HIS MAJESTY AND SUITE ARRIVE

most extraordinary thing has happened; the Wallypug has been to London! But there, I am forgetting that possibly you have never read The Wallypug of Why, in which case you will, of course, know nothing about his Majesty, and so I had better explain to you who, and what, he is.

To begin with, then, he is a kind of king of a place called Why, which adjoins the mysterious kingdom of Zum. I am afraid, though, that if you searched your atlases for a very long while you might not find either of these places, for the geographers are so undecided as to their exact position that they have not shown them on the maps at all. Some little friends of mine, named Girlie and Boy, have been there, however, and I can tell you, if you like, the way they went. This is the way to Why:

Just go to bed and shut your eyes
And count one hundred, one by one;
Perhaps you’ll find to your surprise
That you’re at Why when this is done.

I say perhaps, because this only happens when you have been particularly good all day, and sometimes boys and girls are not quite as good as they—but there, I won’t say what I was going to, for I am quite sure that it would not apply to you. This is the way to Zum:

Not when the moon is at its full,
But just a tiny boat-shaped thing,
You may see Pierrot sitting there
And hear the little fellow sing.
If so, just call him, and he’ll come
And carry you away to Zum.

There, now, I’ve told you the way to go to both places, so that, if you wish to, you can go there whenever you please. I am telling you all this because one day in the spring Girlie and Boy, who live in another part of London, came to see me, and we had been talking about these things for about the hundredth time, I should think: for these children are never tired of telling me of all the strange things which happened to them when they journey to these wonderful places. In fact they were just arguing as to which was the most interesting place to go to, Why or Zum, when my housekeeper, Mrs. Putchy, came to the door with the unwelcome news that the carriage had come for my little friends, and that it was time to say good-bye. After they had gone I sat staring into the fire wondering where Why could be, and if there was really such a person as the Wallypug, when my little dog Dick, who had been lying on the rug before the fire, suddenly jumped up, and barking excitedly, ran to the other end of the study, where a picture, which I had bought the day before at an auction sale, stood leaning against the wall. Now this picture had been sold very cheap, because no one could tell at all what it was about, it was so old and dusty, and the colours were so dark and indistinct. I had bought it hoping that it might prove valuable, and there it stood till it could be sent to be cleaned and restored. Imagine my surprise then, when, on following Dick across the study, I discovered that the colours in the picture had all become bright, and were working one into the other in the most remarkable way, red running into green, and blue into yellow, while a little patch of black in the centre of the picture was whirling round and round in quite a distracting manner. What could it all mean? I stared and wondered, till, out of the confusion, there gradually grew shapes which bore some resemblance to human beings, and, presently, I could recognize quite distinctly, first a young man in knee breeches, smiling in a particularly self-satisfied way, and escorting a large fish, who was walking upright, with slippers on his tail, and who wore a waistcoat and necktie. Then an amiable-looking old gentleman, carrying a wand, who was followed by a curious little person, wearing a crown and carrying an orb and sceptre. A particularly stiff and wooden-looking soldier stood at the back of this strange group. Judge of my amazement when, quite as a matter of course, the whole party deliberately stepped out of the picture into the room, and, before I could realize what had happened, the old gentleman with the wand came forward with a flourish and an elaborate bow, and announced:

“A-hem! his Majesty the Wallypug of Why and suite.”

I was so astonished that for the moment I could not think what to say, but at last I managed to stammer, as I made a low bow to the Wallypug: “I am delighted to make your Majesty’s acquaintance.”

The Wallypug smiled very affably, and held out his hand.

“I have come up for the Jubilee, you know,” he said.

“We’ve come up, you mean to say, Wallypug,” corrected the old gentleman with the wand, frowning somewhat severely. “I am the Wallypug’s professional adviser,” he continued. “I am called the Doctor-in-Law—allow me to introduce the rest of our party. This,” he went on, bringing the young man with the self-satisfied smile forward, “is the Jubilee Rhymester from Zum; he hopes to become a minor poet in time. And this,” indicating the wooden-looking soldier, “is Sergeant One-and-Nine, also from Zum.” Here the Doctor-in-Law took me aside and whispered in my ear, “Slightly cracked, crossed in love; speaks very peculiarly; capital chap though.” Then crossing to where the Fish was standing, he said, “And this is A. Fish, Esq., the celebrated lecturer on the ‘Whichness of the What as compared with the Thatness of the Thus.’ He desired to accompany us here in order to find material for a new lecture which he is preparing upon the ‘Perhapness of the Improbable.’ He’s awfully clever,” he whispered impressively.

“I’m sure I’m delighted to see you all,” I said, shaking hands with each one till I came to the Fish, who held out a fin. “Er-er-how do you do?” I stammered, somewhat taken aback by this strange proceeding.

“Quide well with the egscebtiod of a slide cold id by head,” said the Fish. “I’b subjecd to theb, you doe. It’s beig id the water so butch, I fadcy,” and he smiled.

I don’t know if you have ever seen a fish smile, but if not I may tell you that it is a very curious sight.

“I suppose you can manage to put us up here for a month or two?” calmly suggested the Doctor-in-Law after a pause.

“Dear me,” I exclaimed in alarm, “I don’t think my housekeeper could possibly—”

“Why not ask her?” suggested the Doctor-in-Law, touching the bell.

A moment or two afterwards a knock at the door announced that Mrs. Putchy was there.

“Oh, Mrs. Putchy,” I said, stepping just outside, “these gentlemen, er—that is to say, his Majesty the Wallypug of Why and suite, have honoured me with a visit, and I am anxious if possible to offer them such hospitality as my poor home affords. Do you think that we could manage anyhow to find room for them, for a few days at any rate?”

Now Mrs. Putchy is a very remarkable woman, and I have never known her to show the slightest surprise at anything, and, so far from seeming alarmed at the prospect of having to entertain such notable visitors, she seemed positively delighted.

“His Majesty of Why, sir? How charming! Of course we must do our best, and how fortunate that I put on my best gown to-day, isn’t it? Dear me, and shall I be presented to his Majesty?”

“Certainly, Mrs. Putchy, if you wish it,” I said. “In fact, if you will call General Mary Jane, I will introduce you both, as you represent my entire household.”

Mrs. Putchy disappeared, returning almost immediately, followed by the servant, General Mary Jane, with her mouth wide open, and accompanied by the cat, who rejoices in the extraordinary name of Mrs. Mehetable Murchison. These members of my household were duly presented to the Wallypug. Mrs. Putchy made her curtsey with great dignity, but General Mary Jane was so overcome at the thought of being presented to royalty that she fell flat on her hands and knees in her humility, while Mrs. Mehetable Murchison, realizing, no doubt, the truth of the old saying that “a cat may look at a king,” went up and sharpened her claws on the Wallypug’s legs in the most friendly manner possible.

It was when the cat caught sight of A. Fish, Esq., that she completely lost her presence of mind, and with arched back and bristling fur glared at him in amazement.

“Priddy pussy, cub alog thed,” said the Fish, stooping down and trying to stroke her with one of his fins; but Mrs. Mehetable Murchison, with a startled glance, tore out of the room, showing every sign of alarm.

“And she’s so fond of fish too, as a rule, ain’t she, mum?” remarked General Mary Jane, who had somewhat overcome the awe with which she had at first regarded the presence of royalty. “Fod of fish?” repeated A. Fish, Esq., inquiringly. “What do you mead?”

“Why, you see, sir,” explained Mrs. Putchy, “we often have fish for dinner—er—that is to say—er—a-hem!”

The Fish was glaring at her in a horrified way, and Mrs. Putchy had become quite nervous.

“Let’s change the subject,” suggested the Doctor-in-Law, to our great relief. “The most important question for the moment is, where are we all going to sleep?” This gave Mrs. Putchy an opportunity for exercising her wonderful ability for management, and after arranging for the Wallypug to have the spare bedroom, and the Doctor-in-Law to have my room, I was to have a bed made up in the study, while the Jubilee Rhymester was to sleep in the attic, One-and-Nine was to have a box under the stairs, and there only remained A. Fish, Esq., to dispose of.

“There is the bathroom, mum,” suggested General Mary Jane brilliantly; “we could put a lid on the bath and make up a bed there.”

“Bedder sdill, fill id with wadter, ad thed I could sleeb in id,” suggested the Fish.

“Oh yes, of course!” said Mrs. Putchy, “and now I must go and see about the supper.” And, with a low curtsey to the Wallypug, the admirable little woman hurried out, followed by General Mary Jane, who gave a nervous little bob when she reached the door.

They had scarcely disappeared before One-and-Nine came up to me and whispered:

“I am muchly impressionated by that lady with the most militaryish name who has just gone out. Can you kindly inform me is she detached?” “Detached?” I inquired in bewilderment. “What ever do you mean?”

“If a person is not attached to anyone else, they are detached, I suppose, are they not?” said One-and-Nine rather impatiently.

“Well, if you put it that way, I suppose they are,” I replied, laughing. “You mean, has she a sweetheart? Well, really I don’t know. I have an idea though that Mrs. Putchy does not allow followers.”

“Then I shall considerize my prospectuousness with great hopefulosity!” remarked the soldier with considerable dignity, walking back to the Wallypug’s chair.

“What does he say?” asked the Jubilee Rhymester. “He is a little bit cracked, you know. Could you make out what he was driving at?”

“Oh, yes, I could understand within a little what he meant,” I replied. “He seems to have fallen in love with General Mary Jane at first sight, from what I can gather.”

“Really! Dear me! He is always doing that sort of thing, do you know, and he generally asks me to write poems for him when he gets into that state. I have written as many as 137 odes in one month on his behalf.”

“Good gracious,” I replied, “and does he pay you well for them?”

“Pay me!” exclaimed the Jubilee Rhymester, staring at me in surprise. “Of course not. Do people ever get paid for writing poetry?”

“Why, yes, to be sure they do,” I answered.

“Well, I’ve never heard of such a thing in all my life,” said the Jubilee Rhymester; “I always thought that poets had to pay to have their verses used at all, and that that was why they were always so poor while they were alive. Of course I knew that people sometimes made a fuss about them after they were dead, but I have never heard of such a thing as a live poet being paid for his work.”

“Nonsense,” I replied; “I believe that quite a lot of money is sometimes paid by the magazines and other papers for poems and verses.”

“Well, I am delighted to hear it,” said the Jubilee Rhymester, “and I shall certainly start writing to-morrow. I have no doubt whatever that I shall make my fortune before I go back to Zum.” Shortly after this Mrs. Putchy announced that supper was served, and a little later my guests retired to rest, being thoroughly tired out with their long journey. I sat up in my study a little while longer to smoke a pipe, but was just thinking of going to bed when there was a tap at the door and the Doctor-in-Law entered.

“I say, I thought I had better come and arrange with you about money matters,” he said; “I didn’t like to mention such things before the others. Now then,” he continued, “how much are you going to pay us for staying with you?”

“Pay you!” I gasped. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Well, you see, it will be a great thing for you to have such distinguished visitors, don’t you know, and you ought to be quite willing to pay liberally for the honour,” said the Doctor-in-Law, smiling amiably.

Now Girlie had told me what a greedy, avaricious person the Doctor-in-Law really was, despite his benevolent appearance, but this cool cheek almost took my breath away. I was determined, however, to let him see at once that I was not to be imposed upon, so I said as firmly as I could, “Now, look here, Mr. Doctor-in-Law, please understand once and for all, that as you were all so kind to my little friend Girlie when she was at Why, I am quite willing to entertain his Majesty the Wallypug, and the rest of you, to the very best of my ability, but as for paying you for being here, the idea is absurd—impossible!”

Just then a terrific hullabaloo in the passage caused us both to run to the door. We could hear that the noise proceeded from the bathroom, and, hurrying to the door, we found A. Fish, Esq., sitting up in the water shouting for help, while Mrs. Mehetable Murchison and a whole group of her feline friends were out on the tiles, glaring through the window.

“Dear be, dear be,” panted the Fish, when he saw us, “I’b so frighteded, just look at all those cats. I had beed 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.