The Tale of Lal Part 30

"Yes, I've read it, Dad," remarked the Writer as he observed Sir Simon's signs of almost apoplectic agitation. "It's very bad form, and what is worse it's very badly written."

"The pen is mightier than the sword," shouted Sir Simon, "and unfortunately the sword is out of date nowadays, or I would challenge him upon the spot; but, my boy, you have the pen, and you can use it, and a jolly sight better than the silly a.s.s who wrote that article.

Will you answer him for me?"

The Writer smiled and shook his head.

"No, Dad, that is exactly what he wants; he would get all the advertis.e.m.e.nt out of such a controversy that his soul craves for, and which is absolutely necessary for him now to keep up his reputation. I have something to suggest much better than that."

"What is it?" asked the Lord Mayor helplessly.

"Did you ever consider some of the characteristics of Ulysses, Dad?"

"Oh, they talked about him in my school-days, but I didn't have much schooling, you know; and what on earth has Ulysses to do with this?"

The Writer grinned. "Because, Dad, he possessed a remarkably wily gift of always finding his enemies' one vulnerable spot."

"Well?"

"I know at least two of Learned Bore's most vulnerable spots."

"Eh? Unbounded conceit and unlimited calumny?" questioned Sir Simon.

"No," rejoined the Writer, "I should say he was _invulnerable_ upon those two points. However, two things he dreads more than anything else. He has a horror of ridicule when it is turned upon himself, and an unutterable and most unnatural hatred of all children."

"Well, I don't see how that helps me," rejoined the Lord Mayor.

The Writer looked at Sir Simon significantly, and spoke slowly and deliberately so that his words might have their full effect.

"Lose no time in bringing an action against him for libel; as a defendant he will be off his pedestal,--and at a disadvantage."

The Lord Mayor opened his eyes and whistled softly. "I never thought of that," he confessed; "and where does his horror of children come in?"

"The chief witness for your side will be little Ridgwell," suggested the Writer quietly; "it will be something that Learned Bore doesn't understand, has never encountered, and will not know how to deal with, and of the two I know whose story will be believed, however fantastic it sounds. The child will be the one who will score, they always do in Court, and I think that Learned Bore will live to gnash such teeth as he hasn't had pulled, and employ the venom of his remaining fangs upon some one else."

Sir Simon lay back in his chair and laughed heartily, and all his old good-humour seemed to be restored to him.

"'Pon my word," he declared, "it is a capital idea of yours. How shall I commence the action?"

"I'll find the man for you and get Vellum and Crackles, the solicitors, to instruct him at once on the case. His name is Mr. Gentle Gammon, K.C., a famous barrister. He was at school with me, and afterwards at Oxford. Why, Dad, you must remember him, he returned home once with me and spent the Christmas holidays with us at Lancaster Gate. Mum thought an awful lot of him."

"I remember!" exclaimed Sir Simon excitedly; "meek manner, gentle voice, but the young devil always got his own way, I noticed, before any one even knew what he was after."

"He gets his own way rather more now than he did then, if possible, and by the same means. He always wins his cases too."

"Engage him," commanded Sir Simon, "engage him at once, my boy; and are you going to undertake to coach little Ridgwell?"

"Little Ridgwell won't want any coaching," chuckled the Writer. "I only want little Ridgwell to appear in Court and talk to them about the Pleasant-Faced Lion as he talks to me, and I think it will be a refres.h.i.+ng and unusual experience for them all; and I firmly believe for the first time in his life Mr. Learned Bore will not be able to find anything to say."

"It's very odd," remarked Sir Simon as he rose to take his departure, "really very odd that you should have mentioned that chap just now--what's his name--Ulysses; as far as I remember he was a very cunning person, uncannily cunning, and I'm afraid really quite underhand, so to speak, and sometimes deceitful in his methods; and do you know, my boy, you rather remind me of him, now I come to think of the matter."

The Writer grinned affably.

"And whilst we are upon this subject," pursued Sir Simon, "I should really like to know what explanation you gave to the policeman that night, that he considered so convincing and satisfactory."

"Even Ulysses didn't reveal all his wisdom, Dad. Good-bye."

CHAPTER IX

THE WRITER PLANS WICKED PLANS

Now it so happened that the Writer chanced to be quite as fond of jokes as the Pleasant-Faced Lion, and the Writer contended, taking all the circ.u.mstances into consideration, that an action for libel with the Pleasant-Faced Lion involved in it would be an excellent great big joke, to say nothing of a graceful retaliation upon the Pleasant-Faced Lion himself for a few of the jokes which that Pleasant Animal had played upon the Writer. Not to mention the fact that such a case promised to supply the Writer with a little light recreation almost in the nature of a holiday, after the labours of producing his last book.

Consequently, as soon as Sir Simon had left, the Writer selected his favourite pipe, filled it with his choicest tobacco, and having lit it, stretched himself at ease upon the most comfortable divan in his rooms, and thought out subtle schemes.

There he lay laughing and chuckling for all the world like a wicked Puck, bent upon mischief, joyfully and solely devised for a confusion of his enemies, particularly Mr. Learned Bore.

Cheered and emboldened by such happy reflections, the Writer hit upon a scheme haphazard which for sheer unscrupulous impudence would baffle all description; gradually embroidering his machinations with that whimsicality that had always served him so well as an author, until his plans appeared to be complete.

"Very fortunate," murmured the Writer as he knocked out his pipe, "that those kids told me all about the Pleasant-Faced Lion's party. Great heavens, what a chance! and it will be worth a fifty-pound note to have Lal brought into Court and to hear the Griffin's song sang in Court, and sung it shall be, only I must alter the words to fit the occasion."

Here the Writer sat upon the edge of the table and rocked with delighted laughter.

"Ha! ha! ha!" gurgled the Writer, "only one man in London who can set it, and, by Jove, I'll ring him up on the 'phone at once; a few judicious rehearsals--before Vellum and Crackles, the solicitors, are communicated with--to say nothing of Gentle Gammon, and--ha! ha!

ha!--what a glorious joke. What's Billy Cracker's number in the book?"

A quarter of an hour afterwards, in answer to a most urgent summons by telephone, Mr. William Cracker made his appearance in the Writer's rooms.

Mr. William Cracker, called Billy by his friends, was rapidly rising to fame as a writer of musical comedy--a tall, sleek personage, with straw-coloured hair brilliantined very flat over his head, and carefully parted in the centre, wearing a monocle in one eye, which appeared to grow there, and was always lavishly adorned as an exact and living replica of the latest fas.h.i.+on plate.

Billy greeted the Writer and stared at him through his eyegla.s.s quizzically.

"Whenever I hear you give that Mephistophelean chuckle at the end of the 'phone," commented Billy, "I always know you have got some particularly impish scheme on. Well, what is it?"

"Oh, Billy, Billy," chuckled the Writer, "I have indeed got a scheme, and it is funnier, Billy, than any of your musical comedies."

"In that case," announced Billy, as he leisurely helped himself to a smoke which the Writer offered, "I shall steal the plot."

"Listen, Billy. Could you write a tune, a refrain, an air, whatever you call it, so catchy that people would hum it and sing it on the spot? I want a perfectly irresistible tune, Billy."

"All my tunes are irresistible," confessed Billy modestly.

"Yes, but I want an absolute dead cert. The sort of thing you used to write at Oxford before you took up music as a profession; you know, one of those catchy things we all used to stand round and sing the instant you played it."

"Of course," returned Billy equably, "it's my profession. I turn out any amount of such things."

"Oh, yes; but, Billy, this has got to be a Comic Cla.s.sic."