The Wouldbegoods: Being the Further Adventures of the Treasure Seekers, E. Nesbit [red novels .TXT] 📗

was really very bad, like a spider that has been in the ink-pot crawling in a hurry over the paper without stopping to rub its feet properly on the mat. So Oswald took the letter. He is above minding a little marmalade or bacon. He began to read. It ran thus:

‘It’s not Antiquities, you little silly,’ he said; ‘it’s Antiquaries.’

‘The other’s a very good word,’ said Albert’s uncle, ‘and I never call names at breakfast myself—it upsets the digestion, my egregious Oswald.’

‘That’s a name though,’ said Alice, ‘and you got it out of “Stalky”, too. Go on, Oswald.’

So Oswald went on where he had been interrupted:

‘MAIDSTONE SOCIETY OF “ANTIQUARIES” AND FIELD CLUB

Aug. 14,1900.

‘DEAR SIR,—At a meeting of the Committee of this Society it was agreed that a field day should be held on Aug. 20, when the Society proposes to visit the interesting church of Ivybridge and also the Roman remains in the vicinity. Our president, Mr Longchamps, F.R.S., has obtained permission to open a barrow in the Three Trees pasture. We venture to ask whether you would allow the members of the Society to walk through your grounds and to inspect—from without, of course—your beautiful house, which is, as you are doubtless aware, of great historic interest, having been for some years the residence of the celebrated Sir Thomas Wyatt.—I am, dear Sir, yours faithfully,

‘EDWARD K. TURNBULL (Hon. Sec.).’

‘Just so,’ said Albert’s uncle; ‘well, shall we permit the eye of the Maidstone Antiquities to profane these sacred solitudes, and the foot of the Field Club to kick up a dust on our gravel?’

‘Our gravel is all grass,’ H. O. said.

And the girls said, ‘Oh, do let them come!’ It was Alice who said—

‘Why not ask them to tea? They’ll be very tired coming all the way from Maidstone.’

‘Would you really like it?’ Albert’s uncle asked. ‘I’m afraid they’ll be but dull dogs, the Antiquities, stuffy old gentlemen with amphorae in their buttonholes instead of orchids, and pedigrees poking out of all their pockets.’

We laughed—because we knew what an amphorae is. If you don’t you might look it up in the dicker. It’s not a flower, though it sounds like one out of the gardening book, the kind you never hear of anyone growing.

Dora said she thought it would be splendid.

‘And we could have out the best china,’ she said, ‘and decorate the table with flowers. We could have tea in the garden. We’ve never had a party since we’ve been here.’

‘I warn you that your guests may be boresome; however, have it your own way,’ Albert’s uncle said; and he went off to write the invitation to tea to the Maidstone Antiquities. I know that is the wrong word but somehow we all used it whenever we spoke of them, which was often.

In a day or two Albert’s uncle came in to tea with a lightly-clouded brow.

‘You’ve let me in for a nice thing,’ he said. ‘I asked the Antiquities to tea, and I asked casually how many we might expect. I thought we might need at least the full dozen of the best teacups. Now the secretary writes accepting my kind invitation—’

‘Oh, good!’ we cried. ‘And how many are coming?’ ‘Oh, only about sixty,’ was the groaning rejoinder. ‘Perhaps more, should the weather be exceptionally favourable.’

Though stunned at first, we presently decided that we were pleased.

We had never, never given such a big party.

The girls were allowed to help in the kitchen, where Mrs Pettigrew made cakes all day long without stopping. They did not let us boys be there, though I cannot see any harm in putting your finger in a cake before it is baked, and then licking your finger, if you are careful to put a different finger in the cake next time. Cake before it is baked is delicious—like a sort of cream.

Albert’s uncle said he was the prey of despair. He drove in to Maidstone one day. When we asked him where he was going, he said—

‘To get my hair cut: if I keep it this length I shall certainly tear it out by double handfuls in the extremity of my anguish every time I think of those innumerable Antiquities.’

But we found out afterwards that he really went to borrow china and things to give the Antiquities their tea out of; though he did have his hair cut too, because he is the soul of truth and honour.

Oswald had a very good sort of birthday, with bows and arrows as well as other presents. I think these were meant to make up for the pistol that was taken away after the adventure of the fox-hunting. These gave us boys something to do between the birthday-keeping, which was on the Saturday, and the Wednesday when the Antiquities were to come.

We did not allow the girls to play with the bows and arrows, because they had the cakes that we were cut off from: there was little or no unpleasantness over this.

On the Tuesday we went down to look at the Roman place where the Antiquities were going to dig. We sat on the Roman wall and ate nuts. And as we sat there, we saw coming through the beet-field two labourers with picks and shovels, and a very young man with thin legs and a bicycle. It turned out afterwards to be a free-wheel, the first we had ever seen.

They stopped at a mound inside the Roman wall, and the men took their coats off and spat on their hands.

We went down at once, of course. The thin-legged bicyclist explained his machine to us very fully and carefully when we asked him, and then we saw the men were cutting turfs and turning them over and rolling them up and putting them in a heap. So we asked the gentleman with the thin legs what they were doing. He said—

‘They are beginning the preliminary excavation in readiness for to-morrow.’

‘What’s up to-morrow?’ H. O. asked.

‘To-morrow we propose to open this barrow and examine it.’

‘Then YOU’RE the Antiquities?’ said H. O.

‘I’m the secretary,’ said the gentleman, smiling, but narrowly.

‘Oh, you’re all coming to tea with us,’ Dora said, and added anxiously, ‘how many of you do you think there’ll be?’

‘Oh, not more than eighty or ninety, I should think,’ replied the gentleman.

This took our breath away and we went home. As we went, Oswald, who notices many things that would pass unobserved by the light and careless, saw Denny frowning hard. So he said, ‘What’s up?’

‘I’ve got an idea,’ the Dentist said. ‘Let’s call a council.’ The Dentist had grown quite used to our ways now. We had called him Dentist ever since the fox-hunt day.