AN ‘AT HOME’ AND THE ACADEMY

We were quite ready for luncheon, as you may imagine, after our morning’s adventures, and directly afterwards his Majesty set to work on the new dog’s muzzle which he had promised to invent. In about half an hour he had constructed one with which he was intensely delighted, and he persuaded A. Fish, Esq., to try it on that we might see the effect.

It certainly was very simple, but as there was nothing whatever to go over the mouth, I felt sure that it could not possibly be very useful. I did not like to tell his Majesty so though, for he seemed so thoroughly proud of his achievement.

It was now time to go to the ‘At Home,’ so, wishing to do honour to the occasion, our ‘State Coach,’ as we called it, was sent for, and we drove off in fine style.

There were a great many people invited to meet us, and I could see that there was quite a little flutter of excitement when the Wallypug entered.

His Majesty, however, in his simple, good-natured way soon put everybody at their ease, and laughed and chattered with the utmost affability.

Girlie and Boy had both been allowed to come into the drawing-room, and Girlie quite claimed the Wallypug as her own particular guest, while Boy renewed his acquaintance with the Rhymester, whom he had met before at Zum, and despite their mother’s protests they carried these two members of our party off in triumph to show them their play-room and toys and to talk over old times.

While they were away the Doctor-in-Law made himself very agreeable to the ladies, and I watched him bowing and smiling and chatting, first with one group, then with another, with great amusement. I found out afterwards that he had promised several of them portraits of his Majesty and suite for 2s. 6d. each as soon as they should be taken, and in every case had asked for the money in advance; but the great event of the afternoon was when A. Fish, Esq., wrapped up in Mrs. Putchy’s pink woollen shawl, borrowed for the occasion, and surrounded by a group of young ladies, consented after much pressing to deliver part of his lecture on the “Perhapness of the Improbable.”

“You bust sed for the Rhymebster though to help be to read id, for by cold is still so bad thad I can’d do id by byself,” he explained.

So the Rhymester was sent for, and his Majesty also came down to hear the wonderful lecture. It had been turned into verse by the Rhymester, who, after an affected attempt to clear his throat, read as follows:

THE PERHAPNESS OF THE IMPROBABLE.

If this were that, and these were those,
And hither nearer thither,
Why, which might be whate’er it chose,
And there be any whither.

Somehow ’twould be the simpler way
To dearer be than cheaper,
And that’s why when (each other day)
Would higher be than deeper.

So worst would be the best of all,
And far more less than either;
While short would certainly be tall,
And therefore thus be neither.

“Beautiful! charming!” echoed all the young ladies at once when he had finished, while one lady sitting near me exclaimed, “How sweetly simple!” For my own part I thought that it was anything but simple, and caught myself trying to follow the line of argument with the most brain-confusing results.

The Wallypug was greatly distressed when he discovered that while listening to the reading, and looking at the charming young lady with whom he had been conversing, he had absent-mindedly spilt the whole of his cup of tea over her dress.

“You see, they didn’t give me a plate to put my cake on,” I heard him explain apologetically, “and it was so awkward, for my cup would keep slipping about on the saucer.”

The young lady smiled very sweetly and assured his Majesty that it didn’t matter in the least, and shortly afterwards we left, having stayed, as it was, far beyond the regulation time.

When we arrived home we found a letter addressed to the Rhymester in the letter-box, which in a state of great excitement he tore open with trembling fingers.

Upon reading the contents he burst into tears.

“Poor man, poor man!” he sobbed. “I am so sorry to have caused him so much trouble.”

“It is a letter from an Editor,” he explained through his tears, “and he is in great distress through not being able to publish my poem. He says he greatly regrets his inability to make use of it! Poor man, he evidently feels it very keenly. I must write and tell him not to be too unhappy about it.”

I had some letters to write too, one to a photographer in Regent Street, asking for an appointment the next morning, for I was determined that the Doctor-in-Law should send the promised photographs to the young ladies without delay.

The first thing in the morning came a telegram to say that we could be photographed at eleven o’clock, so, after my guests had made themselves as spruce as possible, we started off and reached there in good time.

It was suggested that the Wallypug should be taken by himself, but when he saw the camera pointed directly at him while the operator disappeared beneath the black cloth, he came to the conclusion that it was too dangerous a machine to be faced with impunity, so he suddenly turned his back upon it, and nervously fled from the room.

It was only by promising that the others should be taken with him that we could get him to sit at all, and even then there was a strained and nervous expression upon his face, which suggested that he was in momentary fear that the thing would “go off.”

The Rhymester insisted upon being taken with one of his poems in his hand, the Doctor-in-Law wore his usual complacent smile, and altogether the group was quite a success.

As soon as the “operation,” as the Wallypug would insist upon calling it, was over, we went downstairs, his Majesty leading the way, while the Doctor-in-Law stayed behind for a moment to make some arrangements with the photographer about commission. We had intended going home by ’bus, but when we got to the door his Majesty was nowhere to be seen. What could have become of him? We looked up and down the street, but could see no signs of him anywhere; and at last, after hunting about for a considerable time, he was discovered calmly sitting inside a furniture removal van, waiting for it to start, under the impression that it was an omnibus.

“I’m sure this is the right one,” he explained, “for it has ‘Kensington’ printed in large letters on it. Come along, there’s plenty of room inside; the conductor and the driver will be here presently, I suppose.”

I laughingly explained to his Majesty the mistake which he had made, and we walked on as far as Piccadilly Circus, where we found a ’bus to take us to the Academy, which we intended visiting on our way home. We had not gone far though, when I suddenly remembered that the 22nd June was very close at hand, and that I had better make arrangements for seats to view the Jubilee Procession or I should be too late. So it was arranged that the Doctor-in-Law should take charge of the party while I went on to the agents to see about the seats. They would have no difficulty in getting home by themselves for the ’buses ran from just outside the Academy doors straight to Kensington, so I felt sure that they would be all right.

“How much is the entrance fee to the Academy?” asked the Doctor-in-Law, as I was getting down from the ’bus.

“A shilling each,” I replied, and I saw the little man collecting the money from the others as the ’bus disappeared from view.

I was very fortunate at the agents in being able to secure a capital window in Piccadilly, and some Stores in the neighbourhood undertook to provide a luncheon and to suitably decorate the window for us.

These arrangements being satisfactorily concluded, I hurried home, and was greatly relieved to find my guests there before me.

“How did you enjoy the Academy?” I inquired.

“Not at all!” said his Majesty decidedly.

“Waste of money, I call it,” said the Rhymester, sniffing contemptuously. “I was dever so disappointed id edythig id all by life!” declared A. Fish, Esq.

“Besides, the catalogue was no good at all,” complained his Majesty. “We could make neither head nor tail of it.”

The Doctor-in-Law was silent, and it was only by very careful inquiry that I found out that, after pocketing their money, he had taken them to an immense hoarding covered with advertisement posters, and had gammoned them into believing that that was the Academy, while it was no wonder that the poor Wallypug could not understand the ‘catalogue,’ for it was nothing more nor less than an old illustrated stores price list.

It was really too bad of the Doctor-in-Law.