Gwendolyn looked her concern. "Do we have to go that road?" she asked him.
He nodded.
The next moment, with a loud rumbling of the eyes, Jane came alongside. "Oh, dearie," she cried, "you couldn't hire me to go. And I wouldn't like to see you go. I think too much of you, I do indeed."
"Hold your tongue!" ordered the little old gentleman, crossly.
Jane obeyed. Up came a hand, and she seized the tongue-tip in her front mouth. But since there was a second tongue-tip in that back face, she still continued her babbling: "Don't ask me to trapse over the hard pavements on my poor tired feet, dearie, just because you take your notions.... Come, I say! Your mother's nobody, anyhow.... You don't know what you're sayin' or doin', poor thing! You're just wanderin', that's all—just wanderin'."
"I'm wandering in the right direction, anyhow," retorted Gwendolyn, stoutly. And to the little old gentleman, "I'm sorry we're going this way, though. I'm 'fraid of Bears,"—for the sign was past now; the four were on the level thoroughfare.
The Policeman seemed not to have remarked her anxiety. "And after the Den, what do we pass?" he questioned.
"The Big Rock," answered the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
"Do we have to turn it?" The other spoke with some annoyance. "What's likely to come out? I suppose it won't be hiding that Bird."
"There's a hollow under the Rock," said the little old gentleman. "We'll find something." His face grew grave.
"And—and after we go by the Big Rock?" ventured Gwendolyn.
The little old gentleman smiled. "Ah, then!" he said, "—then we come to the Pillery!"
"Oh!" She considered the reply. Pillery—it was a word she had never chanced upon in the large Dictionary. Yet she felt she could hardly ask any questions about it. She had asked so many already. "It's kind of you to answer and answer and answer," she said aloud. "Nobody else ever did that."
"Ask anything you want to know," he returned cordially. "I'll always give you prompt attention. Though of course, there are some things—" He hesitated.
"Yes?"—eagerly.
"That only fathers and mothers can answer."
"Oh!"
"Didn't you know that?" demanded the Policeman, surprised.
"Tee! hee! hee! hee!" snickered Jane. Though she was some few steps in the rear, her difficult breathing could be plainly heard. She had laughed so much into her sleeve, and had grown so stout, that by now not a single wrinkle remained in the black sateen; worse—she was beginning to try every square inch of the cloth sorely. And having danced every foot of the way, she was tiring.
"Oh, fath-er-and-moth-er questions," said Gwendolyn.
"Precisely," answered the little old gentleman; "—about my friends, Santa Claus and the Sand-Man, for instance—"
"They're not friends of Potter's, I guess. 'Cause he—"
"—And the fairies, and the gnomes, and the giants; and Mother Goose and her crowd. Of course a nurse or a governess or a teacher of some sort might try to explain. Wouldn't do any good, though. You wouldn't understand."
The Policeman swung his head back and forth, nodding. "That's the worst," said he, "of being a Poor—" Here he fell suddenly silent, and spatted the dust with his palms in an embarrassed way.
She understood. "A Poor Little Rich Girl," she said, "who doesn't see her fath-er and moth-er."
"But you will," he declared determinedly, and forged ahead faster than ever, white hand following white hand.
It was then that Gwendolyn heard the nurse muttering and chortling to herself. "Well, I never!" exclaimed the tongue-tip that was not being held. "If this ain't a' automobile road! Why, it's a fine automobile road! Ha! ha! ha! That makes a difference!"
Gwendolyn was startled. What did Jane mean? What difference? Why so much satisfaction all at once? She wished the others would listen; would take note of the triumphant air. But both were busy, the little old gentleman chattering and pointing ahead, the Policeman straining to keep pace and look where his companion directed.
To lessen her uneasiness, Gwendolyn hunted a second stick of candy. Then sidled in between her two friends. "Oh, please," she began appealingly, with a glance up and a glance down, "I'm 'fraid Jane's going to make us trouble. Can't we think of some way to get rid of her?"
The Policeman twisted his neck around until he could wink at her with his black eye. "In town," said he meaningly, "we Policemen have a way."
"Oh, tell us!" she begged. For the Man-Who-Makes-Faces looked keenly interested.
"Well," resumed the Officer—and now he halted just long enough to raise a gloved finger to one side of his head with a significant gesture—"when we want to get rid of a person, we put a flea in his ear."
Gwendolyn blushed rosy. A flea! It was an insect that Miss Royle had never permitted her to mention. Still—
"But—but where could we—er—find—a—a—?"
She had stammered that far when she saw the little old gentleman turn his wrinkled face over a shoulder. Next, he jerked an excited thumb. And looking, she saw that Jane was failing to keep up.
By now the nurse had swelled to astonishing proportions. Her body was as round as a barrel. Her face was round too, and more red than ever. Her cheeks were so puffed, the skin of her forehead was so tight and shiny, that she looked precisely like a monster copy of a sanitary rubber doll!
"She can't last much longer! Her strength's giving out." It was the Policeman. And his voice ended in a sob. (Yet the sob meant nothing, for he was showing all his white teeth in a delighted smile.)
"She must have help!"—this the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. His voice broke, too. But his round, dark eyes were brimming with laughter.
"Who'll help her?" demanded Gwendolyn. "Nobody. So one of that three is gone for good!"
She halted now—on the summit of a rise. Up this, but at a considerable distance, Jane was toiling, with feeble hops to the right, and staggering steps to the left, and faint, fat gasps.
"Oh, Gwendolyn darlin'!" she called weepingly. "Oh, don't leave your Jane! Oh! Oh!"
"I've made up my mind," announced Gwendolyn, "to have the nurse-maid in the brick house. So, good-by—good-by."
She began to descend rapidly, with the little old gentleman in a shuffling run, and the Policeman springing from hand to hand as if he feared pursuit, and swaying his legs from side to side with a tick-tock, tick-tock. The going was easy. Soon the bottom of the slope was reached. Then all stopped to look back.
Jane had just gained the top. But was come to a standstill. Over the brow of the hill could be seen only her full face—like a big red moon.
At the sight, Gwendolyn felt a thrill of joy—the joy of freedom found again. "Why, she's not coming up," she called out delightedly. "She's going down!" And she punctuated her words with a gay skip.
That skip proved unfortunate. For as ill-luck would have it, she stumbled. And stumbling stubbed her toe. The toe struck two small stones that lay partly embedded in the road—dislodged them—turned them end for end—and sent them skimming along the ground.
"Two!" cried the Policeman. "Now who?"
"If only the right kind come!" added the little old gentleman, each of his round eyes rimmed with sudden white.
"I'll blow my whistle." Up swung the shining bit of metal on the end of its chain.
"Blow it at the top of your lungs!"
The Policeman had balanced himself on his head, thrown away his gum, and put the whistle against his lips. Now he raised it and placed it against his chest, just above his collar-button. Then he blew. And through the forest the blast rang and echoed and boomed—until all the tapers rose and fell, and all the footlights flickered.
Instantly that red moon sank below the crest of the hill. Puffs of smoke rose in its place. Then there was borne to the waiting trio a sound of chugging. And the next instant, with a purr of its engine, and a whirr of its wheels, here into full sight shot forward the limousine!
Gwendolyn paled. The half-devoured stick of candy slipped from her fingers. "Oh, I don't want to be shut up in the car!" she cried out. "And I won't! I won't! I WON'T!" She scurried behind the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
The automobile came on. Its polished sides reflected the varied lights of the forest. Its hated windows glistened. One door swung wide, as if yawning for a victim!
The little old gentleman, as he watched it, seemed interested rather than apprehensive. After a moment, "Recollect my speaking of the Piper?" he asked.
"Y-y-yes."
At the mention of the Piper, the Policeman stared up. "The Pip-Piper!" he protested, stammering, and beginning to back away.
At that, Gwendolyn felt renewed anxiety. "The Piper!" she faltered. "Oh, I'll have to settle with him." And thrust a searching hand into the patch-pocket.
The Policeman kept on retreating. "I don't want to see him," he declared. "He made me pay too dear for my whistle." And he bumped his head against his night-stick.
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces hastened to him, and halted him by grasping him about his fast-swaying legs. "You can't run away from the Piper," he reminded. "So—"
Gwendolyn was no longer frightened. In her search for money she had found the gold-mounted leather case. This she now clutched, receiving courage from the stiff upper-lip.
But the Policeman was far from sanguine. Now perspiration and not tears glistened on his forehead. He grasped his club with one shaking hand.
As for the little old gentleman, he held the curved knife out in front of him, all his thin fingers wound tightly around its hilt. "What's the Piper got beside him?" he asked in a tone full of wonder. "Is it a rubber-plant?"
Gwendolyn looked. The Piper was leaning over the steering-wheel of the car. He was so near by now that she could make him out clearly—a lanky, lean-jawed young man in a greasy cap and Johnnie Blake overalls. Over his right shoulder, on a strap, was suspended a bundle. A tobacco-pipe hung from a corner of his mouth. But it was evidently not this pipe that had given him his title; but pipes of a different kind—all of lead, in varying lengths. These were arranged about his waist, somewhat like a long, uneven fringe. And among them was a pipe-wrench, a coupling or two, and a cutter.
Beside him on the seat, in the foot man's place, was a queer object. It was tall, and dark-blue in color. (Or was it green?) On one side of it were what seemed to be seven long leaves. On the other side were seven similar leaves. And as the car rolled swiftly up, these fourteen long leaf-like projections waved gently.
She had no chance to examine the object further. Something else claimed her attention. The windowed door of the limousine suddenly swung wide, and through it, toward her, was extended a long black beckoning arm. Next, a freckled face filled the whole of the opening, spying this way and that. It was Jane!
"Come, dearie," she cooed. (She had let go the front tongue-tip.) "I wouldn't stay with them two any more. Here's your beautiful car, love. This is what'll take you fast to your papa and mamma."
"No!" cried Gwendolyn. And to the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, "She was 'fraid of the Piper just a little while ago. Now, she's riding around with him. I think he's—"
"Ssh!" warned the little old gentleman, speaking low. "We have to have him. And he has his good points."
The Piper was staring at Gwendolyn impertinently. Now he climbed down from his seat, all his pipes tinkling and tankling as he moved, and gave her a mocking salute, quite as if he knew her—yet without removing the tobacco-pipe from between his lips, or the greasy cap from his hair.
"Well, if here ain't the P.L.R.G.," he exclaimed rudely.
As she got a better view of him she remembered that she had met him before—in her nursery, that fortunate morning the hot-water pipe burst. He was the very Piper that had been called in to make plumbing repairs!
"Good-evening," said Gwendolyn, nodding courteously—but staying close to the little old gentleman. For Jane had summoned strength enough to topple out of the limousine and teeter forward. Now she was kneeling in the road, crooking a coaxing finger, and gurgling invitingly.
The Piper scowled at the nurse. "Say! What do you think you're doin'?" he demanded. "Singin' a duet with yourself?" Then turning upon the Policeman, "Off your beat, ain't you?" he inquired impudently; when, without waiting for an answer, he swung round upon the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. "Old gent," he began tauntingly, "I can't collect real money for that dozen ears." And threw out an arm toward the object on the driver's seat.
Gwendolyn looked a second time. And saw a horrid and unnatural sight. For the object was a man, straight enough, broad-shouldered enough, with arms and legs, feet and hands, and a small head; but a man shockingly disfigured. For down either side of him, projecting from head and shoulders and arms, were ears—long, hairy, mulish ears, that wriggled horribly, one moment unfolding themselves to catch every sound, the next flopping about ridiculously.
"Why, he's all ears!" she gasped.
The little old gentleman started forward. "It's that dozen I boxed!" he announced. "Hey! Come out of there!"
Gwendolyn's heart sank. Now she knew. From the first her fear had been that one of the dreaded three would come and fetch her out of the Land before she could find her parents. And here, at the very moment when she hoped to leave the worst of the trio behind, here was another!—to hamper and tattle and thwart.
For the rubber plant was Thomas!
And now all at once there was the greatest excitement. The Man-Who-Makes-Faces seized Thomas by an ear and dragged him to the ground, all the while upbraiding him loudly. And while these two were occupied, the Piper swaggered toward the Policeman, his pipes and implements striking and jangling together.
"I want my money," he bellowed.
"I don't owe you anything!" retorted the Policeman.
All this gave Jane the opportunity she wished. She advanced upon Gwendolyn. "Come, sweetie," she wheedled. "Rich little girls don't hike along the streets like common poor little girls. So jump in, and pretend you're a Queen, and have a grand ride—"
Now all of a sudden a terrible inclination to obey seized Gwendolyn. There yawned that door—here burned those reddish eyes, compelling her forward into a dreaded grasp—
She screamed, covering her face.
In that moment of danger it was the Policeman who came to her rescue. Eluding the Piper, he ran, hand over hand, to the side of the car, balanced himself on his level head, and waved his club.
"Move on!" he ordered in a deep voice (precisely as Gwendolyn had heard officers order at crowded crossings); "move on, there!"
The limousine obeyed! With no one touching the steering-gear, the engine began to chug, the wheels to whirr. And purring again, like some great good-natured live thing, it gained momentum, took the road in a cloud of pink dust, and, rounding a distant turn, disappeared from sight.
CHAPTER XII
It occurred to Gwendolyn that it would be a very good idea to stop turning stones. The first one set bottom-side up had resulted in the arrival of Jane. And whereas the Policeman had appeared when the second was dislodged, here, following the accidental stub of a toe, were these two—the Piper and Thomas.
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces hurried across to her, his expression dubious. "Bitter pill!" he exclaimed, with a sidewise jerk of the ragged hat. "Gall and wormwood!"
"Oh, yes!" For—sure enough!—there was an ill-flavored taste on her lips—a taste that made her regret having lost the candy.
Next, the Policeman came tick-tocking up. "The scheme was to kidnap you," he declared wrathfully.
"And keep me from finding my fath-er and moth-er," added Gwendolyn. Now she understood why Jane was so pleased with the choice of the automobile road! And she realized that all along there was never any danger of her being kidnaped by strangers, but by the two who, their past ill-feeling evidently forgotten, were at this very moment chuckling and chattering together, ugly heads touching—the eary head and the head with the double face!
Seeing the Policeman and the little old gentleman in conversation with Gwendolyn, the Piper slouched over. "Look a-here!" he began roughly, addressing all three; "you're goin' to make a great big mistake if you antagonize a man that belongs to a Labor Union." (Just so had he spoken the day he fixed the broken hot-water pipe.)
"Bosh!" cried the Policeman. "What do we care about him! Why, he'll never even get through the Gate!"
Gwendolyn was puzzled. What Gate? And why would Thomas not get through it? Then looking round to where he was conspiring with Jane, she saw what she believed was a very good explanation: He would never even get through the Gate because (a simple reason!) the nurse would not be able to get through.
For by now Jane was not only as round as a barrel, but she was fully as large—what with so much happy giggling over Thomas's arrival. Moreover, having toppled sidewise, she looked like a barrel—a barrel upholstered in black sateen, with a neat touch of white at collar and cuffs!
"He's been in trouble before," continued the Policeman, stormily. "But this time—!" And letting himself down flat upon his head, he shook both neatly shod feet in the Piper's face.
It was now that Gwendolyn chanced, for the first time, to examine the latter's bundle. And was surprised to discover that it was nothing less than a large poke-bonnet—of the fluffy, lacy, ribbony sort. And she was admiring it, for it was of black silk, and handsome, when something within it stirred!
She retreated—until the night-stick and the kidnaper knife were between her and the poke. "Hadn't we better be st-starting?" she faltered nervously.
The Piper marked her manner, and showed instant resentment of it. "This here thing was handed me once in part-payment," he explained. "And I ain't been able to get rid of it since. Every single day it's harder to lug around. Because, you see, he's growin'."
At that, the Policeman and the Man-Who-Makes-Faces exchanged a glance full of significance. And both shrugged—the Policeman with such an emphatic upside-down shrug that his shoulders brushed the ground.
Gwendolyn's curiosity emboldened her. "He?" she questioned.
"The pig."
The pig! Gwendolyn's pink mouth opened in amazement. Here was the very pig that she heard belonged in a poke!
The Piper was glowering at Jane, who was rocking gently from side to side, displaying first one face, then the other. "Well, I call that dancing," he declared. And pulling out a small, well-thumbed account-book, jotted down some figures.
Gwendolyn tried to think of something to say—while feeling mistrust toward the Piper, and abhorrence toward the poke and its contents. At last she took refuge in polite inquiry. "When did you come out from town?" she asked.
The Piper grunted rather ill-humoredly (or was it the pig?—she could not be certain), and colored up a little. "I didn't come out," he answered in his surly fashion. Whereupon he fell to fitting a coupling upon the ends of two pipes.
"No?"—inquisitively.
"I—er—got run out."
"Oh!"
Again the Policeman and the Man-Who-Makes-Faces exchanged a significant glance.
"You see," went on the Piper, "in the City everybody's in debt. Well, I have to have my money, don't I? So I dunned 'em all good. But maybe—er—a speck too much. So—"
"Oh, dear!" breathed Gwendolyn
"Of course, I've never been what you might call popular. Who would be—if everybody owed him money."
"Huh!" snorted the Policeman.
"You overcharge," asserted the little old gentleman.
Gwendolyn hastened to forestall any heated reply from the Piper. "You don't think your pig had anything to do with it?" she suggested considerately. "'Cause do—do nice people like pigs?"
"The pig was never in sight," asserted the Piper. "Guess that's one reason why I can't sell him. What people don't see they don't want to buy—even when it's covered up stylish." (Here he regarded the poke with an expression of entire satisfaction.)
The little company was well on its way by now—though Gwendolyn could not recall the moment of starting. The Piper had not waited to be invited, but strolled along with the others, his birch-stemmed tobacco-pipe in a corner of his mouth, his hands in his pockets, and the pig-poke a-swing at his elbow.
Thomas, left to get Jane along as best he could, had managed most ingeniously. The nurse was cylindrical. All he had to do, therefore, was to give her momentum over the smooth windings of the road by an occasional smart shove with both hands.
Which made it clear that the likelihood of losing Jane, of leaving her behind, was lessening with each moment! For now the more the nurse laughed the easier it would be to get her along.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Gwendolyn, with a sad shake of her yellow head as Jane came trundling up, both fat arms folded to keep them out of the way.
"If she stopped dancin' where would I come in?" demanded the Piper, resentfully. The pig moved in the poke. He trounced the poor thing irritably.
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces now began to speak—in a curious, chanting fashion. "The mode of locomotion adapted by this woman," said he, "rather adds to, then detracts from, her value as a nurse. Think what facilities she has for amusing a child!—on, say, an extensive slope of lawn. And her ability to, see two ways—practically at once—gives her further value. Would she ever let a young charge fall over a cliff?"
The barrel was whopping over and over—noiselessly, except for the faint chatter of Jane's tortoise-shell teeth. Behind it was Thomas, limp-eared by now, and perspiring, but faithful to his task.
"The best thing," whispered Gwendolyn, reaching to touch a ragged sleeve, "would be to get rid of Thomas. Then she—"
The Policeman heard. "Get rid of Thomas?" he repeated. "Easy enough. Look on the ground."
She looked.
"See the h's?"
Sure enough, the road was fairly strewn with the sixth consonant!—both in small letters and capitals.
"Been dropped," went on the Officer.
She had heard the expression "dropping his h's." Now she understood it. "Oh, but how'll these help?"
"Show 'em to Thomas!"
She approached the barrel—and pointed down.
Thomas followed her pointing. Instantly his expression became furious. And one by one his ears stood up alertly. "It's him!" he shouted. "Oh, wait till I get my hands on him!" Then heaving hard at the barrel, he raced off along the alphabetical trail.
Gwendolyn was compelled to run to keep up with him. "What's the trouble?" she asked the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
"A Dictionarial difference," he answered, his dark-skinned face very grave.
"Oh!" (She resolved to hunt Dictionarial up the moment she was back in the school-room.)
Thomas was shouting once more from where he labored in the lead. "I'll murder him!" he threatened. "This time I'll mur-r-der him!"
Murder? That made matters clear! There was only one person against whom Thomas bore such hot ill-will. "It's the King's English," she panted.
"It's the King's English," agreed the Policeman, tick-tocking in rapid tempo.
She reached again to tug gently at a ragged sleeve. "Do you know him?" she asked.
The round black eyes of the little old gentleman shone proudly down at her. "All nice people are well acquainted with the King's English," he declared—which statement she had often heard in the nursery. Now, however, it embarrassed her, for she was compelled to admit to herself that she was not acquainted with the King's English—and he a personage of such consequence!
The Piper hurried alongside, all his pipes rattling. "Just where are we goin', anyhow?" he asked petulantly.
"We're going to the Bear's Den," informed the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
"And here's the Zoo now," announced the Policeman.
It was unmistakably the Zoo. Gwendolyn recognized the main entrance. For above it, in monster letters formed by electric lights, was a sign, bulbous and blinding—
"So this is the Gate you meant!" she called to the Policeman.
The Gate was flung invitingly wide Thomas rushed toward it, his fourteen ears flopping horribly.
"And here he is!" cried the Policeman. "On guard."
The next moment—"'Alt!" ordered a harsh voice—a voice with an English accent.
There was a flash of scarlet before Gwendolyn's face—of scarlet so vivid that it blinded. She flung up a hand. But she was not frightened. She knew what it was. And rubbed at her eyes hastily to clear them.
He stood in full view.
As far as outward appearance was concerned, he was exactly the looking person she had pictured in her own mind—young and tall and lusty, with a florid countenance and hair as blonde as her own. And he wore the uniform of an English soldier—short coat of scarlet, all gold braid and brass buttons; dark trousers with stripes; and a little round cap with a chin strap.
But he carried no cane. Instead, as he stepped forward, nose up, chin up, eyes very bold, he swung a most amazing weapon. It was as scarlet as his own coat, as long as he was tall, and polished to a high degree. But it was not unbending, like a sword: It was limber to whippiness, so that as he twirled it about his blonde head it snapped and whistled. And Gwendolyn remembered having seen others exactly like it hanging on the bill-board at the Face-Shop. For it was a tongue!
"Aw! Mah word!" exclaimed the King's English, surveying the halted group.
Gwendolyn could not imagine what word he had in mind, but she thought him very fine. With his air of proud self-assurance, and his fine brilliant uniform, he was strikingly like her own red-coated toy! Anxious to make a favorable impression upon him, she smoothed the gingham dress hastily, brushed back straying wisps of yellow, straightened her shoulders, and assumed a cordial expression of countenance.
"How do you do," she said, curtseying.
He saluted. But blocked the way.
"May we go into the Zoo, please?"
His hand jerked down to his side. "One at a time," he answered; "—all but Thomas."
Thomas had come short with the others. Now as Gwendolyn looked at him she saw that he, also, was armed with a tongue—a warped and twisted affair, rough, but thin along its edges.
"If you try to keep me out," he cried, "I certainly will murder you!"
At this juncture the Policeman pit-patted forward and took his station at the left of the Gate. Next, the King's English stepped back until he stood at the right. Between them, hand in hand once more, passed Gwendolyn and the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
The Piper came next. "Call that a' English tongue?" he asked, with an impudent grin at the soldier's shining weapon.
"Yes, sir."
"Pah!"
Now Thomas gave Jane a quick shove forward—but a shove which sent her only as far as the Gate.
The King's English stared down at her. "How are you?" he said coldly.
"I'm awful uncomfortable," was the mournful answer.
"Then take off your stays," he advised. Whereat the polished tongue glanced through the light, caught Jane fairly around the waist, and with a swift recoil brought her to her feet!
And now Gwendolyn, astonished, saw that too much laughter had again remolded that sateen bulk. The nurse had grown woefully heavy about the shoulders—which put a fearful strain on the stitches of her bodice! and gave her the appearance of a gigantic humming-top! As she swayed a moment on her wide-toed shoes—shoes now utterly lacking buttons—the King's English again struck out, caught her, this time, around the neck, and sent her spinning through the Gate!
"Zing-g-g-g!" she laughed dizzily—that laugh the high, persistent note of a top!
Thomas attempted to follow. "I just will come in," he cried, wielding his warped weapon with a flourish.
"You shall not!" To bar the way, the King's English thrust out his polished tongue.
"I will!" Crack! Crack!
"You won't!" Crack! Crack!
The fight was on! For the combatants, tongue's-length from each other, were prowling to and fro menacingly.
"Oh, there's going to be a tongue-lashing," cried Gwendolyn, frightened.
"I'm the King's Hinglish!"—it was the soldier's slogan.
"This is me!" sang Thomas, saucily flicking at a brass button. His face was all cunning.
Then how the tongues popped!
"This is I!" corrected the King's English promptly. But his face got a trifle more florid.
"Steady!" counseled the little old gentleman.
"I'm hall right," the other cried back.
"Oh, Piper!" said Gwendolyn; "which side are you on?"
The Piper shifted his tobacco pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. "I'm for the man that's got the cash," he declared.
There was no doubt about Jane's choice. Seeing Thomas's momentary advantage, she came spinning close to the Gate. "Use h-words, Thomas!" she hummed. "Use h-words!"
Thomas acted upon her advice. "Hack and hit and hammer!" he charged. "Haggle and halve and hamper! Halt and hang and harass!"
"'Ack and 'it and 'ammer!" struck back the King's English, beginning to breath hard. "Aggie and 'alve and 'amper! 'Alt and 'ang and 'arass!"
As the tongues met, Gwendolyn saw small bright splinters fly this way and that—a shower of them! These splinters darted downward, falling upon the road. And each, as it lit, was an h!
The Policeman was frightened. "Which is your best foot?" he called.
The King's English indicated his right. "This!"
"Then put it forward!"
"My goodness!" exclaimed Gwendolyn. "Am I seeing this, or is it just Pretend?"
Thomas now warmed to the fray. "Harm!" he scourged, "Harness! Hash! Hew! Hoodwink! Hurt and hurk!"
"'Eavens!" breathed the King's English.
"Turn your cold shoulder," advised the little old gentleman.
The King's English thrust out the right. And it helped! "Oh, hayches don't matter," he panted. "I'm hall right has long has 'is grammar doesn't get too bad." And off came one of Thomas's ears—a large one—and blew along the ground like a great leaf.
That was an unfortunate boast. For Thomas, enraged by the loss of an ear, fought with renewed zeal. "If you see he, just tell I!" he shouted.
The King's English went pallid. "If you see 'im, just tell me," he gasped, meeting Thomas gallantly—with the loss of only one splinter.
"Oh, I want you to win!" called Gwendolyn to him.
But the contest was unequal. That was now plain. The King's English had polish and finish. Thomas had more: his tongue, newly sharpened, cut deep at each blow.
Unequal as was the contest, Jane's interference a second time made it more so. For as the fighters trampled to and fro, seeking the better of each other, she twirled near again. "Try your verbs, Thomas!" she counseled. "Try your verbs!"
Eagerly Thomas grasped this second hint. "By which I could was!" he cried, with a curling stroke of the warped tongue; "or shall am!"
At that, the King's English showed distressing weakness. He seemed scarcely to have enough strength for another snap. "By w'ich I could be!" he whipped back feebly; "or shall 'ave been!" And staggered sidewise.
Now the warped and twisted tongue began to chant past-participially: "I done! I done!! I done!!!"
"'Elp!" implored the King's English, fairly wan. "Friends, this—this fellow 'as treated me houtrageously for—for yaaws!"
"Oh, worser and worser and worser," pursued Thomas, changing suddenly to adverbs.
"Rawly now—!" The King's English tottered to his knees.
"I did," prompted Gwendolyn, eager to help him.
"I did," repeated the King's English—but the polished tongue slipped from his grasp!
"I seen!" followed up Thomas. "I sung!" Crack! Crack!
It was the last fatal onslaught.
The scarlet-coated figure fell forward. Yet bravely he strove again to give tongue-lash for tongue-lash—by reaching out one palsied hand toward his weapon.
"I—I—s-a-w!" he muttered; "I s-s-s-ing!"—And expired, with his last breath gasping good grammar.
Instantly Thomas leaped the prostrate figure and strode to the Gate. He was breathing hard, but looking about him boldly. "Now I come through," he boasted.
"O-o-o!" It was Gwendolyn's cry. "Officer, don't let him! Don't!"
In answer to her appeal, the Policeman seized Thomas by a lower ear and shoved him against a gate-post. "You've committed murder!" he cried. "And I arrest you!"
"Tongue-tie him!" shouted the little old gentleman, springing to jerk Thomas's weapon out of his hand, and to snatch up the nicked and splintered weapon of the vanquished soldier.
Under the great blazing sign of the Zoo entrance the capture was accomplished. And in a moment, from his feet to his very ears, Thomas was wrapped, arms tight against sides, in the scarlet toils of the tongues.
"So!" exclaimed the little old gentleman as he tied a last knot. "Thomas'll never bother my little girl again." And taking Gwendolyn by the hand, he led her away.
It was not until she had gone some distance that she turned to take a last look back. And saw, there beside the wide Gate, a rubber-plant, its long leaves waving gently. It was Thomas, bound securely, and abandoned.
Yet she did not pity him. He had murdered the King's English, and he deserved his punishment. Furthermore, he looked so green, so cool, so ornamental!
CHAPTER XIII
So far, the Piper had seemed to be no one's friend—unless, perhaps, his own. He had lagged along, surly or boisterous by turns, and careless of his manners; not even showing respect to the Man-Who-Makes-Faces and the Policeman! But now Gwendolyn remarked a change in him. For as he spoke to her, he took his pipe out of his mouth—under the pretext of cleaning it.
"Say!" he began in a cautious undertone: "I'll give you some advice about Jane."
Gwendolyn was looking about her at the Zoo. Its roofs seemed countless. They touched, having no streets between them anywhere, and reached as far as she could see. They were all heights, all shapes, all varieties—some being level, others coming to a point at one corner, a few ending in a tower. One tower, on the outer-most edge of the Zoo, was square, and tapered.
"Jane?" she said indifferently. "Oh, she's only a top."
"Only a top!" It was the little old gentleman. "Why, that makes her all the more dangerous!"
"Because she's spinning so fast"—the Policeman balanced on one arm while he shook an emphatic finger—"that she'll stir up trouble!"
"Well, then, what shall I do?" asked Gwendolyn. For, elated over seeing Thomas disposed of so completely—and yet with so much mercy—she was impatient at hearing that she still had reason to fear the nurse.
The Piper took his time about replying. He sharpened one end of a match, thrust the bit of pine into the stem of his pipe, jabbed away industriously, threw away the match, blew through the stem once or twice, and turned the bowl upside down to make it plop, plop against a palm. Then, "Keep Jane laughin'," he counseled, "—and see what happens."
Jane was alongside, spinning comfortably on her shoe-leather point. Now, as if she had overheard, or guessed a plot, sudden uneasiness showed on both her countenances, and she increased her speed.
"You done up Thomas, the lot of you," she charged, as she whirled away. "But you don't git me."
"And we won't," declared Gwendolyn, "if we don't hurry up and trip her."
"A good idear!" chimed in the Piper.
"If we only had some string!" cried the little old gentleman.
"String won't do," said the Policeman. "We need rope."
There was a high wind sweeping the roofs. And as the three began to run about, searching, it fluttered the Policeman's coat-tails, swelled out the Piper's cap, and tugged at the ragged garb of the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
"Here's a piece of clothes-line!"
The Policeman made the find—catching sight of the line where it dangled from the edge of a roof. The others hastened to join him. And each seized the rope in both hands, the Piper staying at one end of it, the little old gentleman at the opposite, while Gwendolyn and the Policeman posted themselves at proper distances between. Then forward in a row swept all, carrying the rope with them. It was a curious one of its kind—as black as if it had been tarred, thick at the middle, but noticeably thin at one end.
Jane saw their design. "Ba-a-a!" she mocked. "I'm not afraid of you! I'm goin' to turn the Big Rock. Then you'll see!" And she made straight toward the square tower in the distance.
"Oh!" It was the little old gentleman, beard blown sidewise by the wind. "We musn't let her!"
The Piper, in his excitement, jounced the pig so hard that it squealed. "We ought to be able," he panted, "to manage a top."
"Jane!" bellowed the Policeman, galloping hard. "You must not injure that shaft!"
Then Gwendolyn realized that the square tower toward which the nurse was spinning was the Big Rock. And she recognized it as a certain great pillar of pink granite, up and down the sides of which, deep cut by chisels, were written strange words.
It rose just ahead. Answering the Officer with a shrill, scoffing laugh, Jane bore down upon it. Aided by the wind, she made top speed.
There was not a moment to lose. Her pursuers fairly tore after her. And the Piper, who made the fastest progress, gained—until he was at her very heels. Then with a final leap, he passed her, and circled, dragging the rope.
It made a loop about the buttonless shoes—a loop that tightened as the little old gentleman came short, as the Piper halted. Each gave a pull—
With disastrous result! For as the line came taut, up Jane went!—caught bodily from the ground. And still spinning, whizzed forward in that high wind and struck the granite squarely.
She fell to the ground, toppling sidewise, and bulking large.
But the shaft! It began to move—slowly at first—to tip forward, farther and farther. When, gaining velocity, with a great grinding noise, down from off the massive cube upon which it stood it came crashing!
Instantly a chorus of cries arose: "Oh, she's bumped over the obelisk! She's bumped over the obelisk!"
With the cries, and sounding from beneath the tapered end of the Big Rock, mingled ferocious growls—"Rar! Rar! Rar! Rar!"
And in that same moment, the four who were holding the rope felt it begin to writhe and twist in their grasp!—like a live thing. And its black length took on a scaly look, glittering in that pink glow as if it were covered with small ebon paillettes. It grew cold and clammy. At its thicker end Gwendolyn saw that the Piper was supporting a head—a head with small, fiery eyes and a tongue flame-like in its color and swift darting. Next, "Hiss-s-s-s-s!" And with one hideous contortion, the huge black body wrung itself free and coiled.
Once Gwendolyn had boasted that she was not afraid of snakes. And now she did not flee, though the black coils were piled at her very feet. For she recognized the serpent. There was no mistaking that thin face and those small eyes. Moreover, a pocket-handkerchief was bound round the reptilian jaws and tied at the top of the head in a bow-knot.
She had gotten rid of Thomas. But here was Miss Royle!
There was no time for greetings. Again were sounding those furious growls—"Rar! Rar! Rar!"
Jane swung round in a half-circle to warn the governess. "It's that Bear!" she hummed. "Can't you drive him away?"
Miss Royle began to uncoil.
The Policeman was tick-tocking up and down. "The Den's damaged!" he lamented.
"Now, who's goin' to pay?" demanded the Piper.
"I'm afraid the Bear's hurt," declared the Man-Who-Makes-Faces.
In her eagerness to trip Jane, Gwendolyn had utterly forgotten the Bear's Den. Now she saw it—a large cage, light in color, its bars woven closely together. And she saw too—with horror—that what the Policeman said was true: In falling, the Big Rock had broken the cover of the Den. This cover was flopping up and down on its hinges.
"Oh, he's loose!" she gasped.
"Rar! Rar! Rar-r-r!"
The Bear himself was knocking the cover into the air. The top of his head could be seen as he hopped about, evidently in pain.
And now an extraordinary thing happened: A black glittering body shot rustling through the grass to the side of the Den. Then up went a scaly head, and forth darted a flaming tongue—driving the Bear back under the cover!
At which the Bear rebelled. For his growls turned into a muffled protest—"Now, you stop, Miss Royle! I won't be treated like this! I won't!"
Then Gwendolyn understood Jane's hum! And why the governess had obeyed it so swiftly. The light-colored cage with the loose cover was nothing else than the old linen-hamper! As for the Bear—!
Hair flying, cheeks crimson, eyes shining with quick tears of joy, she darted past Jane, leaped the glittering snake-folds before the hamper, and swung the cover up on its hinges.
"Puffy!" she cried. "Oh, Puffy!"
It was indeed Puffy, with his plushy brown head, his bright, shoe-button eyes, his red-tipped, sharply pointed nose, his adorably tiny ears, and deep-cut, tightly shut, determined mouth. It was Puffy, as dear as ever! As old and as squashy!
He stood up in the hamper to look at her, leaning his front paws—in rather a dignified manner—on the broken edge of the basketry. He was breathing hard from his contest, but smiling nevertheless.
"Ah!" said he, affably. "The Poor Little Rich Girl, I see!"
Gwendolyn's first impulse was to take him up in her arms. But his proud air, combined with the fact that he had grown tremendously, caused her to check the impulse.
"How do you do?" she inquired politely.
"I'm pretty shabby, thank you."
"Oh, it's so good to hear your voice again!" she exclaimed. "When you left, I didn't have a chance to tell you good-by."
It was then that she noticed a white something fluttering at his breast, just under his left fore-leg. "Excuse me," she said apologetically, "but aren't you losing your pocket handkerchief?"
Sadly he shook his head. "It's my stuffing," he explained. And gently withdrawing his paw from her eager grasp, laid it upon his breast. "You see, the Big Rock—"
The little old gentleman was beside him, examining the wound; muttering to himself.
"Can you mend him?" asked Gwendolyn. "Oh, Puffy!"
The little old gentleman began to empty his pockets of the articles with which he had provided himself—the ear, the handful of hair, the plump cheek. "Ah! Ah!" he breathed as he examined each one; and to and fro wagged the grizzled beard. "I'm afraid—! I must have help. This is a case that will require a specialist."
The tone was so solemn that it frightened her. "Oh, do you mean we need a Doctor?"
Puffy was trembling weakly. "I lost some cotton-batting once before," he half-whispered to Gwendolyn. "It was when you were teething. Oh, I know it was unintentional! You were so little. But—I can't spare any more."
Down into the patch-pocket went her hand. Out came the lip-case. She thrust it into his furry grasp. "Keep this," she bade, "till I come back. I'll go for the Doctor."
The Man-Who-Makes-Faces leaned down. "Fly!" he urged.
At that, Jane began to circle once more. "Lovie," she hummed, "don't you go! He'll give you nasty medicine!"
"Hiss-s-s-s!" chimed in Miss Royle, her bandaged head rising and lowering in assent. "He'll cut out your appendix."
One moment she hesitated, feeling the old fear drive the blood from her cheeks—to her wildly beating heart. Then she saw Puffy sway, half fainting. And obeying the command of the little old gentleman, she grasped her gingham dress at either side—held it out to its fullest width—and with the wind pouching the little skirt, left the high grass, passed up through the lights of the nearby trees—and rose into the higher air!
She gave a glance down as she went. How excitedly Jane was circling! How Miss Royle was lashing the ground!
But the faces of the other three were smiling encouragement. And she flew for her very life. Lightly she went—as if there were nothing to her but her little gingham dress; as if that empty dress, having tugged at some swagging clothes-line until it was free, were now being wafted across the roofs, the tree-tops, the smooth windings of a road, to—
A bake-shop, without doubt! For her nostrils caught the good smell of fresh bread. Suddenly the shop loomed ahead of her. She alighted to have a look at it.
It was a round, high, stone building, with stone steps leading up to it from every side, and columns ranged in a circle at the top of the steps. Seated on the bottom step, engrossed in some task, was a man.
As Gwendolyn looked at him she told herself that the Man-Who-Makes-Faces had given this customer such a nice face; the eyes, in particular, were kind.
He had a large pan of bread-dough beside him. Out of it, now, he gouged a spoonful, which he began to roll between his palms. And as he rolled the dough, it became rounder and rounder, until it was ball-like. It turned browner and browner, too, precisely as if it were baking in his hands! When he was finished with it, he piled it to one side, atop other brown pellets.
She advanced to speak. "Please," she began, pointing a small finger, "what is this place?"
He glanced up. "This, little girl, is the Pillery."
The Pillery! Instantly she knew what he was making—bread-pills.
And the bread-pills helped her to recognize him. She dimpled cordially. "I haven't seen you since I had the colic," she said, nodding, "but I know you. You're the Doctor!"
The Doctor was most cordial, shaking her hand gently; after which, naturally enough, he felt her pulse.
"But there's nothing the matter with me," she protested. "It's my dear Puffy. You remember."
Now he rose solemnly, selected a fresh-baked pill, bowed to the right, again to the left, last of all, to her—and presented the pill.
"In that case, Miss Gwendolyn," he said, smiling down, "a toast!"
And—quite in contrast to the evening of her seventh birthday anniversary—toast there was, deliciously crisp and crunchy!
"Oo! How good!" she exclaimed, not nibbling conventionally, but taking big bites. "'Cause I hate cake!"
The next moment she became aware of the munching of others. And on looking round, found that she was back at the Den. She was not surprised. Things had a way of coming to pass in a pleasantly instantaneous fashion. And she was glad to see the little old gentleman, the Piper and the Policeman each fairly gobbling up a pellet. Miss Royle was eating, too, and Jane was stuffing both mouths.
But Puffy was having quite different fare. In front of him stood the Doctor, busily feeding filmy white bits into the tear just under a fore-leg.
"I think you'll find," assured the latter, "that a proper amount of cotton-batting is most refreshing."
"Once I wanted Jane to take me to the Doll Hospital," complained Puffy, his shoe-button eyes hard with resentment; "but she said I was only a little beast."
Gwendolyn looked severe. "Jane, you'll be sorry for that," she scolded.
"Ah-ha! my dear!" said the Man-Who-Makes-Faces, addressing the nurse, "at last one of your chickens is coming home to roost!"
Gwendolyn glanced up. And, sure enough, a chicken was going past—a small blue hen, who looked exceedingly fagged. (This was an occurrence worth noting. How often had she heard the selfsame remark—and never seen as much as a feather!)
Jane also saw the blue hen. And appeared much disconcerted. "I think I'll take forty winks," she hummed; "—twenty for the front face, and twenty for the back." Whereupon she made a few quick revolutions, landing up against the granite base of the obelisk.
The Doctor had been sewing up the tear in Puffy's coat. Now he finished his seam and knotted the thread. "There!" said he, cheerily. "You're as good as new!"
"Thank you," said Puffy. "And I feel so grateful to you, Miss Gwendolyn, that I must repay your kindness. You've always heard a certain statement about Jane, yonder. Well, I'm going to prove that it's true."
"What's true?" asked Gwendolyn, puzzled.
He made no answer. But after a short whispered conference with the Policeman, turned his back and began sniffing and snarling under his breath, while a fore-paw was busy in the region of his third rib. When he faced round again, the shoe-button eyes were shining triumphantly, and he was holding both fore-paws together tightly.
"I found one!" he cried. And wabbling over to Jane, stationed himself on one side of her, at the same time motioning the Officer to steal round to the other side on quiet hands.
And now Gwendolyn saw that Jane, though she was only feigning sleep, was ignorant of what was happening. For her double equipment of faces had its disadvantages. Even when upright she had not been able to roll one eye forward while its mate was on guard in the rear. And reclining flat upon her back, she could not rumble her eyes forward to her front face for the reason that they would not roll up-hill. Both stayed in the back of her head, where they could see only the ground.
Very cautiously Puffy put his fore-paws to Jane's ear—suddenly separated them—and waited.
A moment. Then, "Well, finding this out, you can wager I don't stay heels over head no more!" cried the Policeman. And with a wriggle and a twist and a bound, he gave a half somersault and stood on his feet!
At once, the bottoms of his trouser-legs came down over his shoes, his coat-tails fell about him properly, uncovering his shield and his belt, and his club took its place at his right side. "Ouch!" he exclaimed. And began to scratch hard at the spot just between his shoulder-blades. At the same time, the tears that were in his cap flowed out and down his face. So that he seemed to be weeping.
The Doctor, leaning close beside Gwendolyn, was all sympathy. "There is no reason to feel bad," he said kindly. "The operation was successful."
"Feel bad!" repeated the Policeman. "Why, I'm laughing. Ha! Ha! We put a flea in her ear!"
At that, Jane began to laugh "Oh, laws!" she exclaimed, sleeve to mouth once more. "Oh, I never heard the like of it!"
"Rar!" growled Puffy, delighted. "The plan is working! See her growl!"
"That flea went in one ear and came out the other," declared the little old gentleman, poking Jane with the toe of a worn shoe.
Jane laughed the harder. "Oh, it's awful funny!" she cried, rocking herself to and fro—and steadily increasing her girth. "Oh! Oh! Oh!"
"We've proved that you're empty-headed," said Puffy.
And now the nurse was seized by a very paroxysm of mirth. Both faces distorted, she whopped over and over.
"That's right! Split your sides alaughin'," cried the Piper.
At these words, sudden terror showed on her face. For the first time she saw the trap into which she had been led!
Yet she could not check her laughter. "Oh, ho!" she gasped hysterically; "oh!—"
It was her last. Black sateen could stand no more.
She gave a final and feeble rock. Both revolving faces paled. Then there sounded a loud pop—like the bursting of an automobile tire. Next, a ripping—
"Look!" cried Gwendolyn.
There were great rents down the front seams of Jane's waist!
The nurse guessed what had happened, and clutched desperately at the gaping seams with both fat hands—now in front, now at the sides, striving to hold the rips together.
To no avail! All the laughter was gone out of her. Quickly she collapsed, her sateen hanging in loose, ragged strips. Once more she was just ordinary nurse-maid size.
"Oh, will she die?" asked Gwendolyn, anxiously.
The Doctor knelt to grasp Jane's wrist. "No," he answered gravely; "she'll only have to go back to the Employment Agency."
"I won't!" cried Jane. "I won't!—Miss Royle!"
"Hiss-ss-ss!"
"Get you-know-what out of the way! A certain person musn't talk to it! If she does she'll find—"
"I understand!" hissed back the snake.
You-know-what? Gwendolyn was troubled.
Now the Policeman and the Piper, assisted by Puffy, picked the nurse up and packed her into the linen-hamper. Whereupon the little old gentleman slapped down the cover and tied a large tag to it. On the tag was written—Employment Agency, Down-Town!"
"I'm done with her" said Gwendolyn; "—if she is a perfectly good top."
"You're rid of me," answered Jane, calling through the weave of the hamper "Yes! But how about Miss Royle?"
"We'll send her back too," declared the Man-Who-Makes-Faces. "Here! Where are you?" He ran about, searching.
The others searched also—through the grass, behind the granite shift, everywhere. Concern sobered each face.
For the snake-in-the-grass was gone!