Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks Part 20

"He say you make sich orful row wid dat flute he can git no sleep, an', derefore, he send me to stop it. You got to gib up de flute direckly."

The teeth of the half-silly musician were chattering in his head.

His optics rolled wildly from side to side.

Just at this crisis Bogey, with his eyes glaring and his white teeth fully exposed, thrust his black face from the foliage.

"Drop it," he cried, with a hideous grin.

He had no occasion to repeat the command.

With a yell of terror the horrified Turkish gentleman, who was really half an idiot, and was just then away from his keepers, let fall his instrument from his trembling fingers, and starting up, waddled away from the spot as though the furies were after him, while the special messenger of the Prophet quietly picked up the flute with a chuckle, and retraced his steps to the gate.

Here he found Mr. Figgins.

He could scarcely believe his eyes when he saw the negro with the precious instrument in his hand.

"The flute, the flute!" he cried, "the soother of sorrow, the orphan's comforter. Let me clutch you in my grasp. Oh, it brings back my boyhood's days."

As he spoke, he rushed forward eagerly to seize the treasure.

But Bogey stuck to it.

"Money fust, Ma.s.sa Figgins," he said, with a grin, "twenty poun' am de price, yah know, an' dis a fuss-rate blower. Too-too-too, tooty-tum-too," he sounded on the instrument.

The orphan was frantic.

"I haven't twenty pounds with me," he exclaimed, excitedly, "but I'll pay you the moment we get home, and five pounds over for interest. You know I'm well off, and am also a man of my word."

Bogey did know this, and was not afraid to trust him.

"Well, den, dere de flute," he said; "but don't begin too-too-tooin'

till we git good way off, else p'r'aps de gem'l'm wid de red cap hear and send a dog arter de speshal messenger of de Prophet."

Mr. Figgins pledged himself not to blow a note till they were a mile from the spot at least, and on the strength of this promise, Bogey gave him up the instrument.

But no sooner did the excited orphan find it in his possession than he forgot all his promises, and putting the flute to his lips, he at once commenced "The Girl I Left Behind Me," in the most brilliant manner--so brilliant indeed that it reached the ears of the owner inside, and, as Bogey had shrewdly suspected would be the case, the latter began to have some slight suspicions that he had been done out of his flute by an impostor.

Very soon his voice was heard calling his dogs, and almost immediately loud barkings were heard.

"Run, run, Ma.s.sa Figgins, or de dogs tear yah to pieces," shouted Bogey.

"They may tear me limb from limb," returned the orphan "but they shan't rob me of my flute."

And without taking the instrument from his lips, off he ran playing "Cheer, Boys, Cheer," as he hurried along.

The next moment out rushed several gaunt-looking animals, and gave chase to the musical Figgins, urged on by their mad master, who was following them.

Bogey waited for him at the gate.

As he came forth puffing, grunting, and blowing, the negro put out his foot, and over he went on his nose.

"Go back, ma.s.sa bag breeches," cried Bogey, fiercely.

He added to the effect of his words by applying a switch he carried to the fat hind-quarters of the Turk, who was glad to scramble in at his gate on all fours, and shut it to keep out the "special messenger" and his cane.

When Bogey came up with Mr. Figgins, he found that usually timid personage with his back against a tree, doing battle with his canine foes, who were making sad havoc with his Moslem garments.

"Bravo, Ma.s.sa Figgins," cried Bogey, as he rushed in among the yelping pack, "we soon get rid of dese heah."

With this he laid about him with such energy that the Turkish dogs, utterly bewildered, dropped their ears, and tucking their tails between their legs, slunk howling away, whilst the triumphant orphan accompanied their flight with a lively tune on his flute.

Accompanied by Bogey, Mark Antony reached his quarters in safety.

He then promptly paid the price of his instrument, and at once set himself steadily to practise, to the great horror of all in the house.

A week pa.s.sed. Then the following conversation took place between young Jack Harkaway and his comrade Harry Girdwood.

"I say, old fellow, are you fond of music?"

"Well, it all depends what sort of music it is," Jack replied.

"What do you think of Figgins' instrumental performance?"

"Well, I think it's an awful row."

"So do I; but he doesn't seem to think so."

"No; he's always at it; all day long and half through the night; he'll blow himself inside his flute if he goes on at this rate. I consider it comes under the head of a nuisance."

"Most decidedly," said Jack, "and like other nuisances, must be put a stop to."

"All right: let's send for him at once."

Bogey was summoned and dispatched with a polite message from young Jack, that he would be glad to speak to him.

On receiving the message, he repaired at once to the room where Jack and Harry Girdwood were located, preparing another practical joke for the benefit of the orphan.

Mr. Figgins took his flute with him, and too-tooed all the way till he reached the door of Jack's room.

For Jack and Harry, it should be mentioned, had followed the orphan to his new abode, and secured rooms in the same house.

He entered.

"Sit down, Mr. Figgins," said Jack.

Mr. Figgins sat down, nursing his flute.