The Project Gutenberg EBook of Minkie, by Louis Tracy This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Minkie Author: Louis Tracy Illustrator: H. Richard Boehm Release Date: December 9, 2018 [EBook #58434] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINKIE *** Produced by D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net cover MINKIE BY LOUIS TRACY Author of “The Wings of the Morning,” “The Pillar of Light,” “The Captain of the Kansas,” etc. Toronto McLeod & Allen Publishers 1907 Copyright, 1907 By EDWARD J. CLODE. Entered at Stationers’ Hall The Plimpton Press Norwood Mass. U.S.A. Minkie CONTENTS PAGE CHAPTER I How a Bogey-Man Came to Dale End 3 CHAPTER II Prince John’s Strange Ally 41 CHAPTER III The White Man’s Way 73 CHAPTER IV The Black Man’s Way 107 CHAPTER V The Undoing of Schwartz 143 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS “Minkie” Frontispiece PAGE M “Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?” 8 Minkie took the ivory doll from her pocket and surveyed it seriously 69 But she stood there quite motionless 91 The Old Man read the typewritten letter which Schwartz gave him 114 My first call was at a jeweller’s in Piccadilly 157 CHAPTER I HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END Told by Bobby, the Horse INKIE says I ought to begin this story, because I am the biggest and strongest. I don’t see that at all, but she thinks I can’t see much, anyhow, owing to my silly habit of wearing blinkers, which is just her irritating way of settling an argument—as if I made the harness. And she knows better, too. I have an eye stuck on each side of my head to enable me to look nearly all round the circle; but that clever individual, man, tries to improve on Providence by making me don the rogue’s badge. Well, it would make any horse laugh. You watch how the clever individual came to grief when Minkie and her gang tackled him. Yes, that is what they call us— her “gang”—although Dandy, the fox-terrier, won’t admit that Tibbie belongs to our crowd, and he gets furious if one even mentions the Parrot. Perhaps he is prejudiced against Tibbie—I have noticed that most dogs seldom have a good word for a cat—but I do agree with him about that green idiot, Polly. Of all the back-biting, screeching—Eh, what? Oh, don’t worry, as I tell Dan when he trots in to my place to look for a rat—you’ll be in the middle of a real up-to-date yarn in two buzzes of a gad-fly.... The fun started last Christmas Eve, when a small blue boy on a big red bicycle came to our front door and tried to pull the bell out by the roots after playing tricks with the knocker. Everybody thought it was a parcel for herself. Dorothy sailed out of the drawing-room; Cookie and Evangeline, our housemaid (Mam wanted to call her Mary, but she threatened to give notice), rushed from the kitchen; even dearest Mam dropped her sewing and wondered what the Guv’nor had sent her; but Minkie tobogganed downstairs on a tray, and came in an easy first. Dan was close up, as he simply hates every sort of postman; so Minkie grabbed him with one hand and opened the door with the other. And it was only a telegram. When Mam opened it, she said “Good gracious!” “What is it, mother?” inquired Dorothy. But Minkie had read it over Mam’s shoulder and it was just this: “Schwartz arrived unexpectedly to-day. Have invited him to spend Christmas and New Year with us. Send victoria meet 2.15. Tom.” Tom is the Old Man. His other name is Grosvenor. He isn’t really old, but Jim calls him the Old Man, or the Guv’nor, and we are all pretty free and easy in the stable, you know. “Good gracious!” said Mam again, “he will be here in half an hour. Evangeline, run and tell James to drive to the station at once. Mr. Grosvenor is bringing a friend home with him.” Now, it is to be observed, in the first place, that ladies are always flustered by telegrams. The Old Man said nothing about “bringing” Schwartz by the 2.15, and Mam knew quite well that he expected to be detained at the office until the 5.30. Next, when two-legged people are in a hurry, they put the rush on to their four-legged helpers. I was just enjoying a nice wisp of hay when Jim banged in and rattled me into my harness, while Mole, the gardener, who also cleans the knives and boots, pulled the victoria out of the shed. I was going through the gate in fine style when Minkie came flying. “Don’t stop,” she said, and skipped inside. Jim thought Mam had sent her, but Jim is always wrong when he imagines anything about Minkie. The fact was, as she told me afterwards, she had heard a lot of talk about this Schwartz, and she felt that it would be good for all parties if she took his measure a few minutes ahead of the rest of the family; so she jammed on a pirate cap and Dorothy’s fur coat, and slid across the lawn without any one’s being the wiser, except Dan, and he was sore with her on account of the [Pg 3] [Pg 4] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] escape of the telegraph boy. He tried to take it out of Tibbie, but she nipped up a tree, and the parrot, who was watching him head downwards through the drawing-room window, yelled “Yah!” at him. That settled it. He came after me and jumped up at my bit. “Race you to the station,” he said, pretending he hadn’t seen Minkie. “Right,” said I; “but, to make a match of it, you ought to get Mole to harness you to his little girl’s toy pram.” This remark seemed to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know then about the rat-tatling messenger boy. Anyhow, he met the doctor’s poodle in the village, so he joined us at the station in a good temper. When the train arrived, it brought heaps of people. It always puzzles me that folk should gorge more at Christmas time than any other. Every man, woman, and child carried half-a-dozen parcels, and nearly every parcel held something to eat. Some of the men hugged long narrow boxes, which looked as if they contained wax candles, but which really held a bottle of whisky. I know, because Jim.... “Mr. Grosvenor hasn’t come, miss,” said Jim, when the crowd thinned. “Who said he was coming?” asked Minkie. “Well, Evangeline thought—” “Evangeline never thinks. The doctor has warned her against it. If ever she tries to do anything of the kind the excitement will kill her. No, Jim. Dad has told a Mr. Schwartz to come on by this train, and make himself at home until he joins him later. Schwartz is German for black. Most Germans are dumpy. But things often go by contraries. Our green-grocer is named Brown, so Mr. Schwartz should be a tall thin man, with straw hair and white eyebrows.” Nail my shoes, she wasn’t far out of it. A humpbacked porter came along with a couple of portmanteaux, followed by a heavy swell who was up to specification except as to the color of his hair, which was chestnut. “This is Mr. Grosvenor’s carriage, sir,” said the porter. “Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?” said the newcomer, grinning at Minkie. “Are you Mr. Schwartz?” she asked, and Dan inspected his calf, because Minkie’s tone told us she had taken a violent dislike to the visitor at first sight. “Yes,” he smirked, being so busy looking at her that he paid no heed to the porter, who was waiting for his tip. [Pg 7] [Pg 8] [Pg 9] “Well, if you give the porter a shilling I’ll drive you to our place. Mother is expecting you.” “Are you particular as to the exact amount?” he inquired, still grinning. In fact, he was one of those silly men who believe that you must laugh when you want to be amiable; so please imagine Mr. Schwartz always guffawing—at least, not always, because he could scowl very unpleasantly at times. Tickle my withers, we made him scowl all right before we were through with him. “No,” said Minkie, giving the porter just one little look. “As it is Christmas time, you might make it half a crown.” Schwartz got his hand down quick. Because he was a rich man, he thought tuppence would be ample. He produced a florin, but Minkie spotted it. “If you haven’t another sixpence I can lend you one,” she said sweetly, and I saw Dan licking his lips when he heard her speak in that way. “Don’t trouble,” said Schwartz, rather shortly, and he handed the porter three shillings. That was another of his queer ways. He liked to impress people, but cheaply. He wanted a girl of fourteen to realize what a grand person he was, yet he was afraid she would spring him up to a crown, or even half a sovereign, if he didn’t make haste. Then Minkie made room for him by her side, and Dan hopped in too. “Is that dog yours?” he inquired. “Yes.” “And does your father permit a beast with muddy paws to sit in his carriage?” “Not often,” said Minkie, looking at his boots. “Dandy, you wicked imp, get out at once.” Dan took a header into the roadway, and ran up alongside me, barking for all he was worth. “Tell you what, Bob,” he cried, nearly choking himself with joy, “this red-headed Jew is going to find trouble. He is sure to drop into the stable to-morrow. I’ll keep you posted in affairs inside the house, and, when I give you the office, you’ll let him have both heels in the right place, eh?” “I’ll do my best,” I coughed, and Jim wondered what was the matter, as there are no flies about in winter-time. Meanwhile, Minkie took Schwartz in hand, and my long ears were not given me for amusement. “We thought you were not coming until next week,” she said, by way of being polite. “I finished some business in Paris sooner than I expected, and Mr. Grosvenor was good enough to ask me to spend Christmas and New Year at Dale End. I shall enjoy the visit immensely, I am sure. I have not had a Christmas at home for many years.” “At home?” Minkie raised her large blue eyes so innocently. I knew exactly how she looked, and I rattled my harness to tell her I was listening. “Yes; in England, I mean.” “Ah.” “Don’t you call England ‘home,’ too?” “Of course, but I live here.” “So do I.” “Sorry. I fancied you just said you had been in some other country for a long time.” “Well, I’m a bit of a cosmopolitan, I admit. Do you know what a cosmopolitan is?” “It means anything but English.” Mr. Schwartz roared. “Gad!” he cried, “that is not so far wrong.” An old gentleman passed us in a mail phaeton, drawn by a pair of fat cobs, your bellows-to- mend and step-short sort. They don’t like me, because I always make a point of giving them the dust in summer, so one of them snorted, “Station hack!” “Going to have a shave?” I asked, quite civilly, he being all of a lather. Minkie gave the old gentleman a smile and a bow. He was rather surprised, which was reasonable enough, seeing that she usually sails along without seeing anybody; but he got his hat off in good time. “Who is that?” inquired Schwartz. “Jack’s uncle,” said Minkie. [Pg 10] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] [Pg 13] “Jack is a friend of yours, eh?” “Um, yes, but he—perhaps I shouldn’t say anything about it. Jack is twenty-five, you see.” “Oh, is he?” Schwartz was not smiling now. It was easy to guess that by his voice. “I suppose he is better acquainted with your sister than with you?” “Yes, heaps.” “What is his other name?” “Percival Stanhope.” “Mr. John Percival Stanhope, in fact? Odd that I should not have heard of him, if he is such a great friend of the family?” “Dolly doesn’t say much about him. He’s in India, and India is such a long way off.” “Jolly good job, too, or you would be frizzling to-day.” Mr. Schwartz was brightening up again. “I think you are mistaken,” said Minkie, quietly. “Jack says it is ever so cold in the Punjab at Christmas-time.” “Does he write to you, then?” demanded Schwartz. “No; that was in a letter to Dolly.” “A recent letter?” “He was talking about Christmas two years ago. But please don’t mention him to her. We have no right to discuss her affairs, have we?” “No, no; of course not. It was just by way of conversation, eh?” “That is the cemetery,” said Minkie, pointing to a low tree-lined wall in the distance. “Some day, if you like, I shall take you there, and show you his mother’s grave.” “Thanks, but I am not fond of cemeteries, as a rule.” “Perhaps you would prefer to be cremated?” “I haven’t considered the matter.” “But you ought to. You are quite old, nearly forty, and I saw in a pill advertisement the other day that forty is a dangerous age if your liver is out of order.” “Here, young lady, not quite so fast, please. How do you know I am forty, and why do you think I have a diseased liver?” “It said so in the paper.” “The deuce it did.” “Yes; in one of those little spicy bits, telling you all about people, you know. It said: ‘Mr. Montague Schwartz is one of the Chosen People.’ You are Mr. Montague Schwartz, aren’t you?” “Go on, do.” “Oh, I remember every word ‘—one of the Chosen People—’ that means you are a Jew, doesn’t it?” “Of Jewish descent, certainly.” “Well, it went on: ‘His rise has been meteoric. At twenty he quitted the paternal fried fish shop in the Mile End Road, at thirty he was running a saloon and other industries at Kimberley, and at forty he is building a mansion in Mayfair.’ There was a lot more, but now you see how I knew your age.” “It is perfectly clear. There only remains the liver.” “I got that from the pill advertisement. There are several sure signs of congestion, and you have all of them in your face and eyes. Shall I show it to you? Those pills might cure you.” “Really, you are too kind for words. May I ask if your sister shares your knowledge of my career and state of health?” “Did I show her the paper, do you mean?” “Yes.” “No, I had forgotten all about it, but if you would like her to see it—” “Look here, Miss Millicent, you are a sharp girl. Now, I’ll make a bargain with you. Find that paper, say no more about the paragraph—which, I may tell you, is rank nonsense from start to finish—and your Christmas box will be five sovereigns.” [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] “Done,” said Minkie, coolly. “And here we are at Dale End. Mile End—Dale End. Funny, isn’t it, how names run together that way occasionally.” Before Jim led me around to the stable I heard Mam express her surprise that Mr. Schwartz had come alone. She had expected her husband by the same train. And she did not know Millicent had gone in the victoria. How on earth did the child recognise Mr. Schwartz, as she had never seen him? “I rather fancy your younger daughter would pick me out in the Strand if she were so minded,” explained the visitor, cheerfully. “I hope she did not bore you by her chatter,” said dear, innocent Mam. “Or perhaps she was in one of her silent moods?” “No. We got along famously; didn’t we, Millicent?” “It was a nice drive,” said Minkie, “not too cold, and the village is quite gay.” “Well, I find the air rather chilly,” said Mam. “Why are we all standing here? Come into the drawing-room, Mr. Schwartz. Dorothy is there, and we shall have tea brought a little earlier than usual. Evangeline, tell James to take Mr. Schwartz’s portmanteaux to the Blue Room.” Of course, I should not have heard what happened next if Tibbie had not looked in to see me that night. As a matter of fact, the gang does not miss much in the way of gossip. One or other of us is always on hand. And that parrot—though he is no friend of mine—is a terror for picking up news. Jim hangs his cage on a tree opposite my door every fine morning, and the things he tells me are surprising. He has hardly a good word for anybody, but then, what a dull world it would be if we only told the nice things about our friends. Why, we should all be dumb soon. Dan tried to sneak in behind Minkie, but Mam had her eye on him. “I do believe that naughty Dandy has been in the wars again,” she said. “Millicent, did you see him fighting any other dog?” “No, mother. He met the doctor’s poodle, but there was no fight.” Minkie was always strictly accurate. “What a wonder! Anyhow, he is muddy and wet. Ask cook to rub him over with a damp cloth.” Tibbie, pretending to be asleep, twitched one ear as she saw Dan being led off to the kitchen. “Gnar!” muttered Dan, who hates damp cloths, “wait till I catch you in the garden!” Tibbie just smiled. I must say that cats take life easily; they are given the best of everything, and do nothing. A friend of mine, a regular old stager, who pulls near in the Black Lion bus, tells me that Tibbie’s method is the only way to get on, and he sees a lot of different people at the inn, so he ought to be a bit of a philosopher. “Make other people work for you,” he says. “That’s the ticket; when they bring you chaff tell ’em you must have oats, an’ snap their heads off if they don’t move quick enough. Bless your hoof, they like it. You hear ’em say: ‘There’s blood for you, a born aristocrat, he is,’ an’ they’ll do any mortal thing you want.” Well, Tibbie curled up like a hedgehog, and listened, because we don’t have many strangers at Dale End. The talk turned on Ostend—no, it’s as true as I’m standing on four legs, but the very first place mentioned had an “end” in it—where the Old Man and Mam and Dorothy had been in the summer. Minkie had measles, or something spotty, so she was forbidden to travel, and we had a ripping July all to ourselves. Eclipse wasn’t in it; why, I had beer every day. They met Mr. Schwartz at Ostend, it seems, and he took such a fancy to Dolly that he wanted to marry her straight off. She wouldn’t do that, even if Mam and the Guv’nor were agreeable, but she had not heard from Jack for ages, and Schwartz was really very attentive, besides being tremendously rich. Now, we at Dale End find it difficult to pay the hay and corn bills, so you see that a wealthy son-in-law would be what the sale catalogues call “a desirable acquisition.” I have heard a lot of people in the village say that Dolly is so pretty she ought to make a good match. When she did a skirt dance at the Cottage Hospital Bazaar, the local paper spoke of her as “the beautiful Miss Grosvenor.” She pretended to be very angry about that, but Tibbie says she bought a dozen papers and sent them to her girl friends, so the rest of the report must have been suitable. I suppose she is all right for a grownup. For my part, I prefer Minkie, who has a yellow mane, and blue eyes, and freckles. She is as straight as a soldier, and has small hands and feet, and the loveliest brown legs.... Eh, what? Well, say stockings, then, but when I took first prize and the cup for the best hackney in the show, everybody admired my legs; so why not Minkie’s? Anyhow, by the time tea was served, Schwartz had further established himself in Mam’s good graces. He was a clever chap in his way, and he could say the right thing to women occasionally, and he was wise enough not to bother Dorothy too much, though Tibbie saw, out of the tail of her eye, that the girl could not move from one side of the room to the other without Schwartz’s watching her approvingly. Tibbie knew by his eyes that he was saying to himself: “She will look all right in Brook-street.” [Pg 17] [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] [Pg 21] Dan announced the postman while Dorothy was pouring out the tea, and Minkie brought in a heap of letters, mostly Christmas cards. Minkie had a baker’s dozen to herself, and five of them were addressed to “Minkie and her Gang”; each of the five contained pictures of a girl, a horse, a dog, a cat, and a parrot. She soon made out by the postmark and the handwriting who had sent every card, even though the names were not given. One seemed to puzzle her at first, and she slipped it into her pocket. The others were handed round, before Dorothy arranged them on the mantel-piece with a number which had come by earlier deliveries, and Mr. Schwartz admired them immensely. “It is so interesting to come back to the old country and find these pleasant customs in full swing,” he said. “I have neither sent nor received a Christmas card for years. I was telling Millicent on our way from the station that, by chance, I have been out of England at this season every year for ten years.” “You did not mention the exact period, Mr. Schwartz,” said Minkie. “I rather thought that ten years ago you were in Kimberley?” “Oh, one speaks in round numbers. By the way, have you received a card from your elderly friend—the man we met driving the pair?” “Driving a pair. Who was that, Millie?” asked her mother. “Mr. Stanhope, Jack’s uncle.” Dorothy dropped a piece of toast, and Mam bent over her letters, but she said quietly: “I fear my girls will not be honored by any such attention on his part, Mr. Schwartz. Indeed, I think he is the only enemy we possess in the neighborhood. How did you come to describe him as a friend of yours, Millie?” “I didn’t.” “Perhaps I was mistaken,” put in Schwartz, who was beginning to hate Minkie, yet had no wish to quarrel with her. “I said Jack was my friend. Isn’t that right, mother?” “Oh, yes. I understand now. By the way, dearie, are you going to meet your father? It is nearly time to start. And be careful to wrap up well.” “The victoria will not be ready for another five minutes. I have time to bring you that paper if you would care to see it before dinner, Mr. Schwartz.” “Thanks. I shall be delighted—you wretched little imp,” he added under his breath, but Tibbie heard him. Minkie brought the paper. “That is the paragraph I told you of,” said she, pointing very daintily to something on one of the pages. I have seen her point that way to a dead rat when she wished Jim or Mole to throw it away. “Much obliged. And here are the five sovereigns I promised you as a Christmas box.” “Mr. Schwartz—” broke in Mam, but he turned to her with his best manner. “I beg of you to allow me to do this, Mrs. Grosvenor. It is really a harmless joke between Millicent and myself,” he said. “But five pounds—” protested Mam. “That was in the bond. Pray let me explain. By chance, she mentioned some very useful information which this newspaper contained; I might not have heard of it otherwise. So I am adding a little to her Christmas present—that is all.” “It seems a great deal of money,” sighed Mam, who often wanted a fiver and had to do without it, “but you two appear to have the matter cut and dried, so I suppose it is all right. What are you going to do with your fabulous wealth, Millicent?” “Make a corner in toffee. Make every kid in Dale End pay a penny for a ha’penny-worth. That is the proper thing, isn’t it, Mr. Schwartz?” “I don’t think I can teach you much,” he replied with his usual grin. “Oh yes, you can. Read the next paragraph, the one beginning: ‘The unhappy natives of the Upper Niger.’ It tells about gas-pipe guns and coal-dust powder. Yes, mother dear, going now.” It was quite dark, of course, when I brought Minkie to the station a second time. The weather had changed, too, from what the farmers call “soft” to a touch of frost, which made both Jim and me pleased that my shoes had been sharped by the blacksmith that morning. The train was rather late, so Minkie went into the station and interviewed a porter. He told her something which seemed to interest her, so she asked the booking-clerk for change of a [Pg 22] [Pg 23] [Pg 24] [Pg 25] sovereign and gave the man a shilling. She picked out her father the instant the train drew up at the platform. He looked worried, she told me afterwards, but that passed when he saw her. He had the usual number of parcels which people carry at Christmas time, and Minkie grabbed all of them, but he stopped her with a laugh. “We can’t rush off in the orthodox way to-night, Minkie,” he said. “Mr. Schwartz’s servant is on this train, and I promised to take him with us to the house. By the way, is Dandy with you in the carriage?” “No, father dear. Why do you ask?” “Because this valet of Schwartz’s is a black man, and Dandy might not approve of him at first sight.” “A black man.” “Yes, polished ebony. Rather smart, too. Speaks English perfectly. He came to me at Waterloo and said—Oh, there he is. Hi, you. Just follow me, will you.” Minkie thought that the negro was an extraordinarily fine fellow, and very well dressed. It was odd that Schwartz had not mentioned him, and she wondered where he would sleep. Perhaps he curled up on a mat outside his master’s room. In that case, she must make Dan clearly understand that she rather approved of the Ethiopian than otherwise. His luggage appeared to be a small handbag. He almost made the mistake of entering the carriage with Minkie and her father, but he showed his teeth in a good-natured grin, and climbed to Jim’s side on the box. I had a look at him as he passed the near lamp, and he certainly did startle me; I am quite sure I should have shifted him if Minkie had not said quietly: “All right, Bobby. Steady, old chap.” On the way home I heard Minkie trying to cheer up her father by telling him little bits of village news, and he did his best to respond, but both of us felt there was something wrong, as the Guv’nor is likely enough most days. “Mr. Schwartz has arrived, of course?” he inquired, soon after we quitted the station.“I forgot to ask you sooner. I took it for granted when his servant turned up and told me he had missed the earlier train.” “Yes. He came according to your telegram.” “How has he got on at home?” “Oh, first rate. Mam and Dolly seemed quite pleased to see him.” “What do you think of him, Minkie?” “I hardly know yet, father dear. I shall tell you—let me see—on New Year’s Eve.” “You demand seven days’ experience, eh? Wise child. I wish some one had taught me at your age to wait a bit before I formed my opinions.” “One might form them quickly enough, but not express them.” “Which means that you don’t like Schwartz? Well, he is not exactly my sort, I admit, but he is wealthy, Minkie, and one must bow the knee before the golden calf occasionally. And his repute stands high in the city, so he might be a useful friend. We must make the best of him, eh?” “One always does that with one’s guests, of course,” said Minkie, who could feel a heavy assortment of gold and silver coins in her pocket. Minkie jumped out when I pulled up at the front entrance. Dan was standing on the top step and wondering what in the world was sitting beside Jim on the box. Before he could say a word, Minkie grabbed him and whispered in his ear. But he was very uneasy, because the black man sprang down almost as promptly as Minkie, and nearly frightened Evangeline into a fit when she met him in the hall. He took his hat off in quite an elegant way. “I am Mr. Schwartz’s valet,” he said. “Mr. Grosvenor was good enough to bring me with him from London. Is my master in his room now?” “N-no, sir,” stuttered Evangeline. He gave her the queerest feeling, she told Cookie later. “Well, if you will kindly show me to his suite I will prepare his clothes for dinner,” went on the negro, who appeared to be more anxious to get to work than any of our servants. Evangeline glanced at Minkie and the Guv’nor; she was sure it must be all right, as the negro had arrived in their company, but she dared not go upstairs with him. Wild horses would not drag her there, she said, though I would back myself to haul her to the top attic before she could say “knife.” “It’s the Blue Room,” she said. “First on the left in that corridor,” and she pointed to the side of the house where Mr. Schwartz was lodged. The big darky went up at once. [Pg 26] [Pg 27] [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] Evangeline helped to carry in some of the parcels, and Minkie took her father’s overcoat and hat, but kept an eye on Dan, who was looking at the stairs anxiously. Dolly came running to kiss the Old Man, and Mam appeared. “Where is Mr. Schwartz?” asked the Guv’nor. “Here I am,” said Schwartz, appearing in the drawing-room doorway. “I am afraid you had a cold journey from town. It was exceedingly kind of you to send me on ahead. My only regret is that you could not come with me.” “Business, my dear fellow. It pursues me to the last hour, even in holiday time.” “But that is good. It argues success. Your idle man is rarely successful.” “I fear it is possible for a busy man to score a loss occasionally. I expect you have finished tea long since? Can you squeeze the pot, Mam?” “It will be here in a minute, Tom,” said Mam, smiling. “My husband hates to miss his tea, Mr. Schwartz. He would drink three cups now if I were to let him, though we dine at seven.” “By the way, that reminds me,” said the Old Man, dropping into his regular chair in the drawing-room. “I fell in with your servant at Waterloo, Schwartz.” “My servant!” said Schwartz, blankly, and both Dan and Tibbie heard every word, as Minkie had collected Dan again before she took her usual perch on a hassock near her father. If the Guv’nor had said he came across Schwartz’s balloon at the Southwestern terminus our visitor could not have put more bewilderment into his voice. “Yes, your black valet,” explained the Guv’nor. “My black valet! I don’t possess such an article. I left my man at Brook-street, and he is a Frenchman.” Schwartz had risen to his feet. He looked strangely pale—Minkie told me his face was a flea-bitten grey. The Guv’nor jumped up, too. So did Minkie, and Dan, and Tibbie. You see, Mam and Dorothy knew nothing about the gentleman who had gone to Schwartz’s bedroom to arrange his dress suit and put the studs in his shirt. “Then who the blazes is the nigger who is in your room upstairs at this moment?” said the Old Man, forgetting that there were ladies present. “Nigger! My room!” Schwartz’s voice cracked. He gasped as though he had run a mile. He glared at the Guv’nor and then glared at Minkie. Stifle me, he thought it was some trick she had played on him. But if the head of our family was not much good at business he was in the front row where prompt action was needed. “Follow me, quick!” he shouted, and made for the door. He was just a second too late. The tall negro was coming downstairs three at a time. He bounded across the hall and had his hand on the latch just as the Guv’nor rushed at him. Out went the black, out went Mr. Grosvenor after him, with Minkie and Dan a dead heat half a length behind, and Schwartz whipping in. On the level the nigger drew away; but Dan overhauled him at the turn near the clump of rhododendrons, and Dan never makes the mistake of advertising his whereabouts when the matter is serious. So he nailed the make-believe valet by the ankle, and his teeth closed on bone and sinew without ever a sound. Down went the nigger with a crash and a yell. It was pitch dark among the shrubs, but the Old Man groped for him and got a knee in the small of his back, bending his head upwards at the same time by grabbing a handful of wool. That is a good trick. It simply paralyses the other fellow. “I’ve got him,” he shouted, but Schwartz just roared “Help!” at the top of his voice, and kept to the open drive. Minkie heard Dan sawing away, and growling a bit, now; she closed in, clutched a loose leg that was kicking wildly, and said: “Are you all right, dad?” “Yes. Tell James to fetch a stable lantern and a rope.” Minkie wasn’t going to leave her father nor miss any of the fun. She sung out directions, and Jim came along at a gallop. The unfortunate nigger was screaming that the dog was eating him, but, when they had tied his hands behind his back, and Minkie pulled Dan off, he seemed to be more frightened than hurt. Polly told me next day that these black fellows are always weak below the knee joints, however gigantic they may be otherwise. But the previous excitement was a small affair compared with the row which sprang up when Jim held the lantern so that Schwartz could see the negro’s face. “Gott in himmel!” he shrieked, in a kind of frenzy, “it’s Prince John.” “Yes—you thief!” said the prisoner, who seemed to regain his self-possession and his dignity when he set eyes on Schwartz. [Pg 31] [Pg 32] [Pg 33] [Pg 34] I “Where is it? Where is it? Give it to me, or I’ll tear your liver out!” squealed the other, dancing close up to him in an extraordinary passion, being one of those men who fly into a delirium when rage gets the better of them. “I have not got it,” said Prince John, if that was his name. He turned to the Guv’nor. “If you will take me back to the house, Mr. Grosvenor,” he continued, “and keep that dog off, I will explain everything, and trust to your sense of justice to clear me of any suspicion of wrong- doing. That man is the thief, not me,” and he actually spat at Schwartz. Jim said that it gave him a turn to hear a buck nigger talking like that, but it took him and the Guv’nor all their time to keep Schwartz from using his nails on the man’s eyes. Then the two began to shout at one another, and it appeared that all the trouble arose about a thing called a ju- ju, which the black man said Schwartz had stolen from his people, a tribe on the Upper Niger. Anyhow, the Guv’nor marched his captive back to the house, and Schwartz rushed upstairs. He tore down again, more like a lunatic than ever, as the ju-ju had gone from the dressing-case in which he had left it. He searched the negro, and was almost ready to cut him open in case he had swallowed it, but the ju-ju was not in the man’s possession. Then he went out with Jim and the lantern, and hunted every inch of the drive and shrubbery, but could find nothing, though it was easy enough to discover the place where Dan had brought down his highness. The odd thing was that he refused to send for the police, and the more certain it became that the ju-ju was missing, the more jubilant grew Prince John’s face as he sat in the hall. At last, there was nothing for it but the nigger must be set at liberty. Schwartz wanted the Guv’nor to lock him up all night. Of course, that could not be done, as Surrey isn’t West Africa, and the Old Man had come to the conclusion that there was not much in the dispute between them, anyhow. So Prince John’s bonds were untied, and the Guv’nor told him if he showed his black muzzle inside our gateway again he would be locked up. He was very polite and apologetic, especially to the ladies, and the house party went in to dinner greatly mystified by the whole affair. Schwartz did not say much, and his appetite was spoiled. After dinner he had another hunt in his bedroom and among the shrubs, but finally he gave up the search until daylight, and came in and asked for a whisky and soda. Meanwhile, Minkie brought Dan to the stable to see me. She came the back way, and climbed to the hay-loft with Jim’s lantern. Dan began to look around for a rat, but she stopped him. “Are you awake, Bobby?” she asked. “Awake!” said I. “I should rather think I am, after such goings on in the house.” “Well,” said she, pulling a small black bag from among the hay, “if you are a good horse, and listen carefully, I will now tell you what a ju-ju is. Come here, Dan. If it is alive, I may want you to bite it.” Skin me and sell my hide, what do you think it was? Just a small chunk of ivory, carved to represent a man with a monkey’s head. It had a little coat of colored beads tied where its waist was meant to be, and its eyes were two shiny green stones. And that was all. “Well,” cried Minkie, “this is a surprise. At first sight, I don’t think much of a ju-ju, but that may be only my beastly ignorance, as the man said when he tried to boil a china egg.” CHAPTER II PRINCE JOHN’S STRANGE ALLY Told by Dandy, the Terrier MADE a mistake once, and nipped a tramp’s wooden leg. Since then, I look before I take hold. But even a poodle could see that this thing was old bone, though its eyes glinted like Tibbie’s in the dark, and there was a smell of grease about its beaded kilt. And, talking of kilts, there’s a bare-legged fellow who comes here every summer and struts up and down the road, making the beastliest row with some sort of instrument all pipes and ribbons. Wow! don’t I change his tune if I get out before anybody can catch me! “Why, it’s a baby’s toy,” said I, seeing that Minkie was rather taken with it. “Let’s have a look,” said a voice I hated, and Tibbie walked up Bobby’s neck, and perched between his ears. “Hello!” cried I, in my most sarcastic snarl, “are you there? And what is this acrobatic business? Is it a circus, or what?” [Pg 35] [Pg 36] [Pg 37] [Pg 38] [Pg 39-41] [Pg 42] “Speak when you’re spoken to,” spat Tibbie. “And let me give you fair warning that the next time you sneak any meat off my skewer I’ll—” “Oh, shut up, both of you,” commanded Minkie; so I just pretended to lick my lips, though I really care very little for the rather high stuff that cats make such a song about. I like mine underdone. “Have you ever before heard of a ju-ju, Bob?” went on Minkie. “No,” said Bob. He didn’t shake his head, because Tibbie was there, and she has a nasty habit of hanging on with her claws before you can say “Rats!” Why do cats have such sharp nails, anyhow? They used to scar my muzzle something awful before I learnt to jump on them feet first. But they can’t bite for nuts. If they could, I must admit— “I think I might tell you something about it,” broke in Tibbie, backing down Bob’s mane and settling on his withers again. “Well, go on,” said Minkie, bending a bit, so as to watch Tibbie’s green eyes. “It’s a long time ago since I had the story from a blue Persian.” “Cookie has some liver in the larder.” You see, Minkie knew her cat. “Has she? I was out when the butcher came.” “Yes. It’s liver and bacon for breakfast in the morning. And SOLES!” P-r-r-r, you could feel Tibbie’s fur rising. “I’ll try to remember,” she said in a rather thick voice. “It seems that we cats used to be worshipped by the ancient Egyptians. The cat deity was named Elurus, and we were also venerated as a symbol of the moon—” I couldn’t help it. Even Bob coughed, and then pretended to be chewing hay. But, because I laughed, Minkie clouted my ear. “The Romans always placed a cat at the feet of the Goddess of Liberty; they realized that no animal resists the loss of its freedom so furiously as a cat,” continued Tibbie in her best purr. “That is why you never see a cat wearing a collar, the badge of servitude, like a dog.” Wow! I’ll give her “servitude” next time I have a chance. “Like a dog!” indeed. “What has all this got to do with a ju-ju?” asked Minkie. “I am coming to that. The Egyptians were a very wise people, obviously, and their ways were sure to be copied by the black men who lived near them. They thought so much of cats that whoever killed one, even accidentally, was punished by death. This cat-headed god, Elurus, had a human body, and his image brought luck and good fortune to those who carried it about with them. Now, there are no cats where the black men live, but there are plenty of monkeys, so I am just guessing.” “I see,” said Minkie, quite seriously. “Regarding that fish and liver?” cried Tibbie, trying to talk in an off-hand way. “I am going to interview Cookie now,” was the reply. “Hold on! Where do I come in?” I simply had to interfere. The thing was an outrage. Fancy getting fish and liver for a blue-mouldy yarn like that. “And me?” snorted Bob. “You’re both too fat already,” said Minkie calmly, but she kicked down another lot of hay before she blew the lantern out, and I got a snack of steak while Tibbie was filling up on fish heads and foie de veau. I lapped the best part of her milk, too, when she wasn’t looking. There was a keen frost that night, and the scent of the nigger, not to mention some beery singers who call themselves “the waits,” kept me awake for hours. Every man has a different smell, though some folk get mad if you tell them so, but the Upper Niger tang was new to me, and I couldn’t help thinking what a place that must be for a hunt if even a well-washed black prince left such a bouquet behind him. I suppose you are surprised to hear a fox-terrier using French words, but I learnt them from Mademoiselle, Minkie’s governess, who went away last month. Next morning, at breakfast, all the talk was of Prince John and the ju-ju. Schwartz had hunted high and low for his doll, but, considering that it was in Minkie’s pocket, he was not likely to find it. If only he had a nose like me he would soon have been on its track. I fancied the Guv’nor was not altogether pleased that such a rough-and-tumble performance should have taken place at Holly Lodge on a Christmas Eve, and Schwartz was so put out by the loss of the ju-ju that it cast rather a gloom over the household—excepting Minkie, Tibbie and me, of course. As for that fool of a parrot, he, or she—blessed if I can tell one parrot from another, but [Pg 43] [Pg 44] [Pg 45] [Pg 46] this one never lays an egg, though everyone calls him “Polly”—well, he was nearly delirious with excitement, because Christmas time brings nuts into his cage. Once the conversation came pretty close to our little secret. “By the way, Millicent, that negro had a black bag in his hand when he drove home with us last night, didn’t he?” inquired the Old Man, tackling Minkie rather suddenly. “Oh, yes, father dear. I saw it quite plainly. Did he take it upstairs, Evangeline?” “I dunno, miss. He fair flummaxed me, he did, with his bowin’ and scrapin’ an, lah-di-dah manners. As I said to Cook—” “That will do, Evangeline,” put in Mam. “Bring some more toast, please.” Minkie had steered the question off smartly, but the Guv’nor stuck to his point. “There can be no doubt the rascal brought the bag into the house. I remember now seeing him carry it into the hall. Yet it was not in his possession when we caught him in the garden, and it must have been found if it were lying among the shrubs, or he had left it in the house. By Jove! Is it possible that he had an accomplice? Really, Schwartz, you ought to have called in the police if the matter is so serious.” “This quarrel is between Prince John and myself,” said Schwartz, sullenly. “He may have had others to help, though it is difficult to see how that could be, under the circumstances. But this is only the second round of a big fight. He and I will meet again, probably on a certain island in the Niger which we both know well. Then we shall settle the ownership of that small god, for keeps.” “Oh!” cried Dolly, “is it an idol?” Then Schwartz tried to pull himself together. “No, Miss Dorothy, not an idol, but a fetish,” he said, with his usual grin. “The fact is, I fear I have led you to believe that I attach an exaggerated value to it. It is only a bit of carved ivory, which the natives regard as a talisman. But it had a sentimental interest for me, much as a gambler at Monte Carlo might prize a champagne cork, or a piece of coal, or some equally ridiculous charm which he had carried in his pocket on the night of a big coup.” “Me-ow!” said Tibbie, looking up at Minkie. “Yes, darling,” said Minkie, “the dish is going out now, and I have told cook to save you the tit-bits. Dan, come back here! Who stole Tibbie’s milk last night?” “Misère de Dieu!” as mademoiselle said when she was turning over the strawberry plants and grabbed a wasp—who split on me? Was it Evangeline? Wait till I catch her sliding down to the front gate to-night when her young man whistles “Annie Rooney.” I’ll raise the house. “I suppose you had some lively times occasionally in West Africa, Schwartz?” said the Old Man cheerfully, his idea being to swing the talk away from a topic which his guest seemed to avoid. “Y-yes, for a few minutes every now and then. But the excitement soon passed. For the rest, it was deadly dull, a sort of slow crescendo up to the boiling point of fever, and a gradual diminuendo back to flabby health again. It is no country for a white man, unless he wants his relations to collect his life insurance.” “Yet you made money there?” “Oh, yes. Why else should one go to such a filthy swamp?” “Do you mean to say that the natives of a fever-laden district are physically up to the standard of the fellow we collared last night?” “No; he comes from the highlands, where the country is altogether different. But the money is made at the ports and trading stations.” “Any sport?” “Very little, the bush is too dense.” “Then why do the blacks want gas-pipe guns and coal-dust gunpowder?” asked Minkie, who was making a jam sandwich. “To shoot the whites,” replied Schwartz. “So you see it would be bad for our health if the traders gave them good weapons and ammunition.” “That explains it,” said Minkie. “Explains what, dear?” inquired Mam, and Schwartz squirmed a bit until Minkie said: “Something I read in a paper, mother. These wicked negroes pay high prices for rifles, and of course it is best to let them believe they are buying the genuine article.” [Pg 47] [Pg 48] [Pg 49] [Pg 50] Mam was puzzled, but the Guv’nor laughed. “Excellent!” he cried. “I am glad to hear that one member of the family has grasped the true principles of commercial success.” “I’m sure I don’t know where Millicent gets her ideas from,” sighed Mam. “When I was her age I could no more have said such a thing than I could have flown.“ “And you certainly were never built for flying, less now than ever,” smiled her husband. Of course, I paid little heed to all this chaff, because I was bolting half that jam sandwich, which Minkie had dropped. Evangeline saw what happened, and said nothing, so it will be “Whistle and I’ll come to you, my lad,” to-night. But I woke up to the sounds of battle when Mam wanted to know who was going to church. Everybody said “I,” except Schwartz, who had letters to write. You ought to have watched his face when Minkie said quietly: “In that case you will miss seeing Jack Stanhope, the friend of whom I was telling you yesterday.” “Jack! Is he at home?” Dolly blurted out, and then blushed right down her neck. “Yes. Didn’t you know?” “How could I? If it comes to that, how do you know?” “He sent me a Christmas picture postcard last evening, one of the new ones, with the season’s wishes and a lot of robins on one side and a ha-penny stamp with the address and a little bit of a letter on the other. Here it is. Shall I read it?” “Yes,” said the Guv’nor rather grimly. Outside the gang, he understood Minkie better than anybody else, and he evidently wondered why she was making such a dead set against Schwartz. Minkie produced the card from the pocket which held the ju-ju. It was a deep pocket, lengthened by herself; she often needed it to hide a young rabbit when I had induced one to leave his home and friends, because keepers make a beastly fuss about these small matters if they hear of them. “It has the West Strand postmark, 9 A.M., December 24th,” said she, “and this is what he writes: ‘Dear Minkie: Just arrived from Marseilles, ex s.s. Persia. It was enough to freeze Dan’s tail off crossing the Channel, but I am glad to be here early, as I can do a bit of shopping (being in need of decoration) before I run down to Dale End. I shall be strolling past the Lodge about six o’clock, and will be delighted if you are visible. Otherwise, we shall meet at Church to-morrow, and exchange winks if Grampus is there too. Yours ever, Jack. P.S. I have brought you a pet mongoose.’ That is all.” “Quite enough, too. May I ask who ‘Grampus’ is?” said her father. “His uncle. Jack depends on him for his allowance, so he has to humor him, but he never agreed with him about that shooting squabble, you know.” “I know nothing about his views, and care less, and I do not wish you to exchange either postcards or winks with him or any of his name.” “Tom,” put in Mam, gently, “this is Christmas morning.” “I have not forgotten that, my dear. Nor have I forgotten this day two years ago, when the other Stanhope ignored my proffered hand before a dozen of our mutual acquaintances. You hear, Millicent? I have spoken.” “Yes, father dear, but it is such a pity about the mongoose. And I had a new word I wanted to surprise Jack with. Christmas picture postcard is such a mouthful, so I intended to call it a Chris-card. Don’t you think that rather neat?” “I do, but it is not comparable to the neatness with which you draw a red herring across the scent. Of course, if he sends you the mongoose, you may keep it, and write a civil note of thanks, but we can hardly indulge in a close friendship with the nephew when the uncle cannot find a good word to say for us.” I was that delighted that I scraped Minkie’s leg to tell her I was underneath the table. A mongoose coming to join the family! What is a mongoose, anyhow? Has it four legs, or two? Can it fight? I must have murmured my thoughts aloud, because the parrot gave a screech that made Schwartz jump. “Go and hide in the nearest rabbit burrow, little dog,” he yelled. “Run away and bury yourself with a bone. When that mongoose turns up he’ll chase you into the next parish. Oh, Christopher! Aren’t we havin’ a beano? Another rum ’ot, please, miss.” I kept my temper. There is no use arguing with a parrot. You can’t get at him, and he has an amazing variety of language at command; but I must state one small point in his favor; if you pay no heed to his vulgarity, and cut out of his talk the silly bits which seem to please people who [Pg 51] [Pg 52...