THE WALLYPUG GOES TO WINDSOR

While they were all busy in the preparation of The Wallypug’s Own, I thought it an excellent opportunity to run down to Folkestone in order to make arrangements for hiring a house, as I intended taking my guests to the seaside for a few weeks.

I felt a little anxious about leaving them to themselves, but hoped that they would be too busy and interested in the new magazine to get into trouble.

It was most unfortunate that I should have gone just then though, for directly I had left the Wallypug received a polite letter from one of the Court officials to say that the Queen would be pleased to receive his Majesty and suite at Windsor on the following day.

Of course, as you may imagine, the Wallypug was in a great state of excitement at receiving this royal invitation, and wished to telegraph at once for me to return and advise them how to act and what to do, on this important occasion; however, the Doctor-in-Law, so I have been given to understand, persuaded his Majesty not to do anything of the sort, and added that I “was always poking about and interfering, and was better out of the way”; so his Majesty, who was very anxious to do the right thing, consulted Mrs. Putchy as to the proper costume to be worn, and the etiquette to be observed.

“Well, your Majesty,” remarked Mrs. Putchy in reply, “I scarcely know what to advise. When in my younger days, I acted as lady’s maid to the Countess of Wembley, I know her ladyship wore a Court train and carried a bouquet when she was presented to the Queen.”

“Where did the engine go?” asked his Majesty curiously.

“The engine!” exclaimed Mrs. Putchy.

“Yes; you said she wore a train, didn’t you?” said the Wallypug.

“Oh! but I didn’t mean that kind of train,” laughed Mrs. Putchy; “I meant a long sort of cloak fastened on to the shoulders and trailing along the ground at the back—they are generally made of satin and velvet, and are decorated with flowers and feathers and lace, and that sort of thing. Your Majesty’s cloak would do nicely if I trimmed it for you.”

“But are you sure that gentlemen wear these sort of things?” inquired the Wallypug.

“Well, I couldn’t rightly say, your Majesty, but I’m sure I’ve seen pictures of kings and such like wearing trains which were borne by pages, so I feel sure your Majesty would be safe in wearing one.”

So it was arranged that, after having been carefully brushed, his Majesty’s velvet cloak was to be gaily decorated with lace and large bunches of flowers, and, to make the thing complete, a large bouquet was tied around his sceptre, and, at the Rhymester’s suggestion, little knots of flowers were attached to the knobs of his Majesty’s crown.

The little man was highly delighted with his appearance when all these arrangements were concluded, and could get but very little sleep that night for thinking of the great honour which was to be his the next day.

The whole household was early astir in the morning, and at about eleven o’clock the carriage came to take the royal guests to the station.

Arrived at Waterloo, the Doctor-in-Law, after making various inquiries as to the price of the tickets, etc., actually had the meanness, despite the remonstrance of the railway officials, to insist upon the whole party travelling down third-class, remarking that he “found the third-class carriages reached there quite as soon as the first, and a penny saved was a penny gained.”

The station master at Windsor was particularly put out about it, as, in honour of his Majesty’s visit, the station had been gaily decorated and a carpet laid down to the carriage door. His Majesty, however, made a brave show as he walked up the platform preceded by the Doctor-in-Law, his gaily decorated train borne by the Rhymester, and followed by A. Fish, Esq., and One-and-Nine, the latter carrying a mysterious bandbox, which contained a present from the Wallypug to her Majesty. (See frontispiece.)

Inside and out the station was crowded with curious spectators, all eager to catch a glimpse of his Majesty and his remarkable retinue, and cheer after cheer resounded as the station master, bare-headed and bowing, ushered the party to the royal carriage with the red and gold-liveried servants, which had been sent from the castle to meet them.

The bells were ringing, and the streets were crowded as they drove through the old town, and his Majesty thoroughly enjoyed the drive, while the Doctor-in-Law was quite in his element amidst all this fuss and excitement.

I did not care to inquire too fully into the details of his Majesty’s interview with the Queen, but I was given to understand that the whole party was treated with the utmost kindness.

Her Majesty graciously accepted at the Wallypug’s hands a gilded crown, an exact copy of the one he wore himself, and which he had had made expressly for her Majesty, having been struck by the fact that her Majesty’s real crown was always kept locked up in the Tower, and hoping that perhaps this one would do for second best.

I could not gather that her Majesty had actually promised to wear it, but I do know that the Wallypug was made exceedingly proud and happy by the gift of a portrait of her Majesty herself, with the royal autograph attached, and that he will always remember the occasion of his visit to Windsor, and the kindness with which he was treated by everyone, particularly by the little Princes and Princesses, her Majesty’s great grand-children, who led him about the Castle grounds, and showed him their pets, and the flowers, and conservatories, and all the wonderful sights of that wonderful place.

In the evening there was a dinner party, at which her Majesty did not appear, and early the next morning a royal carriage again drove them to the station en route for London.

All this I learned on my return from Folkestone. I also heard of an extraordinary evening party which had been given at my house during my absence. It appears that the invitations had been sent out by the Doctor-in-Law the very day upon which I left, and about thirty guests, including the Duchess of Mortlake, had been invited. Unfortunately, however, this visit to Windsor had entirely driven the matter from the Wallypug’s mind, and the others had forgotten about it too, and so a pretty confusion was the result.

It appears that one evening about seven o’clock they were all in the kitchen making toffee, having persuaded Mrs. Putchy to let them have the frying-pan and some sugar and butter, and it having been cooking for some time the Doctor-in-Law had just told the Wallypug to stick his finger in and see if it was done, when Mrs. Putchy came in to say that some ladies and gentlemen had arrived, and were waiting in the drawing-room.

All of a sudden it flashed upon their minds that this was the evening upon which they had invited their visitors to the party. Whatever was to be done? Not the slightest preparation had been made—and his Majesty and the others were all more or less in a sticky condition, and quite unfit to be seen by company. A hurried consultation took place, during which they could hear more and more guests arriving, and at last, by a brilliant inspiration, the Doctor-in-Law thought of making it a surprise party, similar to those given in America.

“It won’t cost us anything either,” he remarked complacently.

“But what is a surprise party?” asked the others.

“Never mind, you’ll see presently,” remarked the little man. “Run and wash your hands now and make yourselves tidy.”

A few minutes later the whole party filed into the drawing-room, the Wallypug looking rather blank and nervous, and the Doctor-in-Law full of profuse apologies for having kept the guests waiting so long.

“By the way,” he remarked airily, “I suppose you all know that it’s a surprise party.”

“Dear me, no,” said the Duchess of Mortlake, speaking for the others. “Whatever is that; I don’t think it was mentioned on the cards of invitation, was it?”

“Ah! a trifling oversight,” remarked the Doctor-in-Law. “A surprise party,” he continued in explanation, “is one at which each guest is expected to contribute something towards the supper—some bring one thing and some another. What have you brought, may I ask, your Grace?”

“Well, really,” said the Duchess, “I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life before. I’ve not brought anything at all, of course; I’m surprised at your asking me such a question.”

“Ah, yes, just so,” remarked the Doctor-in-Law triumphantly, “just what I told you—a surprise party, don’t you see! Now, what I would advise is that you should all go out and order various things to be sent in for supper; we, for our part, will provide some excellent toffee, and then you can come back and help us to set the tables and all that sort of thing, you know—it’s the greatest fun in the world, I assure you.”

And really the little man carried it off with such gaiety, that entering into the spirit of the thing the guests really did as he suggested, and went out and ordered the things, and afterwards came back, and, amidst great laughter and fun, the tables were laid, every one doing some share of the work, with the exception of the Doctor-in-Law, who contented himself with directing the others and chatting to the ladies.

The poor dear Wallypug amiably toiled backward and forward between the kitchen and dining-room with great piles of plates and other heavy articles, and A. Fish, Esq., in his eagerness to help, was continually treading on his own tail, upsetting himself and the various dishes entrusted to his charge.

At last, however, the supper was set, and the merriest evening you can possibly imagine was spent by the guests. His Majesty was in capital spirits, and after supper suggested a little dancing, which suggestion was hailed with delight by the others, and, having moved some of the furniture out of the drawing-room and pushed the rest away into corners, the Wallypug led off with her Grace the Duchess of Mortlake, and quite distinguished himself in “Sir Roger de Coverley.” Afterwards there was a little singing and music, several of the guests contributing to the evening’s entertainment. Amongst other items was a song by A. Fish, Esq., rendered as well as his bad cold would permit, of which the first lines ran:

I’b siddig here ad lookig at the bood, love,
Ad thinkig ov the habby days of old,
Wed you ad I had each a wooded spood, love,
To eat our porridge wed we had a cold.

Altogether the evening was such a success that her Grace declared that it should not be her fault if surprise parties were not the fashion in Society during the coming winter.