HIS MAJESTY IS INTERVIEWED

The next morning we were all seated around the breakfast table laughing over our adventures of the evening before, when we had visited the Earl’s Court Exhibition together. We had been up in the Great Wheel, and having passed through the pretty old English village were walking around the artificial lake listening to the band playing in their little pavilion on the island in the middle, when the Doctor-in-Law declared that he heard a strange trumpeting sound, and asked me what it could be. I had not heard it and so could not tell him, and we were just discussing the matter when the Wallypug clutched wildly at his crown, and turning around we saw a huge elephant lifting it gracefully off his head with its trunk. Directly his Majesty realized what it was, he gave a wild scream and took to his heels, as did all the others, with the exception of the Rhymester, who tripped against a stone and lay with his head buried in his arms for some time, kicking and screaming for help.

Of course it was only the tame elephant that carries the children on its back, but to the unaccustomed eyes of the Wallypug and his party it seemed, so they told me afterwards, some strange and awful monster ready to devour them.

As I said, we were laughing merrily over this adventure when the postman arrived, and the Doctor-in-Law, without asking to be excused from the table, rushed out to meet him, and returned a few minutes later with his arms loaded with a number of little packages and one rather large box, which had arrived by Carter Paterson.

“Dear me, what a lot of letters,” remarked his Majesty.

“Yes. Wouldn’t you like to know what they are all about, eh?” inquired the Doctor-in-Law.

“Yes, I should,” admitted the Wallypug; while the faces of the others all expressed the same curiosity.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the Doctor-in-Law. “If you’ll all pay me fourpence halfpenny each, I will let you open them and see for yourselves.”

There was a little grumbling at this, but eventually the money changed hands, and, the breakfast things having been removed, the little packages were opened with great eagerness.

Besides a printed circular, each one contained some little article—a pencil case, a pen knife, a comb, a sample tin of knife polish, a card of revolving collar studs, and so on.

“Ah!” remarked the Doctor-in-Law complacently as these articles were spread about the table; “I told you that I expected to derive a princely revenue from my correspondence, and now I will explain to you how it is done. I observed a great number of advertisements in the daily papers, stating that ‘A handsome income could be earned without the slightest trouble or inconvenience, and particulars would be forwarded to any one sending six stamps and an addressed envelope’; so I sent off about twenty, and here is the result. I see by these circulars that I have only to sell two hundred of these little pencil cases at half-a-crown each in order to earn 1s. 6d. commission, and for every dozen tins of knife polish I sell, I shall be paid 1-½d., besides being able to earn 6d. a thousand by addressing envelopes for one firm, if I supply my own envelopes.”

“What’s in the big box?” inquired the Rhymester.

“A dittig bachede,” replied A. Fish, Esq., who had been busily engaged in opening it.

“A what?” exclaimed the others.

“A dittig bachede for dittig socks,” repeated A. Fish, Esq.

“Oh yes, of course!” explained the Doctor-in-Law, “a knitting machine. I was persuaded to buy it on the understanding that I was to have constant work all the year round, and be paid so much per pair for knitting socks with it. It’s a most interesting and amusing occupation, and, I’ll tell you what, I don’t mind letting any one of you use the machine for sixpence an hour, if you find your own worsted and give me the socks when they are finished. There now! nothing could be fairer than that, could it?”

And positively A. Fish, Esq., was so infatuated with the charms of the “dittig bachede,” as he called it, that he actually agreed to these terms, and sent out for some worsted, and commenced “dittig” with great enthusiasm. The Doctor-in-Law then set the Rhymester to work, addressing the envelopes on the understanding that he was to share the sixpence per thousand to be paid for them. And, having bothered the Wallypug and myself into buying a pencil-case and a knife each, in order to get rid of him, he started off to the kitchen to see if he could do any business with Mrs. Putchy in the knife-polish or black-lead line.

His Majesty and myself were just saying what an extraordinary little man he was, when he burst in upon us again.

“Heard the news?” he inquired, his face beaming with importance.

“No. What is it?” inquired the others eagerly.

“Ah! wouldn’t you like to know?” exclaimed the Doctor-in-Law. “How much will you give me for telling you?”

“How much do you want?” asked the Rhymester dubiously.

“A penny each,” was the reply.

“Come on then, let’s have it,” said the Rhymester, collecting the pennies from the others and handing them to the Doctor-in-Law.

“Why—er—er—Queen Anne is dead, and the Dutch have taken Holland—yah!” And the little man burst out laughing.

“Oh! I say, that’s too bad,” grumbled the Wallypug. “Isn’t it now?” he cried, appealing to me.

“Well, really,” I replied, “you shouldn’t be so silly as to give him money. You ought to know by this time what to expect from him.”

“No, but truly,” said the Doctor-in-Law, pulling a serious face, “I have got some news, the other was only my fun. A lady is going to call on us at eleven, to interview the Wallypug. I had almost forgotten it.”

“A lady!” I exclaimed. “Whoever do you mean?”

“Oh, she’s the Duchess of something. I forget her name,” answered the Doctor-in-Law nonchalantly. “She called the other day while you were out, and explained that she was a contributor to one of the latest society magazines, and was anxious to send an illustrated interview with the Wallypug, to her paper; so—a-hem!—after we had come to terms, I arranged for her to come to-day and see him. You had better go and make yourself tidy, hadn’t you?” he continued, turning to the Wallypug.

“Well, really,” I interposed, “I think you might have consulted his Majesty first, before making these arrangements.”

“Oh! do you?” said the Doctor-in-Law rudely. “Well, I don’t see that it’s any business of yours, my good sir—so there!” and he bounced out of the room again, rattling his sample tins.

It was nearly eleven then, and a few minutes afterwards a beautifully-appointed carriage drew up to the door, and Mrs. Putchy brought up a card inscribed:

and immediately ushered in a fashionably-dressed lady, who smilingly offered me the tips of her fingers.

“Oh, how do you do? You are the gentleman, I think, who is to introduce me to his Majesty, are you not?”

“Well, really, your Grace, we have only just heard of the appointment, but his Majesty the Wallypug will be very pleased to receive you I am sure.” “And is that his Majesty at the other end of the room?” whispered the Duchess. “Pray present me.”

I made the necessary introduction, and the Duchess gave the regulation Court ‘dip,’ which the Wallypug gravely imitated, and then in his usual simple manner offered his hand with a smile.

Her Grace made a deep presentation curtsey and bowed over it in the most approved fashion; but the Wallypug, evidently unused to being treated with so much ceremony, withdrew it hastily and remarked nervously but politely:

“Won’t you take a seat, madam?”

“Say, ‘Your Grace,’” I whispered. “What for?” asked his Majesty blankly.

“Because this lady is a Duchess, and you must always say ‘Your Grace’ when speaking to her,” I replied.

“Oh!” said the Wallypug vaguely—then going up to the Duchess he solemnly said, “I’m Grace.”

“No, no!” I explained. “You don’t understand me. I mean, when you speak to this lady you must call her ‘Your Grace.’”

“Dear me, how stupid of me, to be sure!” said his Majesty. “I understand now. I beg your pardon. I meant to say, ‘You are my Grace,’ madam,” he continued, addressing himself to the Duchess.

Her Grace amiably laughed away this little mistake, and was soon busy asking questions. The Wallypug, however, got very nervous, and made a shocking lot of mistakes in his answers. He couldn’t even say how old he was.

“I know I’ve been in the family for years,” he remarked, “and I fancy I must have come over with William the Conqueror. Such a lot of people did that, you know, and it’s so respectable. I don’t remember it, of course; but then I’ve been told that I was born very young, and so naturally I shouldn’t do so.”

“Does your Majesty remember any of the incidents of your early life?” asked the Duchess.

“I was considered remarkably bald for my age as an infant,” replied the Wallypug simply. “And I believe I had several measles, and a mump or two as a child. But I don’t wish to boast about them,” he added modestly.

“Where were you educated, your Majesty?” was the next question.

“I wasn’t,” replied the Wallypug with a sigh.

“Does your Majesty mean that you received no education at all?” asked the Duchess in surprise.

“Oh! I was taught reading, and writing, and arithmetic, and the use of the globes, and Latin and Greek, and all that rubbish, of course,” replied the Wallypug. “But I mean there were no Universities at Why, where I could receive a higher education, and be taught cricket, and football, and rowing, and all those classical things taught at Oxford and Cambridge, you know. I was considered the best boy in my form at marbles though,” he added proudly. “And I could beat any of the masters at Hop Scotch.”

“What is your favourite diet, your Majesty?” came next.

“Oh! jumbles, I think—or bull’s eyes. I’m very fond of hardbake too, and I love cocoa-nut ice.”

A few more questions such as these, and her Grace took her departure, after taking several snap-shot photographs of various articles in the drawing room.

I felt convinced that with such a scanty amount of information at her disposal the Duchess would have great difficulty in writing an article on the Wallypug, and was therefore the more surprised a few days later to receive a copy of the magazine which her Grace represented, with a long and particular account of the interview, under the heading of, “‘Why Wallypug and wherefore of Why?’ by a Lady of Title.” Into it her Grace had introduced the most preposterous and extravagant statements about his Majesty.

We learned with amazement that “The Wallypug came of a very ancient family, and had early been distinguished for many remarkable accomplishments. While at school his Majesty displayed such a natural aptitude for learning as to readily out-distance his instructors.”

“I suppose that’s because I said I played Hop Scotch better than the masters,” commented his Majesty, to whom I was reading the account aloud.

Photographs of various articles in the drawing-room, which had no connection whatever with the Wallypug, were reproduced with the most extraordinary and absolutely untrue stories attached to them. Dick and Mrs. Mehetable Murchison appeared as “The Wallypug’s favourite cat and dog,” while pathetic stories were told of how the dog had on several occasions saved his royal master from an untimely and watery grave, while the cat had prevented him from being burned to death while reading in bed by gently scratching his nose when he had fallen asleep, and the candle had set fire to the bed curtains. Sensational illustrations were also given depicting these incidents, which of course were purely imaginary.

It was very remarkable to notice though, that directly the article of the Duchess’s appeared, invitations from all sorts of grand people poured in upon us—and the daily papers suddenly woke up to the fact that the Wallypug and his suite were very important personages, and devoted whole columns to “Our Mysterious Foreign Guests,” as they called them.

There was always more or less of a crowd outside the house now, and when his Majesty drove in the Park, the people all stood up on the little green seats to get a better view of him as he passed.