The Tale of Lal Part 22

"'Certainly,' replied Lal in his most stately way; 'you are going to have a very happy life; you are a fairly respectable kid now, but you will become more and more respectable until one will hardly recognise you at all. You are going to have a ready-made Father and Mother which I have provided you with.'

"'Ain't 'eard nothink about no Muvver yet,' I said; 'where's the Muvver come in?'

"'Ah! you wait and see,' whispered the Lion mysteriously.

"'Are you a-kiddin' me, Lal? if so, chuck it!'

"'Oh! dreadful, dreadful expressions!' lamented Lal. 'Undoubtedly the next time I see you I believe your grammar will have improved, and your vocabulary have become more select. I hope so!'

"It was at this point that something about Lal's eyes and att.i.tude gave me the idea he was going to shut up for good, so to speak, and my feelings so overcame me, that without thinking I flung my arms round Lal's neck, that is to say, as far as they would go, and hugged him.

"Lal opened his eyes again, and somehow I am sure that he was grinning, such a pleasant-looking, happy grin, but he spoke in his severest manner to me--

"You must really restrain these exhibitions of feeling in public; if a policeman chanced to observe you I think there would be the greatest difficulty in offering any adequate explanation.

"'No, Lal,' I answered; 'all I ses to the coppers when they ses anyfink to me is "Rats"--always "Rats," and when I ses "Rats" they can fink what they jolly well likes.'

"Lal sighed, and said, 'How like d.i.c.k Whittington!' and those were the very last words I ever heard him speak, although I little dreamed how I was to meet him again."

At this juncture Cookie appeared carrying a most wonderful silvern tea-tray, whereon a bright gilded urn sizzled happily, and a most inviting-looking pyramid of toasted m.u.f.fins nestled in apparently friendly rivalry with the choicest cakes of Cookie's own baking; even a heaped-up crystal dish of whole strawberry jam could not conceal its blushes as the firelight played upon it.

"Fairy tales," said Cookie, "I know; I've listened to them many a time myself."

"No, Cookie, you are wrong," ventured Ridgwell in tones of rebuke; "it is not a fairy tale, every word of it is true."

"That's what Cinderella always declared, Master Ridgwell," was Cookie's imperturbable reply, as she prepared to depart.

The Writer chuckled quietly.

"Of course it is true, isn't it?" asked Ridgwell and Christine in unison.

"Of course," said the Writer, "every word of it, and anyway if it isn't it ought to be, like all romances."

"But you haven't finished," objected Ridgwell, whilst he munched a m.u.f.fin, and Christine poured out the tea.

"No," agreed the Writer, "I haven't finished yet, but I warned you that it would be a very long story, didn't I?"

"Oh, but we are so anxious to know what happened to the Skylark and the Miser, I mean the Alderman, for of course he wasn't a miser any more, was he?"

"Well, you see," explained the Writer, as he took his tea contentedly, which he really felt he stood in need of, apart from any consideration of deserving it, "n.o.body is able to read a long book all at once, and I propose to tell both of you the remainder of this extraordinary story in a few days' time."

"Anyway, that's ripping," vouchsafed Ridgwell.

"I think myself," added the Writer mysteriously, "that the great events Lal spoke of so long ago are about to happen."

"Do tell us when?" implored Ridgwell.

"I fancy very soon now; of course, you children don't read the papers, do you?"

Ridgwell and Christine shook their heads.

"Well, in to-day's paper there was one paragraph that threw out a very decided hint that the present Lord Mayor of London was going to be knighted by the King, not only on account of his public worth, but because the wonderful Home for London Children he has built is almost completed."

"Of course, the new Lord Mayor is Alderman Gold?" inquired Christine.

"He was Alderman Gold," said the Writer, "but I think myself before many days have pa.s.sed it will be Sir Simon and Lady Gold."

"Who is Lady Gold? You never told us a word about Lady Gold," objected Ridgwell.

"Ah," said the Writer, "that will all come in the second part of my story. Any way, no name was ever more appropriate than hers. She is absolutely gold all through, head and heart and everything. Lady Gold is, I consider, an absolutely suitable name for her, although two people I know always call her Mum; and, do you know, I think she will prefer that t.i.tle, even when she gets the other."

"Who are the two people who call her Mum?"

"That's telling in advance," observed the Writer, as he helped himself to a fourth m.u.f.fin; "and of course to tell in advance always spoils a story. But I intend that both of you children shall hear and see the story to an end. In three days' time from now I am coming to fetch you both, and you will be able to see the Lord Mayor drive past in state, for I am giving a tea to celebrate that great occasion and also another great occasion at one and the same time. I will finish the story then, and you will both meet the Lord Mayor of London."

"Will he have his robes on?" inquired Christine expectantly.

"I don't know that he will wear them, but perhaps I could induce him to bring them with him to show us."

"That's fine," said Ridgwell. "Will you really come to fetch us?"

"Yes, in three days' time."

"Where do you live?" asked Ridgwell, unexpectedly.

The Writer pretended to be most mysterious all at once.

"Where do you suppose I live?" he asked Ridgwell; "I do not think you will ever guess."

"Whitechapel?" hazarded Ridgwell.

The Writer pretended to look almost hurt.

"Peckham?" suggested Christine.

"Very bad guesses," laughed the Writer. "You are both wrong. I have a set of chambers facing Trafalgar Square, where every morning of my life I can look out of the front windows and see my dear old friend Lal."

Both the children gave a shout at this astounding piece of information.

"And we shall see the Lord Mayor go past in state from the windows?"

"Yes," said the Writer; "but if what I believe is coming to pa.s.s, provided that the right time has come, and I think myself it has, we shall all see the sign that Lal promised us he would give, so long ago."

"The sign," echoed Ridgwell breathlessly; "I say, that's something like!"

"We shall see what we shall see, and as that is Chapter One of my story I am going to take my departure."