Tales of the Wonder Club Volume I Part 37

By the time the tragedian had finished his recital, our friends had arrived at the door of the inn, where their host's pretty daughter waited to receive them.

"Well, Helen, my dear," said Mr. Oldstone. "Is the breakfast ready? We have had a long story, and we are all very hungry."

"Yes, sir," answered the maiden; "everything is on the table. I'll run and fetch the eggs. I put them in to boil when I saw you coming in the distance. The toast and rolls are hot, and all in order."

"Bravo! Helen, bravo!" said Professor Cyanite, rubbing his hands.

"By my troth, Helen," said our artist, "if I wanted an appet.i.te your bright eyes would be enough to give me one."

Helen blushed and smiled, and skipped lightly away to see after the eggs.

"Ah! here is a breakfast fit for a king," said Mr. Crucible, as Helen re-entered with a tray.

"And all made with her own fair hands, too, I'll warrant," said McGuilp.

"What makes you blush so much of late, Helen?" asked Mr. Hardcase.

"Oh, what a shame to tease the poor child," said Mr. Parna.s.sus, with tenderness.

"Ah! Helen," sighed Dr. Bleedem, "your health and rosy cheeks are worth all my drugs."

"'I would I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek,'" quoted the tragedian from his favourite "Romeo and Juliet."

"Order, order!" cried various other members at once.

At that moment our host entered to call away his daughter, so Helen was spared further banter.

As the meal proceeded the company began to dispute who should tell the next story. Of those present who had not yet entertained the company with a tale were Mr. Crucible and Mr. Oldstone. One of the two _must_ tell a story, as the club decreed, but as each of these gentlemen wished to lay the burden of the story upon the shoulders of the other, nothing seemed likely to be settled.

Accordingly, after the breakfast things had been removed dice were called for, and it was agreed that whoever should throw the highest should tell the story. Our host soon returned with the dice-box, and remained to see which of the two gentlemen should throw the higher number.

Mr. Oldstone seized the dice-box, and shaking it well, threw double five. It was now Mr. Crucible's turn, so taking the dice-box from the hand of the first thrower, and rattling it twice or thrice, he threw the number twelve.

"Now then, Crucible," said Mr. Oldstone, laughing, "no s.h.i.+rking, but let us have the story at once."

"What! so soon after breakfast!" exclaimed Mr. Crucible, "and before we have had time to digest the last properly."

"I hope you will excuse my presence here gentlemen," said Mr. Hardcase, "for I have a case to attend to."

"Now really, Hardcase, that's too bad," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Oldstone.

At this moment a servant arrived hurriedly at the "Headless Lady," to call away Dr. Bleedem to see a patient.

"Really, gentlemen," said the doctor, "I am very sorry, but business _is_ business."

"Business! business!" exclaimed Mr. Oldstone, in horror at such a word being uttered within the sacred precincts of the club. "Business! Ugh!"

Professor Cyanite, too, had a great scientific work which he was getting ready for the press, and begged also to be allowed to withdraw.

"Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Oldstone, "this is really very provoking. I cannot think what ails you all this morning. Since our club is reft of three such staunch members, there seems nothing else to be done but to defer the story until the evening, when there will be no excuse for anyone to be absent."

This was agreed to, and the remaining inmates of the "Headless Lady"

began to while away the time each after his own manner. Our artist began a portrait of the landlord's pretty daughter. Mr. Blackdeed, who was only here for the holidays, sat to work to finish a tragedy that he had begun. Mr. Parna.s.sus composed an ode. Mr. Crucible retired to his chamber to try some chemical experiment, and Mr. Oldstone, finding himself deserted, had nothing left him to do but to look over his cabinet of curiosities.

Let us return to our artist and his model. How happy they both are! Both of them young and good-looking, and left all to themselves. With what inspiration the hand of the painter glides over his canvas, and how the face of the pretty Helen brightens up every time the artist refreshes his memory by taking a peep at her from behind his easel. There is no affectation in the expression or the pose of the sitter, it is quite easy and natural, and beautifully simple. She does not seem conscious she is sitting for her portrait.

Every now and then, after working in silence for some twenty minutes or so, McGuilp breaks the monotony by some pleasing remark or question, to which the maiden replies charmingly. Sometimes she in her turn will ask him questions about Italy, and whether the country and the people are the same as in England.

"No, Helen," McGuilp replies; "not the same. Italy is warmer, the sky bluer, and grapes grow in the open air along the road side. The people's faces are darker and their language more musical than ours. They are all Roman Catholics; but, alas, the government is bad, and the country is infested with brigands, who attack travellers in the mountains and sometimes keep them as hostages till their friends can be sent for to pay any ransom they may choose to ask, in default of which their victims are tortured and maimed in the most inhuman manner."

"Oh, what horrid wretches! I was just going to say, before you told me that, what a paradise Italy must be to live in! But I don't think I should like to live there now."

"Well, these are drawbacks, I admit," said McGuilp, "but, nevertheless, Italy is a very charming country. Fancy a land where every peasant makes his own wine--good wine, and cheap, too. What merrymakings they have, too, on their feast days, and how picturesque their costume!"

"Ah! do tell me how they are dressed. I should so like to know."

"Would you, Helen?" said McGuilp. "Then, as the sitting is now at an end, being past twelve o'clock, I will let you look over my portfolio.

You will find some studies that I have made both of men and women in the costumes of the Roman peasantry."

"Oh, do show them to me," exclaimed Helen, in delight. "I am so curious to see what they are like. Did you say it was past twelve o'clock? I began my sitting at nine, and it does not seem to me more than half-an-hour that I have been here."

And I have no doubt she spoke the truth. Happy moments are short. Alas!

how rapidly time glides away in youth, and how provokingly long it appears when we have most reason to wish it should pa.s.s quickly. As Helen was engaged in admiring the studies and sketches of McGuilp our host knocked at the door to ask if his daughter could be spared, as her mother wanted her aid in the affairs of the house.

"Oh, certainly," said McGuilp; "but I must have another good sitting to-morrow."

"Very well, sir. May I be permitted to look at the portrait?" asked the landlord.

"You may look," replied our artist; "but I warn you the likeness is not striking at present."

"Gramercy, sir!" exclaimed the landlord, in ecstasy; "if it is not my girl herself already!"

"Ah! my good host, wait until I have had some half dozen sittings or so, and then look again," said McGuilp.

Our landlord then looked approvingly over our artist's portfolio, and said, "Ah, sir, it is a n.o.ble art."

Helen was delighted with her portrait, of course, and equally so with the contents of the portfolio. McGuilp complimented her upon her sitting, and Helen disappeared for the present.

At one o'clock Helen reappeared with the lunch, and those members of the club who remained at home met again over their frugal meal. They whiled away the time until the evening with politics and a rubber at whist.

At length the village clock struck the dinner hour, and all guests were present. The dinner pa.s.sed off merrily, and all awaited the story anxiously. Our host and his daughter were invited to hear it, so having filled their pipes and stirred the fire, Mr. Crucible, finding himself loudly called upon, took a sip at his port and began his story.

[Ill.u.s.tration]