Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks Part 22

"What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Figgins from within; "do you wish me to come and play you a tune?" and he then continued "too-too, tooty-too."

"The gentleman in the next room objects to the sound of your flute."

"Does he?--tooty-too, tooty-too."

"Yes; and he begs you'll leave off."

"I shan't!--tooty-tum, tooty-tum, tooty-too. I intend to play all night."

The landlady, having delivered her message, went downstairs.

Mr. Figgins still continued to blow away and the agonized Bosja to mutter curses not loud, but deep, upon his head and his instrument.

But patience has its limits, and Bosja, never remarkable for that virtue, having sworn all the oaths he knew twice over, at last sprang from his bed, and das.h.i.+ng down his pipe, rapped fiercely at the wall.

"What do you want? Shall I come and play a few tunes to you?" inquired the orphan, placidly pausing for an instant.

"You vile son of perdition, stop that accursed noise!" shouted the Turk.

"Too-too, tooty-too."

"Do you hear, unbelieving dog?"

"Tooty-too--yes, I hear--tooty-tooty-tooty-too."

"Then why don't you stop?"

"Because I intend to go on--too-tum-too--all night"

"But you're driving me to distraction."

"Nonsense; go to bed and sleep--tooty-tum, tooty-tum, tooty-too. You will like the beautiful flute in time."

"But I can't sleep with that infernal tooty-too in any ears, and I've got the toothache."

"Have it out. You'll feel better."

This cool irony on the part of Mr. Figgins was like oil poured upon the fierce temper of the irascible Bosja, and he shouted loudly--

"If I hear any more of that diabolical 'tootum-too,' I swear by Allah I'll take your life, and give your body to the crows and vultures."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the reckless Figgins. "Tooty-tum, tooty-tum, too-tum--"

But before he could finish his musical phrase, the maddened Bosja had seized his scimitar, and rushed like a bull at the part.i.tion.

The part.i.tion was thin, the Turk was burly and thick, and he plunged through head first into the orphan's apartment, to the no little surprise and dismay of the latter.

It was quite a picture.

Bosja waved his weapon over his head; Mark Antony Figgins hopped upon the bed and wrapped himself tightly round in the clothes, clutching his flute to his side.

For a moment the pair stood glaring at each other.

"Your flute, vile dog, or your life," shouted the Turk.

"I object to part with either," cried the orphan. "Go and have your tooth out, and be happy."

Down came the scimitar with a swish in the direction of his head.

But the grocer had quickly withdrawn it beneath the clothes.

Not to be thwarted, however, in his vengeance, the burly Bosja swooped down upon the heap, and dragged them up in his grasp, the orphan included.

"Now I have you," he cried, as he seized the obnoxious flute.

"Give me my instrument, infidel," shrieked the orphan, as he threw off the blanket, and clung to the flute with desperation.

At the same moment, he recognised the green and yellow-striped turban on the head of the Turk.

It was Bosja into whose hands it had fallen, when Mr. Figgins was escaping from the mob.

"That is my turban," he cried, as with one hand he dragged it from his enemy's head, with dauntless vehemence, and bringing his flute down with a smart crack on the Turk's bald pate.

The Turk, who was much more of a bully than a hero, was quite confounded at the excited energy which the Frankish lodger displayed.

Dropping his scimitar, he then had a struggle for the flute.

Round the room they went, pulling and hauling.

At length, lurching against the door, it burst open.

The combatants now found themselves on the landing.

Here the struggle continued, till, at length, giving a desperate tug, the flute came in half, and Bosja fell backwards, head over heels, down the stairs, with the upper joint of the instrument in his hand.

The landlady, who thought the house was falling, came hurrying to see what had happened, and found the Turk lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, with the breath almost knocked out of his body.

It took some time to bring him to himself.

It was just as he was recovering there was a loud knocking at the street door.

On opening it, a body of Turkish soldiers appeared drawn up in front of it.

"What is the cause of this disturbance?" inquired the leader of the troop.

Bosja quickly gave his own version of what had happened.

Of course, it was highly exaggerated.