Mollie's Prince: A Novel

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

  CHAPTER II.

  "MONSIEUR BLACKIE."

  "It would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest forever."

  "A Corinthian, a lad of metal, a good boy."--_King Henry IV._

  A shrill, ear-piercing series of whistles, of a peculiarly excruciatingdescription, broke in upon Waveney's meditation. She shook herself,frowned, ran her fingers through her short, curly hair, thereby causingit to wave more wildly than ever--then ran downstairs.

  The ground floor room corresponded with the one above--only the foldingdoors had not been removed, and over them, in a schoolboy's round hand,roughly painted in red and gold, was "Noel Ward, His Study," with apleasing and serpentine ornamentation embellishing the inscription. Invain had Mollie, with tears in her eyes, implored her father toobliterate the unsightly record. An amused shake of the head onlyanswered her.

  "Leave it alone," he would say. "It is only a nursery legend, and doesno harm--when Noel evolves another original idea it will be time toerase it." And so "Noel Ward, His Study," still sprawled in ungainlycharacters over the lintel.

  As Waveney entered the room with rather an offended air, she saw theyouthful student standing in the doorway. He was a tall, thin striplingof fifteen--but looked older, perhaps because he wore spectacles and hadclassical, well-cut features, and an odd trick of projecting his chinand lifting his head as though he were always on the look-out forcelestial objects. But notwithstanding this eccentricity and a crackedand somewhat high-pitched voice, the heir of the Wards was certainly agoodly youth.

  "Well, old Storm and Stress," he observed, with a derisive grin, as hebalanced himself skilfully on his heels between the folding-doors, "sothe pibroch roused you?"

  "Pibroch!" returned his sister, wrathfully. "How often have I told you,you bad boy, that you are not to make this horrible din. Caterwauling ismusic compared to it, or even a bagpipe out of tune."

  "It was my best and latest work," returned Noel, regarding the ceilingdisconsolately. "A farmyard symphony with roulades and variations of themost realistic and spirited description, and would bring the house downat a Penny Reading. At present we had only reached the braying solo--butthe chorus of turkeycocks, with peacock movement, would have created asensation."

  "They have," returned Mollie, stealing softly behind him and treatinghim to a smart box on the ears; but Noel merely pinned her hands in afirm grasp and went on with his subject: little interruptions of thissort did not disturb him in the least; he rather liked them thanotherwise. Nothing pleased him better than to get a rise out of hissisters, for, whatever virtues he possessed, he certainly lacked thebump of veneration.

  Dear, sweet Mollie, with her angelic face, was often addressed as "oldStick-in-the-mud," "Pegtop," or "the wobbly one," while Waveney, hisspecial chum, the creature whom he loved best in the world next to hisfather, was "Storm and Stress," a singular soubriquet, evolved from hername and her sudden and sprightly movements.

  "For one is nearly blown away," he would say. "There is always a breezethrough the house when that girl is in it; it is like playing a scaleupside down and wrong side outwards to hear her coming downstairs;" andvery often he would come to his meals with his collar up, andflourishing a red silk handkerchief ostentatiously, and speak in acroaking, nasal voice, until his father asked him mildly where he hadcaught such a cold; and then Waveney would nudge him furiously under thetable.

  On the present occasion poor Mollie was kept in durance vile until Noelhad finished his disquisition on his novel symphony; then he releasedher, and contemplated the tea-table with a fixed and glassy stare, whichconveyed mute reproach.

  "Noel, dear, it is a fresh loaf," she said, hastily and apprehensively,"and it is beautifully crusty, and the butter is good--a penny a pounddearer, and at the best shop."

  "Where are the shrimps?" asked Noel, and he so lengthened the word thatit sounded almost as terribly in Mollie's ears as Mrs. Siddons' "Give methe dagger!" for so much depends on expression, and if one is onlymelodramatic, even the words "shrimps" can be as sibilant and aggressiveas the hissing of snakes.

  "Oh, dear, how tiresome you are, Noel!" returned Mollie, quite sharplyfor her, for she was housekeeper, and the strain and responsibility wereoverwhelming at times, especially when her poor little purse was empty."I could not afford them, really, Noel," she continued, welling intotenderness at the thought of his disappointment. "There were some nicebrown ones, but I dared not get them, for I had only twopence left, so Ibought watercresses instead."

  "Ask a blessing, my child, and I will forgive you;" and then, much tohis sister's relief, Noel subsided, and began cutting the bread, whileunder cover of the table-cloth, Waveney slipped sixpence into Mollie'shand, and made a movement with her lips suggestive of "to-morrow;" andMollie nodded as she poured out the tea.

  Noel had a volume of "Eugene Aram" propped up before him as he ate, butit did not engross him so utterly that he could not interpolate theconversation whenever he pleased, and it pleased him to do so veryoften.

  Mollie was giving a graphic and heart-breaking account of the way inwhich she and her father had packed the precious picture, "and how ithad been bumped three times while they carried it down the narrowstairs." "I quite missed the dear old thing, Wave," she went on, "andthe studio looked so dull without it. Noel was so absurd; he threw anold shoe after it for good luck, and it nearly knocked father's hatoff--and then he bolted indoors, and there was father looking at me soastonished, and he was not quite pleased, I could see that, so I said,'It is not me dad, it is the other boy.'"

  "Yes, and it was real mean of you," grumbled Noel; "but there, what areyou to expect from a woman? Poor old padre, he will be precious tiredwith hauling along 'King Canute,' and it will bump all the worse goingupstairs."

  "Oh, Noel!" exclaimed both the girls, in a shrill crescendo of dismay."You don't really believe that the dealers will refuse 'King Canute'?"ejaculated Mollie. "Father has worked so hard at it, and it is reallyhis best picture."

  Noel shrugged his shoulders; then he pointed his chin in anargumentative way.

  "The dealers buy awful rubbish sometimes, but they won't buy this. Everykid knows how the old buffer gave his courtiers a lesson, but no onewants to be always looking on while he does it; the public hates thatsort of thing, you know. I told father so, over and over again, but hewould not listen. 'Why don't you try something lively and lesshistorical?' I said to him. '"The Two Grave-diggers" in _Hamlet_, or"Touchstone and Audrey." We might get Corporal Marks to sit for"Touchstone"--the public would think that fetching.' But no, nothing butthat solemn old Dane would suit him--the Wards are terribly obstinate. Iam my father's son, and speak feelingly;" and then Noel shouldered hisbook and marched back to the study.

  "Do you think Noel is right?" whispered Mollie. "He is very clever, forall his ridiculous nonsense, and I am not quite sure whether 'KingCanute' will really interest people."

  "Oh, don't ask me," returned Waveney, in an exasperated tone. "If onlydear father would stick to his schools, and his drawing-classes, and nottry to paint these pictures! They seem grand to us, but they are notreally well done. Don't you remember Mr. Fullarton said so? We were inthe back room, but we heard him plainly. 'You are too ambitious,Ward'--that was what he said; 'the public is tired of these oldhackneyed subjects. Why don't you hit on something pathetic andsuggestive--some fetching little incident that tells its own story?''"Child and St. Bernard Dog," for example,' returned father, grimly,'and write under it, "Nellie's Guardian." Would that do, Fullarton? ButI suppose anything would do for pot-boilers.'"

  "Oh, yes, I recollect," returned Mollie, with a long-drawn sigh. "Poorold dad! How low he seemed that day! And this evening, if----" ButWaveney would not let her finish the sentence.

  "Never mind that just now. It is no use crossing the bridge till youcome to it; let us go upstairs and be cosy, for I have a lot I want tosay to you;" and then they went up arm-in-arm--Mollie was almost a headtaller than her sister--and sat down side by sid
e on the big couch; andthen Waveney began to laugh.

  "Oh, Mollie, I have had such an adventure; I did not want Noel to hearit, because he would have teased me so unmercifully. Don't you recollectthat horrid note-book that we found?" And then, at the recollection,Mollie began to giggle, and finally both she and Waveney became sohysterical with suppressed mirth that they had almost to stiflethemselves in the cushions for fear Noel should hear them.

  For it was only lately that they had become acquainted with the dark andMachiavellian policy of that artful youth. Evening after evening, asthey had exchanged their girlish confidences, Noel had sat by them witha stolid and abstracted look, apparently drawing pen-and-ink devils--afavourite amusement of his; but it was Mollie who found him out.

  "The Adventures of Waveney Edna Ward, _alias_ Storm and Stress," wasscrawled on the title-page, and thereupon followed a series ofbiographical sketches, profusely illustrated.

  "Storm and Stress with the Bull of Bashan"--a singularly graphicdescription of Waveney's terror at meeting an angry cow in the lane.

  "No. II.--Storm and Stress. Saving an Orphan's Life--the Orphan being adeserted, half-starved kitten, now an elderly cat rejoicing in the nameof Mrs. Muggins;" and so on. Every little incident touched up or finelycaricatured in a masterly manner.

  Pere Ward had been so charmed with this manifestation of his son'stalent that he had carried off the note-book and locked it up amongsthis treasures. "That boy will make his mark," he would say, proudly."But we must give him plenty of scope." And, indeed, it could not bedenied that Noel had a fairly long tether.

  As soon as Waveney could recover herself, she sat up and rebuked Mollieseverely for her levity; "for how is a person to talk while you arecackling in that ridiculous manner? And it is really quite aninteresting adventure, and"--with an important air--"it is to becontinued in our next." And this sounded so mysterious that Mollie wipedher eyes and consented to be serious.

  "Well, you know," began Waveney, in a delightfully colloquial manner,"father had told me to take the omnibus that would put me down at King'sStreet. All the outside places were taken, but there was only the usualfat woman with bundle and baby inside; and presently a gentleman got in.You know I always make a point of noticing my fellow passengers, as dadsays it helps to form a habit of observation; so I at once took stock ofour solitary gentleman.

  "He was a little dark man, very swarthy and foreign looking, and he worean oddly-shaped peaked sort of hat--rather like Guy Fawkes' without thefeather--and he had a black moustache that was very stiff and fierce, soof course I made up my mind that he was a Frenchman, and probably anartist; for, though his clothes were good, he had rather a Bohemianlook." Here Waveney paused, but Mollie gave her a nudge.

  "Go on, Wave. I am beginning to feel interested. Was he really French?"

  "Not a bit of it, my dear, for he talked the most beautiful English; anddirectly he opened his mouth I found out he was a gentleman, for hisvoice was perfectly cultured and so pleasant. I rather took to himbecause he was so kind to the fat woman; he held her bundle while sheand her baby got out, and he scolded the conductor for hurrying her. Ithought that rather nice of him; so few young men trouble themselvesabout fat women and babies."

  "Oh! he was young?" in an appreciative tone.

  "Well, youngish; two or three and thirty, perhaps. But now I am comingto the critical point of my story. Directly we were left alone theconductor came to ask for our fares; he was a surly-looking man, with ared face, and his manner was not over civil; most likely he resented thescolding about the fat woman.

  "Well, no sooner had Monsieur put his hand in his pocket than he drew itout again with a puzzled look.

  "'Some one has picked my pocket,' he said, out loud, but he did not lookso very much disturbed. 'My sovereign purse has gone, and some loosesilver as well.' And then he searched his other pockets, and onlyproduced a card-case and some papers; and then he began to laugh inrather an embarrassed way. 'My good fellow, you see how it is; thebeggars have cleaned me out. Five or six pounds gone. Confound thoselight-fingered gentry! If I had not left my watch at the maker's itwould have gone, too.'

  "'That is all very well,' returned the conductor, in a disagreeablevoice, 'but what I wants to know, sir, is how am I to get my fare?'

  "'Oh, you will get it right enough," replied Monsieur (but he was notMonsieur at all, only the name suited him); 'but for the present I canonly offer you my card;' and then he held it out with such a pleasantsmile that it might have softened half-a-dozen conductors. But old SurlyFace was not so easily mollified.

  "'I don't want your bit of pasteboard,' he growled. 'Do you callyourself a gentleman to ride in a public conveyance without paying yourfare?'

  "Then the motto of the Wards flashed into my mind, 'Open hand, goodluck,' and the next minute I produced a sixpence from my purse--therewere just two sixpences in it.

  "'Will you allow me to offer you this?' I said, in my grandest manner;but I felt a little taken aback when he lifted his hat and beamed at me.I say beamed, for it was really the most friendly, jovial smile; hiswhole face quite crinkled up with it.

  "'I could not refuse such a good Samaritan. A thousand thanks for yourkind loan. There, sir,' handing over the sixpence, sternly, 'give me thechange and next time keep a civil tongue in your head.' And then,greatly to my surprise, he pocketed the threepence.

  "'I am in your debt for a whole sixpence,' he continued, 'and I am asgrateful to you as though you had returned my missing sovereigns. Is itnot Kingsley who points out the beauty and grace of helping "lame dogsover stiles?" Now will you add to your kindness by informing me of yourname and address?'

  "I stared at him blankly, and I am afraid I blushed.

  "'There is no occasion,' I said, feebly, at last. 'Sixpence is not agreat sum, and I was very glad to be of service;' for I could not helpfeeling how absurd it was, making so much of a trifle. But Monsieurseemed indignant at this.

  "'I could not be in debt to any young lady even for sixpence,' he said,severely. 'I was too well brought up for that.' And then of course I wasobliged to tell him where I lived; and he actually made me repeat ittwice, he was so anxious to remember it.

  "'Miss Ward, 10 Cleveland Terrace, Chelsea,' he observed. 'Why, that isjust opposite the Hospital. I know it well. Strange to say, I am stayingin Chelsea myself.' Then he took out his card-case, hesitated, and grewrather red, and finally put it back in his pocket. 'My name is Ingram,'he said, rather abruptly; and then the omnibus stopped, and he handed meout.

  "'I must be in your debt until to-morrow, I fear,' were his partingwords--and oh, Mollie, do you really think that he will actually calland pay the sixpence?"

  "Of course he will, and of course he ought," returned Mollie, excitedly."Oh, Wave, what an adventure! It was just like a bit in a novel when thehero meets the heroine--only an omnibus is the last place for aromance." Then Waveney made a face.

  "No, no, Mollie, little dark Frenchified men are not my taste, even ifthey have nice voices. My private hero must be very different fromMonsieur Blackie." Then a crackling laugh from behind the sofa made boththe girls jump up in affright, and the next moment Waveney looked notunlike her soubriquet, as, uttering dire threats of vengeance, she flewround and round the room after the treacherous eavesdropper, until Noel,exhausted by laughter, subsided into a corner and submitted to beshaken.

  "'Monsieur Blackie, to be continued in our next,'" exclaimed theincorrigible lad, when Waveney grew weary with her punitive exertions."My word, there must be a new note-book for this. 'Storm and Stressenacting the part of Good Samaritan';" and here Noel fairly crowedhimself out of the room.

  "He has heard every word," observed Waveney, in a dejected tone. "I amafraid we laughed too loud, and that roused his curiosity. Oh, dear,what a boy he is! And none of us keep him in order;" but Mollie was tooexhausted to answer her.