LOST

We had a terrible fright the next morning, for the poor dear Wallypug got lost, and for some time we could not imagine what had become of him.

It happened in this way: directly after breakfast his Majesty said that he should like to go for a walk and look at the shops.

“I’m not going,” declared the Doctor-in-Law. “I have some very important letters to write.”

We all looked up in surprise, for we did not know that the Doctor-in-Law had any other acquaintances in London.

“Letters from which I hope to derive a princely income,” continued the little man grandly; “and, therefore, I have no time for such foolishness as looking into shop windows.” “He’s afraid thad he bight have to sped sub buddy,” remarked A. Fish, Esq.

“Nothing of the sort,” replied the Doctor-in-Law, turning very red though.

“Well, don’t waste time talking about it; let’s go if we are going,” said the Rhymester; and so, as I also had some correspondence to attend to, it was arranged that the Wallypug, the Rhymester, and A. Fish, Esq., should go for a little stroll by themselves. I had some doubts in my own mind as to the advisability of letting them go alone, but they promised not to go beyond Kensington Gardens, and to wait for me there just inside the gates.

After they had gone I settled down to my letter-writing, and was getting along nicely when the Doctor-in-Law interrupted me with:

“I say, I wish you would let me have about twenty sheets of note-paper, will you, please?”

“Twenty!” I exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, twenty,” said the Doctor-in-Law. “Or you had better make it a quire while you are about it.”

I thought the quickest way to get rid of him was to give him the paper, so I got up and got it for him. “And a packet of envelopes, please,” he said, as I handed it to him.

“Anything else?” I asked rather sarcastically.

“Stamps!” he replied, calmly holding out his hand.

“Well, really—” I expostulated.

“Oh, halfpenny ones will do. You’re surely not so mean as to mind tenpence, are you?”

“I don’t think I’m mean, but—”

“Hand them over then, and don’t waste so much time talking,” said the little man impatiently, and so, just to get rid of him, I gave him the stamps and sat down to my letters again.

I had hardly begun when he came back.

“Don’t you take any other newspapers than these?” he demanded, showing me a handful.

“No, I don’t, and I think it’s rather extravagant of me to have those,” I replied.

“Well, then, how do you suppose that I am going to manage? I want at least five other papers, and it’s most important that I should have them.”

“You might buy them,” I suggested. “They are so dear,” he grumbled.

“Well, why don’t you go to the Public Library then?” I suggested. “You know where it is, and you could see all of the papers there, you know.”

“Ah, a capital idea,” he said, putting on his hat and going out.

“Now,” I thought, “I shall have peace at last.”

I was not left undisturbed long though, for a few minutes later Mrs. Putchy came to the door.

“Oh, please, sir, will you go down? Mr. Doctor-in-Law is having such a bother with the postman.”

I hurried out, and found the little man very angry indeed.

“This postman won’t give me a letter,” he cried when he saw me.

“Perhaps he hasn’t one for you,” I answered.

“But I saw him giving them away all down the street for nothing,” persisted the Doctor-in-Law. “And when I asked him in a civil way for one, he refused to give it to me. It’s no use for him to say he hasn’t one, when he has a whole packet in his hand now, and a lot more in his bag, no doubt. Are you going to give me a letter or not?” he continued, turning to the postman.

“No, sir,” continued the man, smiling. “I haven’t any for you.”

“Very well, then,” said the Doctor-in-Law decidedly, “I shall certainly write to the Queen and tell her that if she employs you any longer I shall take all my custom away, and I shall not send the twenty letters, that I intended writing to-day, off at all.”

I endeavoured to explain to the little man that the postman could not possibly give him a letter if he had not one addressed to him.

“Oh, that’s all nonsense,” he exclaimed, going off in a huff. “Of course you would take his part.”

Before I could settle down to work again the Rhymester and A. Fish, Esq., returned.

“Where’s the Wallypug?” I demanded.

“Oh, he’s coming by the next ’bus,” said the Rhymester. “Haven’t you had any rain here?”

“No,” I replied.

“Oh, we had quidt a sharb shower,” said A. Fish, Esq., “ad I was afraid of gettig wet, so we stopped a ’bus—there was odly roob for two though, ad the Wallypug said thad he would cub od by the dext.”

“I hope he will get home all right,” I said anxiously. “I don’t think you ought to have left his Majesty by himself.”

“Oh! it’s only a little way,” said the Rhymester; “he’s sure to get home all right.”

An hour passed and there was no signs of the Wallypug. I now began to get seriously anxious.

It would, of course, be the easiest thing in the world for his Majesty to take the wrong ’bus, and be taken goodness knows where.

I couldn’t think what was best to be done. The Rhymester suggested sending the Crier out, but I never remembered having seen one at Kensington, and at last, after searching for some time ourselves in Kensington Gardens, and making inquiries in High Street, and failing to glean any tidings of his Majesty, I thought it best to go to the Police Station.

Here I found a very important-looking official in uniform, with a big book in front of him.

“What is it?” he inquired, glaring at me fiercely.

“I’ve called to know if you could assist me in finding a friend who, I fear, has lost his way,” I replied.

The official did not answer me, but reached down another large book.

“What’s his name?” he inquired gruffly.

“His name? Oh—er—his name is—er—that is to say he is the—” I had not the least idea what the Wallypug’s name really was, so I couldn’t very well say.

“What’s his name?” shouted the official. “I’ll ask you what he is presently.”

“Well, I’m very sorry, but I really do not know his name.”

The man glanced at me very suspiciously.

“You said he was a friend of yours—it’s a very odd thing that you don’t know his name. What is he?”

“He’s a—a—Wallypug,” I stammered. “That is to say he—er—”

“Wallypug!” exclaimed the man contemptuously. “What’s that?”

“Why, it’s a kind of king, you know,” I explained, feeling that the explanation was rather a lame one.

“A kind of king!” exclaimed the police officer. “Explain yourself.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t explain more clearly than that,” I replied. “This gentleman has been staying with me for a couple of days, and went out this morning and lost his way.”

“Where did he come from?” asked the man. “Why,” I answered.

“Why? Because I want to know,” he shouted. “Don’t let me have any further prevarication. Where did the man, or Wallypug, or whatever you call him, come from?”

“From Why. From a place called Why, you know,” I repeated.

“I don’t know,” said the officer. “I’ve never heard of such a place. Where is it?”

“Well, really,” I said, “I’m very sorry, but I cannot tell you. I don’t know myself.”

“This is very remarkable,” said the man, glaring at me through his glasses. “You don’t know your friend’s name; you call him a Wallypug, and can’t explain what that is, you don’t know where he comes from—perhaps you can tell me how he reached your house?”

I was now really in a fix, for how could I tell this man that his Majesty had stepped out of a picture.

I thought the best thing to do was to hold my tongue.

“How did he come?” repeated the officer. “By train?”

I shook my head. “By steamer?”

I shook my head again.

“Did he drive?—or come on a bicycle, or walk?”

I remained silent.

The police officer stared at me for a moment or two, waiting for my answer.

“Look here, young man,” said he at last, evidently very angry indeed. “It strikes me that you are having a game with me. You had better go away quietly or I shall be obliged to take you in charge as a lunatic.”

“But I assure you that—”

“How was your friend dressed?”

“Oh, he wore a somewhat battered gold crown, and carried an orb and sceptre, and was dressed in knee breeches and a velvet cloak with an ermine collar.”

The man gave me a keen glance and then rang a bell. A policeman appeared a moment or two afterwards, and the officer whispered something to him, of which I only caught the words, “harmless lunatic.”

“Lunatic, sir; yes, sir. Step this way, please,” said the policeman, and before I could realize what had happened I was bundled into a small bare room, and the key was turned in the lock and I was a prisoner.

Here was a pretty state of affairs. The stupid people had mistaken me for a lunatic, and I was no doubt to be locked up here till a doctor arrived.

Of course the only thing for me to do was to sit still and wait as patiently as I could. Fortunately the police people thought of telegraphing to the other stations to find out if anything was known of an escaped lunatic; and from Fulham came the reply, “We have found one ourselves. He calls himself a Wallypug, and is dressed like a second-hand king.” This caused inquiries to be made, and eventually I was taken in a cab to Fulham, where we found his Majesty in the charge of the police, he having been found wandering about the Fulham Road quite unable to give what they considered a satisfactory account of himself.

It was most unfortunate that his Majesty should have taken the wrong ’bus, for, not having any money with him, he was set down in a totally strange neighbourhood, and had quite forgotten my address. Of course, now that we had been brought face to face, we had no difficulty in convincing the police people that we were what we represented ourselves to be, and were soon, to our great relief, on our way home again.

“I don’t think that I should like to be a policeman,” remarked the Wallypug, on our way there.

“No?” I answered. “Why not?”

“They have to catch dogs for a living?” remarked his Majesty solemnly. “There were several brought in while I was waiting, and the policeman who had caught them seemed so pleased about it.”

I explained to the Wallypug as well as I was able about the muzzling order, and his Majesty was highly indignant, and when I pointed out several dogs with muzzles on he was more indignant still.

“And are they always obliged to wear those horrible wire cages over their heads?” he inquired.

I told his Majesty that in London the order for wearing them had been in force for some considerable time, and we had a long talk over the matter, his Majesty declaring that he should try and invent a new muzzle which should be more comfortable for the poor dogs.

“Oh, here we are at last,” he exclaimed, as we turned the corner near my house. “And there are the others on the steps!”

“Here they are! Here they are!” shouted the Rhymester to the others, and everyone rushed forward to assist his Majesty to alight, seemingly very glad to see us back again.

We were quite as delighted to get back, I can tell you, and I was so relieved at having found the Wallypug that I hadn’t the heart to refuse the Doctor-in-Law’s request that I would give him ten shillings worth of penny stamps to put into the letters which he had been writing while we had been away, although he would not give me the slightest clue as to what they were wanted for.