The Phoenix and the Carpet, E. Nesbit [good inspirational books .txt] 📗

Robert found that they were hardly a match for the rough crowd. They could think of nothing nasty enough to say. They turned a corner sharply, and then Anthea pulled Jane into an archway, and then inside a door; Cyril and Robert quickly followed, and the jeering crowd passed by without seeing them.

Anthea drew a long breath.

“How awful!” she said. “I didn’t know there were such people, except in books.”

“It was a bit thick; but it’s partly you girls’ fault, coming out in those flashy coats.”

“We thought we ought to, when we were going out with the Phoenix,” said Jane; and the bird said, “Quite right, too”⁠—and incautiously put out his head to give her a wink of encouragement.

And at the same instant a dirty hand reached through the grim balustrade of the staircase beside them and clutched the Phoenix, and a hoarse voice said⁠—

“I say, Urb, blowed if this ain’t our Poll parrot what we lost. Thank you very much, lidy, for bringin’ ’im home to roost.”

The four turned swiftly. Two large and ragged boys were crouched amid the dark shadows of the stairs. They were much larger than Robert and Cyril, and one of them had snatched the Phoenix away and was holding it high above their heads.

“Give me that bird,” said Cyril, sternly: “it’s ours.”

“Good arternoon, and thankin’ you,” the boy went on, with maddening mockery. “Sorry I can’t give yer tuppence for yer trouble⁠—but I’ve ’ad to spend my fortune advertising for my vallyable bird in all the newspapers. You can call for the reward next year.”

“Look out, Ike,” said his friend, a little anxiously; “it ’ave a beak on it.”

“It’s other parties as’ll have the Beak on to ’em presently,” said Ike, darkly, “if they come a-trying to lay claims on my Poll parrot. You just shut up, Urb. Now then, you four little gells, get out er this.”

“Little girls!” cried Robert. “I’ll little girl you!”

He sprang up three stairs and hit out.

There was a squawk⁠—the most birdlike noise anyone had ever heard from the Phoenix⁠—and a fluttering, and a laugh in the darkness, and Ike said⁠—

“There now, you’ve been and gone and strook my Poll parrot right in the fevvers⁠—strook ’im something crool, you ’ave.”

Robert stamped with fury. Cyril felt himself growing pale with rage, and with the effort of screwing up his brain to make it clever enough to think of some way of being even with those boys. Anthea and Jane were as angry as the boys, but it made them want to cry. Yet it was Anthea who said⁠—

“Do, please, let us have the bird.”

“Dew, please, get along and leave us an’ our bird alone.”

“If you don’t,” said Anthea, “I shall fetch the police.”

“You better!” said he who was named Urb. “Say, Ike, you twist the bloomin’ pigeon’s neck; he ain’t worth tuppence.”

“Oh, no,” cried Jane, “don’t hurt it. Oh, don’t; it is such a pet.”

“I won’t hurt it,” said Ike; “I’m ’shamed of you, Urb, for to think of such a thing. Arf a shiner, miss, and the bird is yours for life.”

“Half a what?” asked Anthea.

“Arf a shiner, quid, thick ’un⁠—half a sov, then.”

“I haven’t got it⁠—and, besides, it’s our bird,” said Anthea.

“Oh, don’t talk to him,” said Cyril and then Jane said suddenly⁠—

“Phoenix⁠—dear Phoenix, we can’t do anything. You must manage it.”

“With pleasure,” said the Phoenix⁠—and Ike nearly dropped it in his amazement.

“I say, it do talk, suthin’ like,” said he.

“Youths,” said the Phoenix, “sons of misfortune, hear my words.”

“My eyes!” said Ike.

“Look out, Ike,” said Urb, “you’ll throttle the joker⁠—and I see at wunst ’e was wuth ’is weight in flimsies.”

“Hearken, O Eikonoclastes, despiser of sacred images⁠—and thou, Urbanus, dweller in the sordid city. Forbear this adventure lest a worse thing befall.”

“Luv’ us!” said Ike, “ain’t it been taught its schoolin’ just!”

“Restore me to my young acolytes and escape unscathed. Retain me⁠—and⁠—”

“They must ha’ got all this up, case the Polly got pinched,” said Ike. “Lor’ lumme, the artfulness of them young uns!”

“I say, slosh ’em in the geseech and get clear off with the swag’s wot I say,” urged Herbert.

“Right O,” said Isaac.

“Forbear,” repeated the Phoenix, sternly. “Who pinched the click off of the old bloke in Aldermanbury?” it added, in a changed tone. “Who sneaked the nose-rag out of the young gell’s ’and in Bell Court? Who⁠—”

“Stow it,” said Ike. “You! ugh! yah!⁠—leave go of me. Bash him off, Urb; ’e’ll have my bloomin’ eyes outer my ’ed.”

There were howls, a scuffle, a flutter; Ike and Urb fled up the stairs, and the Phoenix swept out through the doorway. The children followed and the Phoenix settled on Robert, “like a butterfly on a rose,” as Anthea said afterwards, and wriggled into the breast of his Norfolk jacket, “like an eel into mud,” as Cyril later said.

“Why ever didn’t you burn him? You could have, couldn’t you?” asked Robert, when the hurried flight through the narrow courts had ended in the safe wideness of Farringdon Street.

“I could have, of course,” said the bird, “but I didn’t think it would be dignified to allow myself to get warm about a little thing like that. The Fates, after all, have not been illiberal to me. I have a good many friends among the London sparrows, and I have a beak and claws.”

These happenings had somewhat shaken the adventurous temper of the children, and the Phoenix had to exert its golden self to hearten them up.

Presently the children came to a great house in Lombard Street, and there, on each side of the door, was the image of the Phoenix carved in stone, and set forth on shining brass were the words⁠—

Phoenix Fire Office

“One moment,” said the bird. “Fire? For altars, I suppose?”

“I don’t know,” said Robert; he was beginning to feel shy, and that always made him rather cross.

“Oh, yes, you do,” Cyril contradicted. “When people’s houses are burnt down the Phoenix gives them new houses. Father told me; I asked him.”

“The house, then, like the Phoenix, rises