CHAPTER VI
THE JUBILEE
The few days which elapsed before the memorable 22nd of June passed very quickly, and we were all more or less busy making preparations for the festival. His Majesty would insist upon polishing up his regalia himself in order to do honour to the occasion, and spent hours over his crown with a piece of chamois leather and some whitening till, though somewhat battered by the rough usage it had sustained, it shone quite brilliantly. Mrs. Putchy herself suggested making his Majesty some new red silk rosettes for his shoes, which he very graciously consented to accept. The Doctor-in-Law was always so spick and span that we scarcely noticed any change in his appearance, but the Rhymester had made arrangements with General Mary Jane to wash, starch, and iron his lace collar, and he remained in his room one entire day while it was being done up. A. Fish, Esq., purchased a necktie of most brilliant colouring, and One-and-Nine touched himself up here and there with some red enamel where his tunic had become shabby in places, so that altogether our party looked very smart as we drove at a very early hour to our seats in Piccadilly. To avoid the crowd we went by way of Bayswater Road, and then passed down Park Lane and through Berkeley Square, in order to reach the back entrance to the house in Piccadilly where I had booked seats. Our gorgeous carriage was everywhere hailed with great delight, being of course mistaken for a portion of the Jubilee procession, and many were the conjectures heard on all sides as to who the Wallypug could possibly be.
Our window was in the centre of the building on the first floor, and we had it all to ourselves. A table at the back of the room was tastefully set out with an excellent cold collation, and in front of the window, which was most elaborately decorated with velvet curtains, flags, and trophies, and which was surmounted by a device which was understood to be the Wallypug’s coat-of-arms, a gorgeous, gilded, high-backed chair was placed as a throne for his Majesty, and comfortable seats were also provided for the rest of the party.
The crowd outside greeted our appearance with quite a demonstration, as by the enormous placard outside announcing the name of the decorators, and stating that they were by appointment to his Majesty the Wallypug of Why, of course everybody knew who we were. Indeed, one learned-looking person in the crowd was holding forth to an eager audience, and explaining exactly where Why was situated, and pretending that he had been there, and had seen the Wallypug before, ever so many times.
As the time approached for the procession to pass, the Wallypug became very excited and nervous. “Shall I really see the Queen of England?” he kept asking over and over again. “Do you think she will see me? Will she bow to me? What must I say? Must I keep my crown on or take it off?” and innumerable other questions of the same nature.
Presently the excitement and enthusiasm reached their height, as amid a confused shouting of “Here they are,” the Guards in advance came in sight. Slowly the mighty procession, with its innumerable squadrons and bands passed, and at last, after the English and Foreign princes and Eastern potentates, the eight cream-coloured Hanoverian horses, drawing the Jubilee landau, made their appearance, and the Queen was seen, smiling and bowing graciously to the cheering populace. The Doctor-in-Law, in his excitement, scrambled on to the window ledge in order to obtain a better view; the Wallypug loyally waved his crown; while the Rhymester, hurriedly unrolling a lengthy ode which he had written especially for the occasion, began reading it in a loud voice, and, though nobody paid the slightest attention to him, did not desist until long after the procession had passed.
The Wallypug was very thoughtful for some time after the Queen had gone by, and, during the drive home, expressed his great surprise that her Majesty had not worn a crown, and apparently could not understand why it should not be worn on all occasions.
“I suppose her Majesty has a crown of her own, hasn’t she?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh yes, of course!” I replied.
“Where is it then?” persisted his Majesty.
“I believe all of the regalia is kept carefully locked up and guarded in the Tower of London,” I said.
“Well, I think it’s very unkind of them not to let her Majesty have them out on an occasion like this. I shall see what I can do about it.”
The dear Wallypug’s intentions were evidently so good that I did not say anything in reply to this, though I wondered to myself whatever his Majesty thought that he could do in the matter.
There were so many people about that we considered it best to spend the rest of the day quietly at home, though we did venture out in the evening to see the illuminations, which delighted his Majesty exceedingly.
The next afternoon the whole party, with the exception of One-and-Nine, drove over the route taken by the procession, in order to see the street decorations. I remained at home, and late in the afternoon there was a knock at my door, and General Mary Jane entered. She was nervously wringing a handkerchief wet with tears, and her eyes were quite red with weeping.
“Please, sir,” she began, sniffing pathetically, “I want to gi – gi – give no – notice.”
“Why! what ever for?” I asked in surprise, for General Mary Jane was an excellent servant, and Mrs. Putchy had always been very pleased with her.
“Please, sir, it’s Sergeant One-and-Nine; he’s broken my ’art, sir, and I can’t bear it no longer,” and the poor girl burst into a flood of tears.
“Bless me!” I cried, “whatever do you mean?”
“Well, sir, you see ever since he’s been ’ere, sir, he’s been a making hup to me; leastwise that’s what I thought he meant, sir; but this afternoon bein’ my day hout, I went up to Kensington Gardens for a walk (him a saying as he would be there), and what should I see when I gets there, but him a walkin’ about with half-a-dozen of them nursemaids in white frocks a followin’ of him. Not that I says as it’s altogether his fault; they will run after the military; but it’s more than I can stand, sir, me bein’ that proud at ’avin’ a soldier for a sweetheart, and all,” and she began to cry again.
I hardly knew what to do, but suggested that she should not think too seriously about it, and General Mary Jane, saying she hoped I would excuse her troubling me in the matter, decided to go to her married sister at Barnes and spend the rest of her day out there, and talk the matter over with her. I had a lot of writing to do all the afternoon, and the time passed so quickly that until the gong sounded for dinner I did not realize that the Wallypug and his party had not returned. It was now past seven, and they should have been home hours since.
I was so anxious about them that I could scarcely eat any dinner, and as soon as the meal was over I hurried to the livery stables to hear if they knew anything about the matter.
The first person I encountered when I arrived there was the coachman, now divested of his fine livery, and busy in the yard.
“Bless you, sir, yes, back hours ago,” said he. “I set his Majesty and the others down at your door about five o’clock, and I did hear them say something about going down to Hammersmith for a walk.”
“To Hammersmith?” I echoed in surprise.
“Yes, sir – they wanted to see the Suspension Bridge and the river again, so I told them the way to get there. They’re all right, sir, I’ll be bound. The Doctor-in-Law is too wide awake for anything to happen to them while he is with them.”
I walked home somewhat easier in my mind now that I knew the party had returned safely, though still somewhat anxious as to their whereabouts.
About nine o’clock it began to get quite dark, and I was just setting out to see if I could find any trace of them when General Mary Jane returned.
“Oh, sir!” she exclaimed directly she saw me, “what do you think? His Majesty and the Doctor-in-Law and the others are down at the fair by Hammersmith Bridge, and they are ’aving such a lark. I see them all ’aving a roundabout as I was coming past on my way ’ome from my sister’s just now; such a crowd there was a cheering and a hollering. Cocoa-nut shies, too, a boy told me they had been ’aving, and old Aunt Sally, and donkey rides along the towing path.”
I hurriedly put on my hat and rushed off to Hammersmith, for I didn’t know what might happen to my guests among the rough crowd which I knew usually gathered there.
When I arrived on the scene I found the whole party on the roundabout, and when they alighted I learned that the Doctor-in-Law had arranged with one of the show people to share the proceeds of exhibiting the Wallypug and A. Fish, Esq., in separate tents, at 3d. a head.
I met with considerable opposition from the show people in my endeavours to persuade my guests to come home, as they had evidently been a source of considerable profit to them, though the man with the cocoa-nut shies declared that the Doctor-in-Law had claimed a great many more nuts than he was properly entitled to.
The crowd made quite a demonstration when we departed in a four-wheeler, and the Rhymester evidently considered it a compliment that the contents of so many “ladies’ tormentors,” as the little tubes filled with water are called, were directed at him. Altogether the whole party had evidently been delighted with their evening’s amusement, though, as I explained to them while we were driving home, it was highly inconsistent with the dignity of his Majesty’s position, and calculated to cause him to be treated with a certain amount of disrespect. I could see, however, that all I said had very little effect on any of the party, and that they were one and all highly delighted with their adventure.
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.