Post Haste, R. M. Ballantyne [sad books to read .TXT] 📗

Chapter Nineteen. Deep-Laid Plans for Checkmating Mr Bones.

Now it chanced that the Post-Office Message-boys’ Literary Association had fixed to hold its first grand soirée on the night of the 15th.

It was a great occasion. Of course it was held in Pegaway Hall, the shed in rear of Solomon Flint’s dwelling. There were long planks on trestles for tables, and school forms to match. There were slabs of indigestible cake, buns in abundance, and tea, with milk and sugar mixed, in illimitable quantities. There were paper flowers, and illuminated texts and proverbs round the walls, the whole being lighted up by two magnificent paraffin lamps, which also served to perfume the hall agreeably to such of the members and guests as happened to be fond of bad smells.

On this particular evening invitations had been issued to several friends of the members of the Association, among whom were Mr Enoch Blurt and Mr Sterling the missionary. No ladies were invited. A spirited discussion had taken place on this point some nights before the soirée, on which occasion the bashful Poker opposed the motion “that invitations should be issued to ladies,” on the ground that, being himself of a susceptible nature, the presence of the fair sex would tend to distract his attention from the business on hand. Big Jack also opposed it, as he thought it wasn’t fair to the fair sex to invite them to a meeting of boys, but Big Jack was immediately called to order, and reminded that the Society was composed of young men, and that it was unmanly—not to say unmannerly—to make puns on the ladies. To this sentiment little Grigs shouted “Hear! hear!” in deafening tones, and begged leave to support the motion. This he did in an eloquent but much interrupted speech, which was finally cut short by Macnab insisting that the time of the Society should not be taken up with an irrelevant commentary on ladies by little Grigs; whereupon Sandy Tod objected to interruptions in general—except when made by himself—and was going on to enlarge on the inestimable blessing of free discussion when he was in turn called to order. Then Blunter and Scroggins, and Fat Collins and Bobby Sprat, started simultaneously to their feet, but were put down by Peter Pax, who rose, and, with a calm dignified wave of his hand, remarked that as the question before the meeting was whether ladies should or should not be invited to the soirée, the simplest plan would be to put it to the vote. On this being done, it was found that the meeting was equally divided, whereupon the chairman—Phil Maylands—gave his casting vote in favour of the amendment, and thus the ladies were excluded from the soirée amid mingled groans and cheers.

But although the fair sex were debarred from joining in the festivities, they were represented on the eventful evening in question by a Mrs Square, an angular washer-woman with only one eye (but that was a piercingly black one), who dwelt in the same court, and who consented to act the double part of tea-maker and doorkeeper for that occasion. As most of the decorations and wreaths had been made and hung up by May Maylands and two of her telegraphic friends, there was a pervading influence of woman about Pegaway Hall, in spite of Phil’s ungallant and un-Irish vote.

When Tottie Bones arrived at the General Post-Office in search of Peter Pax, she was directed to Pegaway Hall by those members of the staff whose duties prevented their attendance at the commencement of the soirée.

Finding the hall with difficulty, she was met and stopped by the uncompromising and one-eyed stare of Mrs Square.

“Please, ma’am, is Mr Peter Pax here?” asked Tottie.

“Yes, he is, but he’s engaged.”

Tottie could not doubt the truth of this, for through the half-open door of the hall she saw and heard the little secretary on his little legs addressing the house.

“Please may I wait till he’s done?” asked Tottie.

“You may, if you keep quiet, but I doubt if he’ll ’ave time to see you even w’en he is done,” said the one-eyed one, fiercely.—“D’you like buns or cake best?”

Tottie was much surprised by the question, but stated at once her decided preference for cake.

“Look here,” said Mrs Square, removing a towel from a large basket.

Tottie looked, and saw that the basket was three-quarters full of buns and cakes.

“That,” said the washer-woman, “is their leavin’s. One on ’em called it the debree of the feast, though what that means is best known to hisself. For one hour by the clock these literairies went at it, tooth an’ nail, but they failed to get through with all that was purwided, though they stuffed themselves to their muzzles.—There, ’elp yourself.”

Tottie selected a moderate slab of the indigestible cake, and sat down on a stool to eat it with as much patience as she could muster in the circumstances.

Peter Pax’s remarks, whatever else they might have been considered, possessed the virtue of brevity. He soon sat down amid much applause, and Mr Sterling rose to speak.

At this point Tottie, who had cast many anxious glances at a small clock which hung in the outer porch or vestibule of the hall, entreated Mrs Square to tell Pax that he was wanted very much indeed.

“I durstn’t,” said Mrs Square; “it’s as much as my sitooation’s worth. I was told by Mr Maylands, the chairman, to allow of no interruptions nor anythink of the kind.”

“But please, ma’am,” pleaded Tottie, with such an earnest face that the woman was touched, “it’s a matter of—of—life an’ death—at least it may be so. Oh! do-o-o-o tell ’im he’s wanted—by Tottie Bones. Only say Tottie Bones, that’ll be sure to bring ’im out.”

“Well—I never!” exclaimed Mrs Square, sticking her fists in her waist and leaning her head to one side in critical scrutiny of her small petitioner. “You do seem cock-sure o’ your powers. H’m! p’r’aps you’re not far out neither. Well, I’ll try it on, though it may cost me a deal of abuse. You sit there an’ see that cats don’t get at the wittles, for the cats in this court are a sharper set than or’nar.”

Mrs Square entered the hall, and begged one of the members near the door to pass up a message—as quietly as possible—to the effect that Mr Pax was wanted.

This was immediately done by the member shouting, irreverently, that the secretary’s mother “’ad come to take ’im ’ome.”

“Order, order! Put ’im out!” from several of the members.

“Any’ow, ’e’s wanted by some one on very partikler business,” growled the irreverent member, and the secretary made his way to the door.

“W’y, Tottie!” exclaimed Pax, taking both the child’s hands patronisingly in his, “what brings you here?”

With a furtive glance at Mrs Square, Tottie said, “Oh! please, I want to speak about something very partikler.”

“Indeed! come out to the court then,” said little Pax, leading the way; “you’ll be able to air the subject better there, whatever it is, and the cats won’t object. Sorry I can’t take you into the hall, little ’un, but ladies ain’t admitted.”

When the child, with eager haste, stated the object of her visit, and wound up her discourse with the earnest remark that her father must be stopped, and mustn’t be took, her small counsellor looked as perplexed and anxious as herself. Wrinkling up his smooth brow, he expressed the belief that it was a difficult world to deal with, and he had had some trouble already in finding out how to manage it.

“You see, Tot,” he said, “this is a great evenin’ with the literary message-boys. Not that I care a rap for that, but I’ve unfortunately got to move a vote of thanks to our lecturer to-night, and say somethin’ about the lecture, which I couldn’t do, you know, unless I remained to hear it. To be sure, I might get some one else to take my place, but I’m not easily spared, for half the fun o’ the evenin’ would be lost if they hadn’t got me to make game of and air their chaff upon. Still, as you say, your dad must have his little game stopped. He must be a great blackg— I beg pardon, Tot, I mean that he must be a great disregarder of the rights of man—woman, as it happens, in this case. However, as you said, with equal truth, he must not be took, for if he was, he’d probably be hanged, and I couldn’t bear to think of your father bein’ scragged. Let me see. When did you say he meant to start?”

“He said to mother that he’d leave at nine, and might ’ave to be out all night.”

“At nine—eh? That would just give ’im time to get to Charing Cross to catch the 9:30 train. Solomon Flint’s lecture will be over about eight. I could polish ’im off in ten minutes or so, and ’ave plenty of time to catch the same train. Yes, that will do. But how am I to know your father, Tot, for you know I haven’t yet had the pleasure of makin’ his acquaintance?”

“Oh, you can’t mistake him,” replied the child confidently. “He’s a big, tall, ’andsome man, with a ’ook nose an’ a great cut on the bridge of it all down ’is left cheek. You’ll be sure to know ’im. But how will you stop ’im?”

“That is more than I can tell at present, my dear,” replied Pax, with a careworn look, “but I’ll hatch a plot of some sort durin’ the lecture.—Let me see,” he added, with sudden animation, glancing at the limited portion of sky that roofed the court, “I might howl ’im down! That’s not a bad idea. Yellin’ is a powerful influence w’en brought properly to bear. D’you mind waitin’ in the porch till the lecture’s over?”

“O no! I can wait as long as ever you please, if you’ll only try to save father,” was Tottie’s piteous response.

“Well, then, go into the porch and sit by the door, so that you can hear and see what’s goin’ on. Don’t be afraid of the one-eyed fair one who guards the portals. She’s not as bad as she looks; only take care that you don’t tread on her toes; she can’t stand that.”

Tottie promised to be careful in this respect, and expressed a belief that she was too light to hurt Mrs Square, even if she did tread on her toes accidentally.

“You’re wrong, Tottie,” returned Pax; “most females of your tender years are apt to jump at wrong conclusions. As you live longer you’ll find out that some people’s toes are so sensitive that they can’t bear a feather’s weight on ’em. W’y, there’s a member of our Society who riles up directly if you even look at his toes. We keep that member’s feet in hot water pretty continuously, we do.—There now, I’ll be too late if I keep on talkin’ like this. You’ll not feel tired of the lecture, for Solomon’s sure to be interesting, whatever his subject may be. I don’t know what it is—he hasn’t told us yet.