhymester, who tripped against a stone and lay with his head buried in his arms for some time, kicking and screaming for help.

Of course it was only the tame elephant that carries the children on its back, but to the unaccustomed eyes of the Wallypug and his party it seemed, so they told me afterwards, some strange and awful monster ready to devour them.

As I said, we were laughing merrily over this adventure when the postman arrived, and the Doctor-in-Law, without asking to be excused from the table, rushed out to meet him, and returned a few minutes later with his arms loaded with a number of little packages and one rather large box, which had arrived by Carter Paterson.

“Dear me, what a lot of letters,” remarked his Majesty.

“Yes. Wouldn’t you like to know what they are all about, eh?” inquired the Doctor-in-Law.

“Yes, I should,” admitted the Wallypug; while the faces of the others all expressed the same curiosity.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the Doctor-in-Law. “If you’ll all pay me fourpence halfpenny each, I will let you open them and see for yourselves.”

There was a little grumbling at this, but eventually the money changed hands, and, the breakfast things having been removed, the little packages were opened with great eagerness.

Besides a printed circular, each one contained some little article – a pencil case, a pen knife, a comb, a sample tin of knife polish, a card of revolving collar studs, and so on.

“Ah!” remarked the Doctor-in-Law complacently as these articles were spread about the table; “I told you that I expected to derive a princely revenue from my correspondence, and now I will explain to you how it is done. I observed a great number of advertisements in the daily papers, stating that ‘A handsome income could be earned without the slightest trouble or inconvenience, and particulars would be forwarded to any one sending six stamps and an addressed envelope’; so I sent off about twenty, and here is the result. I see by these circulars that I have only to sell two hundred of these little pencil cases at half-a-crown each in order to earn 1s. 6d. commission, and for every dozen tins of knife polish I sell, I shall be paid 1-½d., besides being able to earn 6d. a thousand by addressing envelopes for one firm, if I supply my own envelopes.”

“What’s in the big box?” inquired the Rhymester.

“A dittig bachede,” replied A. Fish, Esq., who had been busily engaged in opening it.

“A what?” exclaimed the others.

“A dittig bachede for dittig socks,” repeated A. Fish, Esq.

“Oh yes, of course!” explained the Doctor-in-Law, “a knitting machine. I was persuaded to buy it on the understanding that I was to have constant work all the year round, and be paid so much per pair for knitting socks with it. It’s a most interesting and amusing occupation, and, I’ll tell you what, I don’t mind letting any one of you use the machine for sixpence an hour, if you find your own worsted and give me the socks when they are finished. There now! nothing could be fairer than that, could it?”

And positively A. Fish, Esq., was so infatuated with the charms of the “dittig bachede,” as he called it, that he actually agreed to these terms, and sent out for some worsted, and commenced “dittig” with great enthusiasm. The Doctor-in-Law then set the Rhymester to work, addressing the envelopes on the understanding that he was to share the sixpence per thousand to be paid for them. And, having bothered the Wallypug and myself into buying a pencil-case and a knife each, in order to get rid of him, he started off to the kitchen to see if he could do any business with Mrs. Putchy in the knife-polish or black-lead line.

His Majesty and myself were just saying what an extraordinary little man he was, when he burst in upon us again.

“Heard the news?” he inquired, his face beaming with importance.

“No. What is it?” inquired the others eagerly.

“Ah! wouldn’t you like to know?” exclaimed the Doctor-in-Law. “How much will you give me for telling you?”

“How much do you want?” asked the Rhymester dubiously.

“A penny each,” was the reply.

“Come on then, let’s have it,” said the Rhymester, collecting the pennies from the others and handing them to the Doctor-in-Law.

“Why – er – er – Queen Anne is dead, and the Dutch have taken Holland – yah!” And the little man burst out laughing.

“Oh! I say, that’s too bad,” grumbled the Wallypug. “Isn’t it now?” he cried, appealing to me.

“Well, really,” I replied, “you shouldn’t be so silly as to give him money. You ought to know by this time what to expect from him.”

“No, but truly,” said the Doctor-in-Law, pulling a serious face, “I have got some news, the other was only my fun. A lady is going to call on us at eleven, to interview the Wallypug. I had almost forgotten it.”

“A lady!” I exclaimed. “Whoever do you mean?”

“Oh, she’s the Duchess of something. I forget her name,” answered the Doctor-in-Law nonchalantly. “She called the other day while you were out, and explained that she was a contributor to one of the latest society magazines, and was anxious to send an illustrated interview with the Wallypug, to her paper; so – a-hem! – after we had come to terms, I arranged for her to come to-day and see him. You had better go and make yourself tidy, hadn’t you?” he continued, turning to the Wallypug.

“Well, really,” I interposed, “I think you might have consulted his Majesty first, before making these arrangements.”

“Oh! do you?” said the Doctor-in-Law rudely. “Well, I don’t see that it’s any business of yours, my good sir – so there!” and he bounced out of the room again, rattling his sample tins.

It was nearly eleven then, and a few minutes afterwards a beautifully-appointed carriage drew up to the door, and Mrs. Putchy brought up a card inscribed:

and immediately ushered in a fashionably-dressed lady, who smilingly offered me the tips of her fingers.

“Oh, how do you do? You are the gentleman, I think, who is to introduce me to his Majesty, are you not?”

“Well, really, your Grace, we have only just heard of the appointment, but his Majesty the Wallypug will be very pleased to receive you I am sure.”

“And is that his Majesty at the other end of the room?” whispered the Duchess. “Pray present me.”

I made the necessary introduction, and the Duchess gave the regulation Court ‘dip,’ which the Wallypug gravely imitated, and then in his usual simple manner offered his hand with a smile.

Her Grace made a deep presentation curtsey and bowed over it in the most approved fashion; but the Wallypug, evidently unused to being treated with so much ceremony, withdrew it hastily and remarked nervously but politely:

“Won’t you take a seat, madam?”

“Say, ‘Your Grace,’” I whispered.

“What for?” asked his Majesty blankly.

“Because this lady is a Duchess, and you must always say ‘Your Grace’ when speaking to her,” I replied.

“Oh!” said the Wallypug vaguely – then going up to the Duchess he solemnly said, “I’m Grace.”

“No, no!” I explained. “You don’t understand me. I mean, when you speak to this lady you must call her ‘Your Grace.’”

“Dear me, how stupid of me, to be sure!” said his Majesty. “I understand now. I beg your pardon. I meant to say, ‘You are my Grace,’ madam,” he continued, addressing himself to the Duchess.

Her Grace amiably laughed away this little mistake, and was soon busy asking questions. The Wallypug, however, got very nervous, and made a shocking lot of mistakes in his answers. He couldn’t even say how old he was.

“I know I’ve been in the family for years,” he remarked, “and I fancy I must have come over with William the Conqueror. Such a lot of people did that, you know, and it’s so respectable. I don’t remember it, of course; but then I’ve been told that I was born very young, and so naturally I shouldn’t do so.”

“Does your Majesty remember any of the incidents of your early life?” asked the Duchess.

“I was considered remarkably bald for my age as an infant,” replied the Wallypug simply. “And I believe I had several measles, and a mump or two as a child. But I don’t wish to boast about them,” he added modestly.

“Where were you educated, your Majesty?” was the next question.

“I wasn’t,” replied the Wallypug with a sigh.

“Does your Majesty mean that you received no education at all?” asked the Duchess in surprise.

“Oh! I was taught reading, and writing, and arithmetic, and the use of the globes, and Latin and Greek, and all that rubbish, of course,” replied the Wallypug. “But I mean there were no Universities at Why, where I could receive a higher education, and be taught cricket, and football, and rowing, and all those classical things taught at Oxford and Cambridge, you know. I was considered the best boy in my form at marbles though,” he added proudly. “And I could beat any of the masters at Hop Scotch.”

“What is your favourite diet, your Majesty?” came next.

“Oh! jumbles, I think – or bull’s eyes. I’m very fond of hardbake too, and I love cocoa-nut ice.”

A few more questions such as these, and her Grace took her departure, after taking several snap-shot photographs of various articles in the drawing room.

I felt convinced that with such a scanty amount of information at her disposal the Duchess would have great difficulty in writing an article on the Wallypug, and was therefore the more surprised a few days later to receive a copy of the magazine which her Grace represented, with a long and particular account of the interview, under the heading of, “‘Why Wallypug and wherefore of Why?’ by a Lady of Title.” Into it her Grace had introduced the most preposterous and extravagant statements about his Majesty.

We learned with amazement that “The Wallypug came of a very ancient family, and had early been distinguished for many remarkable accomplishments. While at school his Majesty displayed such a natural aptitude for learning as to readily out-distance his instructors.”

“I suppose that’s because I said I played Hop Scotch better than the masters,” commented his Majesty, to whom I was reading the account aloud.

Photographs of various articles in the drawing-room, which had no connection whatever with the Wallypug, were reproduced with the most extraordinary and absolutely untrue stories attached to them. Dick and Mrs. Mehetable Murchison appeared as “The Wallypug’s favourite cat and dog,” while pathetic stories were told of how the dog had on several occasions saved his royal master from an untimely and watery grave, while the cat had prevented him from being burned to death while reading in bed by gently scratching his nose when he had fallen asleep, and the candle had set fire to the bed curtains. Sensational illustrations were also given depicting these incidents, which of course were purely imaginary.

It was very remarkable to notice though, that directly the article of the Duchess’s appeared, invitations from all sorts of grand people poured in upon us – and the daily papers suddenly woke up to the fact that the Wallypug and his suite were very important personages, and devoted whole columns to “Our Mysterious Foreign Guests,” as they called them.

There was always more or less of a crowd outside the house now, and when his Majesty drove in the Park, the people all stood up on the little green seats to get a better view of him as he passed.

CHAPTER IX

THE WALLYPUG’S OWN