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CHAPTER X
THE WALLYPUG GOES TO WINDSOR
While they were all busy in the preparation of The Wallypug’s Own, I thought it an excellent opportunity to run down to Folkestone in order to make arrangements for hiring a house, as I intended taking my guests to the seaside for a few weeks.
I felt a little anxious about leaving them to themselves, but hoped that they would be too busy and interested in the new magazine to get into trouble.
It was most unfortunate that I should have gone just then though, for directly I had left the Wallypug received a polite letter from one of the Court officials to say that the Queen would be pleased to receive his Majesty and suite at Windsor on the following day.
Of course, as you may imagine, the Wallypug was in a great state of excitement at receiving this royal invitation, and wished to telegraph at once for me to return and advise them how to act and what to do, on this important occasion; however, the Doctor-in-Law, so I have been given to understand, persuaded his Majesty not to do anything of the sort, and added that I “was always poking about and interfering, and was better out of the way”; so his Majesty, who was very anxious to do the right thing, consulted Mrs. Putchy as to the proper costume to be worn, and the etiquette to be observed.
“Well, your Majesty,” remarked Mrs. Putchy in reply, “I scarcely know what to advise. When in my younger days, I acted as lady’s maid to the Countess of Wembley, I know her ladyship wore a Court train and carried a bouquet when she was presented to the Queen.”
“Where did the engine go?” asked his Majesty curiously.
“The engine!” exclaimed Mrs. Putchy.
“Yes; you said she wore a train, didn’t you?” said the Wallypug.
“Oh! but I didn’t mean that kind of train,” laughed Mrs. Putchy; “I meant a long sort of cloak fastened on to the shoulders and trailing along the ground at the back – they are generally made of satin and velvet, and are decorated with flowers and feathers and lace, and that sort of thing. Your Majesty’s cloak would do nicely if I trimmed it for you.”
“But are you sure that gentlemen wear these sort of things?” inquired the Wallypug.
“Well, I couldn’t rightly say, your Majesty, but I’m sure I’ve seen pictures of kings and such like wearing trains which were borne by pages, so I feel sure your Majesty would be safe in wearing one.”
So it was arranged that, after having been carefully brushed, his Majesty’s velvet cloak was to be gaily decorated with lace and large bunches of flowers, and, to make the thing complete, a large bouquet was tied around his sceptre, and, at the Rhymester’s suggestion, little knots of flowers were attached to the knobs of his Majesty’s crown.
The little man was highly delighted with his appearance when all these arrangements were concluded, and could get but very little sleep that night for thinking of the great honour which was to be his the next day.
The whole household was early astir in the morning, and at about eleven o’clock the carriage came to take the royal guests to the station.
Arrived at Waterloo, the Doctor-in-Law, after making various inquiries as to the price of the tickets, etc., actually had the meanness, despite the remonstrance of the railway officials, to insist upon the whole party travelling down third-class, remarking that he “found the third-class carriages reached there quite as soon as the first, and a penny saved was a penny gained.”
The station master at Windsor was particularly put out about it, as, in honour of his Majesty’s visit, the station had been gaily decorated and a carpet laid down to the carriage door. His Majesty, however, made a brave show as he walked up the platform preceded by the Doctor-in-Law, his gaily decorated train borne by the Rhymester, and followed by A. Fish, Esq., and One-and-Nine, the latter carrying a mysterious bandbox, which contained a present from the Wallypug to her Majesty. (See frontispiece.)
Inside and out the station was crowded with curious spectators, all eager to catch a glimpse of his Majesty and his remarkable retinue, and cheer after cheer resounded as the station master, bare-headed and bowing, ushered the party to the royal carriage with the red and gold-liveried servants, which had been sent from the castle to meet them.
The bells were ringing, and the streets were crowded as they drove through the old town, and his Majesty thoroughly enjoyed the drive, while the Doctor-in-Law was quite in his element amidst all this fuss and excitement.
I did not care to inquire too fully into the details of his Majesty’s interview with the Queen, but I was given to understand that the whole party was treated with the utmost kindness.
Her Majesty graciously accepted at the Wallypug’s hands a gilded crown, an exact copy of the one he wore himself, and which he had had made expressly for her Majesty, having been struck by the fact that her Majesty’s real crown was always kept locked up in the Tower, and hoping that perhaps this one would do for second best.
I could not gather that her Majesty had actually promised to wear it, but I do know that the Wallypug was made exceedingly proud and happy by the gift of a portrait of her Majesty herself, with the royal autograph attached, and that he will always remember the occasion of his visit to Windsor, and the kindness with which he was treated by everyone, particularly by the little Princes and Princesses, her Majesty’s great grand-children, who led him about the Castle grounds, and showed him their pets, and the flowers, and conservatories, and all the wonderful sights of that wonderful place.
In the evening there was a dinner party, at which her Majesty did not appear, and early the next morning a royal carriage again drove them to the station en route for London.
All this I learned on my return from Folkestone. I also heard of an extraordinary evening party which had been given at my house during my absence. It appears that the invitations had been sent out by the Doctor-in-Law the very day upon which I left, and about thirty guests, including the Duchess of Mortlake, had been invited. Unfortunately, however, this visit to Windsor had entirely driven the matter from the Wallypug’s mind, and the others had forgotten about it too, and so a pretty confusion was the result.
It appears that one evening about seven o’clock they were all in the kitchen making toffee, having persuaded Mrs. Putchy to let them have the frying-pan and some sugar and butter, and it having been cooking for some time the Doctor-in-Law had just told the Wallypug to stick his finger in and see if it was done, when Mrs. Putchy came in to say that some ladies and gentlemen had arrived, and were waiting in the drawing-room.
All of a sudden it flashed upon their minds that this was the evening upon which they had invited their visitors to the party. Whatever was to be done? Not the slightest preparation had been made – and his Majesty and the others were all more or less in a sticky condition, and quite unfit to be seen by company.
A hurried consultation took place, during which they could hear more and more guests arriving, and at last, by a brilliant inspiration, the Doctor-in-Law thought of making it a surprise party, similar to those given in America.
“It won’t cost us anything either,” he remarked complacently.
“But what is a surprise party?” asked the others.
“Never mind, you’ll see presently,” remarked the little man. “Run and wash your hands now and make yourselves tidy.”
A few minutes later the whole party filed into the drawing-room, the Wallypug looking rather blank and nervous, and the Doctor-in-Law full of profuse apologies for having kept the guests waiting so long.
“By the way,” he remarked airily, “I suppose you all know that it’s a surprise party.”
“Dear me, no,” said the Duchess of Mortlake, speaking for the others. “Whatever is that; I don’t think it was mentioned on the cards of invitation, was it?”
“Ah! a trifling oversight,” remarked the Doctor-in-Law. “A surprise party,” he continued in explanation, “is one at which each guest is expected to contribute something towards the supper – some bring one thing and some another. What have you brought, may I ask, your Grace?”
“Well, really,” said the Duchess, “I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life before. I’ve not brought anything at all, of course; I’m surprised at your asking me such a question.”
“Ah, yes, just so,” remarked the Doctor-in-Law triumphantly, “just what I told you – a surprise party, don’t you see! Now, what I would advise is that you should all go out and order various things to be sent in for supper; we, for our part, will provide some excellent toffee, and then you can come back and help us to set the tables and all that sort of thing, you know – it’s the greatest fun in the world, I assure you.”
And really the little man carried it off with such gaiety, that entering into the spirit of the thing the guests really did as he suggested, and went out and ordered the things, and afterwards came back, and, amidst great laughter and fun, the tables were laid, every one doing some share of the work, with the exception of the Doctor-in-Law, who contented himself with directing the others and chatting to the ladies.
The poor dear Wallypug amiably toiled backward and forward between the kitchen and dining-room with great piles of plates and other heavy articles, and A. Fish, Esq., in his eagerness to help, was continually treading on his own tail, upsetting himself and the various dishes entrusted to his charge.
At last, however, the supper was set, and the merriest evening you can possibly imagine was spent by the guests. His Majesty was in capital spirits, and after supper suggested a little dancing, which suggestion was hailed with delight by the others, and, having moved some of the furniture out of the drawing-room and pushed the rest away into corners, the Wallypug led off with her Grace the Duchess of Mortlake, and quite distinguished himself in “Sir Roger de Coverley.” Afterwards there was a little singing and music, several of the guests contributing to the evening’s entertainment. Amongst other items was a song by A. Fish, Esq., rendered as well as his bad cold would permit, of which the first lines ran:
I’b siddig here ad lookig at the bood, love,
Ad thinkig ov the habby days of old,
Wed you ad I had each a wooded spood, love,
To eat our porridge wed we had a cold.
Altogether the evening was such a success that her Grace declared that it should not be her fault if surprise parties were not the fashion in Society during the coming winter.
CHAPTER XI
HIS MAJESTY AT THE SEASIDE
I sent Mrs. Putchy and General Mary Jane down to the house, which I had engaged on the “Lees” at Folkestone, the day before we were to go, in order to see that everything was ready for us.
“The only thing that is wrong is the kitchen chimney, and that smokes, sir,” said Mrs. Putchy, in answer to my inquiry on the night of our arrival. “I think that we had better have the sweep in the morning, sir.”
“Very well, Mrs. Putchy, I’m sure you know best,” I replied, and thought no more of the matter.
Early in the morning, however, I was awakened by screams and cries proceeding from the lower part of the house.
“Help! help! Burglars! Fire and police! Thieves!” screamed a voice, and hastily dressing myself, I rushed out into the passage, and was confronted by the Rhymester, who had evidently just jumped out of bed, and who, though it was broad daylight, bore a lighted candle in one hand, and a pair of fire tongs in the other.
His teeth were chattering with fright, and his knees were knocking together from the same cause.
“What’s the matter,” I asked in alarm.
“Oh! oh! there are burglars in the house,” he cried excitedly, “and the others have gone down to them; I’m sure they’ll be killed – I told them not to go, but they would. Let’s go and hide under a bed somewhere. Oh! oh, what will become of us?”
“Don’t be such a coward,” I cried, hurrying down stairs, while the poor little Rhymester, afraid to be left alone upstairs, tremblingly followed.
Sure enough there was a sound of struggling going on, and voices raised in loud dispute.
“Oh, that story won’t do for me,” I heard the Doctor-in-Law exclaim.
“But I tell yez, sor,” chimed in another strange voice, “I waz only going to – ”
“Never mind what you were going to do, give up the sack,” said the Doctor-in-Law.
Then there were sounds of struggling, and amidst the confusion a voice saying:
“Hold him down! Sit on him! That’s right! Now for the sack.”
And, bursting the door open, a curious sight met my eyes. A poor sweep lay flat upon the floor, with the Wallypug sitting upon him, and One-and-Nine keeping guard; while the Doctor-in-Law and A. Fish, Esq., examined his bag of soot in the corner. The poor little Rhymester summoned up sufficient courage to peep in at the doorway, and stood there making a piteous picture, with his white face and trembling limbs.
“Whatever is the matter,” I inquired as soon as I entered.
“We’ve caught him!” exclaimed his Majesty, complacently wriggling his toes about.
“But what’s he been doing,” I asked.
“Av ye plaze, sor,” groaned the man, panting beneath the Wallypug’s weight, “I have been doing nothing at all, at all. I waz just a-finishin’ me warrak of swapin’ the chimneys, wen one ov the ould gintleman came up an’ poked me in the nose with a sthick, and the other ould gintleman knocked me over and sthole me bag, while the soger hild me down till the other gintleman sat on me – it’s among a lot of murtherin’ thaves I’ve got entoirely, savin’ yer presince, sor.”
“The man is a burglar,” declared the Doctor-in-Law emphatically. “I happened to hear a very suspicious noise down here, and calling to the others, rushed down just in time to catch this man making off with a bag of things. I think he was trying to escape up the chimney, for his head was half-way up when we entered, and this bag, which evidently contains plunder of some kind, is covered with soot too.”
“Why, the man is a sweep, and was sweeping the chimney,” I cried, pointing to his brushes and sticks; and after a lot of explanations the man was told to get up and his Majesty, followed by the others, retired to his bedroom, evidently greatly disappointed that it was not a real burglar that they had been combating.
The sweep, who was a very good-natured Irishman, took it in very good part, and the present of half-a-crown sent him away quite reconciled to his assailants.
The Rhymester afterwards made a great boast that he had not taken any part in the mélée.
“Of course I knew all along that he wasn’t a burglar,” he declared, “and that’s the reason why I wouldn’t interfere.”
“You managed to do a good deal of screaming though, I noticed,” remarked the Doctor-in-Law grumpily.
“Ah! that was only for fun,” asserted the Rhymester.
This was really about the only remarkable incident which occurred during our holiday at Folkestone, which passed very pleasantly and very quietly. We went for a sea bathe nearly every day, and his Majesty would insist upon wearing his crown in the water on every occasion.
“No one will know that I am a king if I don’t,” he declared; and I am bound to admit that his Majesty did not look very regal in his bathing costume, particularly when he was dripping with water and his long straight hair hung half over his face, and even when he wore his crown he was continually catching bits of seaweed in it, which gave him a singularly untidy appearance for a king.
A. Fish, Esq., with the assistance of a lifebuoy, nearly learned to swim while we were down there; but the Doctor-in-Law thought that hiring bathing machines was a foolish waste of money, and contented himself with taking off his shoes and stockings and paddling, which he could do without having to pay. One day, however, he was knocked completely over by an incoming wave, and got wet to the skin.
We could never persuade the Rhymester either, to go out further than just to his knees; but I rather fancy that that was because he was afraid of wetting his bathing costume, of which he was particularly proud, and which was decorated with smart little bows of ribbon wherever they could be conveniently put.
Fear may have had something to do with it though, for I noticed that he always clung very tightly to the rope, and never by any chance went beyond its length.
The switchback railway was a source of infinite amusement, and a great deal of time was spent on it. Boating was not much indulged in, as it made one or two of the party, particularly A. Fish, Esq., very ill; but we all enjoyed the beautiful drives in the neighbourhood. There was an excellent Punch and Judy show in the town too, which so fascinated his Majesty that we could scarcely tear him away whenever he joined the admiring crowd which daily surrounded it.
The fickle One-and-Nine, while we were here, fell in love with a wax figure exhibited in a hair-dresser’s window in Sandgate Road. It represented a beautiful lady with her hair dressed in the latest fashion, and the wooden soldier was greatly infatuated. He spent hours gazing through the window, watching the lady slowly revolve by clockwork; and he became frightfully jealous of the hair-dresser, whom he caught one morning rearranging the drapery around the lady’s shoulders.
Eventually, with the assistance of the Rhymester, he composed the following piece of poetry – which he stuck, by means of six gelatine sweets, on to the hair-dresser’s window with the writing inside, in order that the lady might see it.
TO THE BEAUTIFUL LADY IN THE HAIRDRESSER’S WINDOW
I love you, oh! I love you,
And I beg you to be mine;
I’m a gallant wooden soldier,
And my name is 1/9.
If you will only marry me,
’Twill be the greatest fun
To puzzle folks by telling them,
That we’re both 2/1.
’Twill be the truth, for man and wife
Are one, I beg to state,
This fact’s as clear as 4/4,
Or 2/6 make 8.
They tell me, dear, you have no feet;
But what is that to me?
2 feet be 4/2 behind
On animals you see.
That you have none, is 0 to me,
Dear 1/4 your sake,
No trifles such as these shall e’er
My true affections shake.
I bought some penny tarts for you,
But I am much distrest
To tell you by mistake I sat
On 1/8 the rest.
One-and-Nine was quite happy in finding that the paper had disappeared from the shop window when he passed by a little later, and declared that it must mean that the lady had accepted him and his poetry.
I think the funniest incident of all though, in connection with our visit to Folkestone, was when his Majesty and the others went into Carlo Maestrani’s for some ices.
They had never tasted any before, and were very much surprised to find them so cold. I shall never forget the expression on the Wallypug’s face when, having rather greedily taken a very large mouthful, he could not swallow it, or dispose of it in any way. A. Fish, Esq., declared that it gave him a violent toothache; while the Doctor-in-Law called for the waiter, and insisted upon him taking it away.
“It’s not properly cooked,” he declared angrily. “It’s cold.”
“Cook, sare, no, sare, it is not cook,” agreed the waiter.
“Very well, then, take it away and bring us some that is. Have it warmed up; do something with it. It’s disgraceful bringing us stuff like that.”
And no argument or persuasion would convince the little man that the ices were as they should be.
