by E. Nesbit
_THE TURK IN CHAINS; OR, RICHARD'S REVENGE_
THE morning dawned in cloudless splendour. The sky was a pale cobaltcolour, as in pictures of Swiss scenery. The sun shone brightly, and allthe green things in the garden sparkled in the bewitching rays of themonarch of the skies.
The author of this does not like to read much about the weather inbooks, but he is obliged to put this piece in because it is true; and itis a thing that does not very often happen in the middle of January. Infact, I never remember the weather being at all like that in the winterexcept on that one day.
Of course we all went into the garden directly after brekker. (PS.--Ihave said green things: perhaps you think that is a _lapsus lazuli_, orslip of the tongue, and that there are not any green things in thewinter. But there are. And not just evergreens either. Wallflowers andpansies and snapdragons and primroses, and lots of things, keep greenall the year unless it's too frosty. Live and learn.)
And it was so warm we were able to sit in the summer-house. The birdswere singing like mad. Perhaps they thought it was springtime. Orperhaps they always sing when they see the sun, without paying attentionto dates.
And now, when all his brothers and sisters were sitting on the rusticseats in the summer-house, the far-sighted Oswald suddenly saw that nowwas the moment for him to hold that council he had been wanting to holdfor some time.
So he stood in the door of the summer-house, in case any of the othersshould suddenly remember that they wanted to be in some other place. Andhe said--
"I say. About that council I want to hold."
And Dicky replied: "Well, what about it?"
So then Oswald explained all over again that we had been TreasureSeekers, and we had been Would-be-Goods, and he thought it was time wewere something else.
"Being something else makes you think of things," he said at the end ofall the other things he said.
"Yes," said H.O., yawning, without putting up his hand, which is notmanners, and we told him so. "But _I_ can think of things without beingother things. Look how I thought about being a clown, and going toRome."
"I shouldn't think you would want us to remember _that_," said Dora. Andindeed Father had not been pleased with H.O. about that affair. ButOswald never encourages Dora to nag, so he said patiently--
"Yes, you think of things you'd much better not have thought of. Now myidea is let's each say what sort of a society we shall make ourselvesinto--like we did when we were Treasure Seekers--about the differentways to look for it, I mean. Let's hold our tongues (no, not with yourdirty fingers, H.O., old chap; hold it with your teeth if you must holdit with something)--let's hold our tongues for a bit, and then all saywhat we've thought of--in ages," the thoughtful boy added hastily, sothat every one should not speak at once when we had done holding ourtongues.
So we were all silent, and the birds sang industriously among theleafless trees of our large sunny garden in beautiful Blackheath. (Theauthor is sorry to see he is getting poetical. It shall not happenagain, and it _was_ an extra fine day, really, and the birds did sing, afair treat.)
When three long minutes had elapsed themselves by the hands of Oswald'swatch, which always keeps perfect time for three or four days after hehas had it mended, he closed the watch and observed--
"Time! Go ahead, Dora."
Dora went ahead in the following remarks:
"I've thought as hard as I can, and nothing will come into my headexcept--
"'Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever.'
Don't you think we might try to find some new ways to be good in?"
"No, you don't!" "I bar that!" came at once from the mouths of Dicky andOswald.
"You don't come that over us twice," Dicky added. And Oswald eloquentlysaid, "No more Would-be-Goods, thank you, Dora."
Dora said, well, she couldn't think of anything else. And she didn'texpect Oswald had thought of anything better.
"Yes, I have," replied her brother. "What I think is that we don't_know_ half enough."
"If you mean extra swat," said Alice; "I've more homers than I care foralready, thank you."
"I do not mean swat," rejoined the experienced Oswald. "I want to knowall about real things, not booky things. If you kids had known aboutelectric bells you wouldn't have----" Oswald stopped, and then said, "Iwon't say any more, because Father says a gentleman does not support hisarguments with personal illusions to other people's faults and follies."
"Faults and follies yourself," said H.O. The girls restored peace, andOswald went on--
"Let us seek to grow wiser, and to teach each other."
"_I_ bar that," said H.O. "I don't want Oswald and Dicky always on to meand call it teaching."
"We might call the society the Would-be-Wisers," said Oswald hastily.
"It's not so dusty," said Dicky; "let's go on to the others before wedecide."
"You're next yourself," said Alice.
"Oh, so I am," remarked Dicky, trying to look surprised. "Well, my ideais let's be a sort of Industrious Society of Beavers, and make a solemnvow and covenant to make something every day. We might call it theWould-be-Clevers."
"It would be the Too-clever-by-half's before we'd done with it," saidOswald.
And Alice said, "We couldn't always make things that would be any good,and then we should have to do something that wasn't any good, and thatwould be rot. Yes, I know it's my turn--H.O., you'll kick the table topieces if you go on like that. Do, for goodness' sake, keep your feetstill. The only thing I can think of is a society called theWould-be-Boys."
"With you and Dora for members."
"And Noel--poets aren't boys exactly," said H.O.
"If you don't shut up you shan't be in it at all," said Alice, puttingher arm round Noel. "No; I meant us all to be in it--only you boys arenot to keep saying we're only girls, and let us do everything the sameas you boys do."
"I don't want to be a boy, thank you," said Dora, "not when I see howthey behave. H.O., _do_ stop sniffing and use your handkerchief. Well,take mine, then."
It was now Noel's turn to disclose his idea, which proved most awful.
"Let's be Would-be-Poets," he said, "and solemnly vow and convenient towrite one piece of poetry a day as long as we live."
Most of us were dumb at the dreadful thought. But Alice said--
"That would never do, Noel dear, because you're the only one of us who'sclever enough to do it."
So Noel's detestable and degrading idea was shelved without Oswaldhaving to say anything that would have made the youthful poet weep.
"I suppose you don't mean me to say what I thought of," said H.O., "butI shall. I think you ought all to be in a Would-be-Kind Society, and vowsolemn convents and things not to be down on your younger brother."
We explained to him at once that _he_ couldn't be in that, because hehadn't got a younger brother.
"And you may think yourself lucky you haven't," Dicky added.
The ingenious and felicitous Oswald was just going to begin about thecouncil all over again, when the portable form of our Indian uncle camestoutly stumping down the garden path under the cedars.
"Hi, brigands!" he cried in his cheerful unclish manner. "Who's on forthe Hippodrome this bright day?"
And instantly we all were. Even Oswald--because after all you can havea council any day, but Hippodromes are not like that.
"HI, BRIGANDS!" HE CRIED.]
We got ready like the whirlwind of the desert for quickness, and startedoff with our kind uncle, who has lived so long in India that he is muchmore warm-hearted than you would think to look at him.
Half-way to the station Dicky remembered his patent screw for workingships with. He had been messing with it in the bath while he was waitingfor Oswald to have done plunging cleanly in the basin. And in thedesert-whirlwinding he had forgotten to take it out. So now he ran back,because he knew how its cardboardiness would turn to pulp if it wasleft.
"I'll catch you up," he cried.
The uncle
took the tickets and the train came in and still Dicky had notcaught us up.
"Tiresome boy!" said the uncle; "you don't want to miss thebeginning--eh, what? Ah, here he comes!" The uncle got in, and so didwe, but Dicky did not see the uncle's newspaper which Oswald waved, andhe went running up and down the train looking for us instead of justgetting in anywhere sensibly, as Oswald would have done. When the trainbegan to move he did try to open a carriage door but it stuck, and thetrain went faster, and just as he got it open a large heavy portercaught him by the collar and pulled him off the train, saying--
"Now, young shaver, no susansides on this ere line, if _you_ please."
Dicky hit the porter, but his fury was vain. Next moment the train hadpassed away, and us in it. Dicky had no money, and the uncle had all thetickets in the pocket of his fur coat.
* * * * *
I am not going to tell you anything about the Hippodrome because theauthor feels that it was a trifle beastly of us to have enjoyed it asmuch as we did considering Dicky. We tried not to talk about it beforehim when we got home, but it was very difficult--especially theelephants.
* * * * *
I suppose he spent an afternoon of bitter thoughts after he had toldthat porter what he thought of him, which took some time, and thestation-master interfered in the end.
When we got home he was all right with us. He had had time to see it wasnot our faults, whatever he thought at the time.
He refused to talk about it. Only he said--
"I'm going to take it out of that porter. You leave me alone. I shallthink of something presently."
"Revenge is very wrong," said Dora; but even Alice asked her kindly todry up. We all felt that it was simply piffle to talk copy-book to oneso disappointed as our unfortunate brother.
"It _is_ wrong, though," said Dora.
"Wrong be blowed!" said Dicky, snorting; "who began it I should like toknow! The station's a beastly awkward place to take it out of any onein. I wish I knew where he lived."
"_I_ know _that_," said Noel. "I've known it a long time--beforeChristmas, when we were going to the Moat House."
"Well, what is it, then?" asked Dicky savagely.
"Don't bite his head off," remarked Alice. "Tell us about it, Noel. Howdo you know?"
"It was when you were weighing yourselves on the weighing machine. Ididn't because my weight isn't worth being weighed for. And there was aheap of hampers and turkeys and hares and things, and there was a labelon a turkey and brown-paper parcel; and that porter that you hate sosaid to the other porter----"
"Oh, hurry up, do!" said Dicky.
"I won't tell you at all if you bully me," said Noel, and Alice had tocoax him before he would go on.
"Well, he looked at the label and said, 'Little mistake here,Bill--wrong address; ought to be 3, Abel Place, eh?'
"And the other one looked, and he said, 'Yes; it's got your name rightenough. Fine turkey, too, and his chains in the parcel. Pity they ain'tmore careful about addressing things, eh?' So when they had donelaughing about it I looked at the label and it said, 'James Johnson, 8,Granville Park.' So I knew it was 3, Abel Place, he lived at, and hisname was James Johnson."
"Good old Sherlock Holmes!" said Oswald.
"You won't really _hurt_ him," said Noel, "will you? Not Corsicanrevenge with knives, or poisoned bowls? I wouldn't do more than a goodbooby-trap, if I was you."
When Noel said the word "booby-trap," we all saw a strange, happy lookcome over Dicky's face. It is called a far-away look, I believe, and youcan see it in the picture of a woman cuddling a photograph-album withher hair down, that is in all the shops, and they call it "The Soul'sAwakening."
Directly Dicky's soul had finished waking up he shut his teeth togetherwith a click. Then he said, "I've got it."
Of course we all knew that.
"Any one who thinks revenge is wrong is asked to leave _now_."
Dora said he was very unkind, and did he really want to turn her out?
"There's a jolly good fire in Father's study," he said. "No, I'm notwaxy with you, but I'm going to have my revenge, and I don't want you todo anything you thought wrong. You'd only make no end of a fussafterwards."
"Well, it _is_ wrong, so I'll go," said Dora. "Don't say I didn't warnyou, that's all!"
And she went.
Then Dicky said, "Now, any more conscious objectors?"
And when no one replied he went on: "It was you saying 'Booby-trap' gaveme the idea. His name's James Johnson, is it? And he said the thingswere addressed wrong, did he? Well, _I'll_ send him a Turkey-and-chains."
"A Turk in chains," said Noel, growing owley-eyed at the thought--"a_live_ Turk--or--no, not a dead one, Dicky?"
"The Turk I'm going to send won't be a live one nor yet a dead one."
"How horrible! _Half_ dead. That's worse than anything," and Noel becameso green in the face that Alice told Dicky to stop playing the goat, andtell us what his idea really was.
"Don't you see _yet_?" he cried; "_I_ saw it directly."
"I daresay," said Oswald; "it's easy to see your own idea. Drive ahead."
"Well, I'm going to get a hamper and pack it full of parcels and put alist of them on the top--beginning Turk-and-chains, and send it toMister James Johnson, and when he opens the parcels there'll be nothinginside."
"There must be something, you know," said H.O., "or the parcels won't beany shape except flatness."
"Oh, there'll be _something_ right enough," was the bitter reply of theone who had not been to the Hippodrome, "but it won't be the sort ofsomething he'll expect it to be. Let's do it now. I'll get a hamper."
IT WAS RATHER DIFFICULT TO GET ANYTHING THE SHAPE OF ATURKEY.]
He got a big one out of the cellar and four empty bottles with theirstraw cases. We filled the bottles with black ink and water, and redink and water, and soapy water, and water plain. And we put them down onthe list--
1 bottle of port wine. 1 bottle of sherry wine. 1 bottle of sparkling champagne. 1 bottle of rum.
The rest of the things we put on the list were--
1 turkey-and-chains. 2 pounds of chains. 1 plum-pudding. 4 pounds of mince-pies. 2 pounds of almonds and raisins. 1 box of figs. 1 bottle of French plums. 1 large cake.
And we made up parcels to look outside as if their inside was full ofthe delicious attributes described in the list. It was rather difficultto get anything the shape of a turkey but with coals and crushednewspapers and firewood we did it, and when it was done up with lots ofstring and the paper artfully squeezed tight to the firewood to looklike the Turk's legs it really was almost lifelike in its deceivingness.The chains, or sausages, we did with dusters--and not clean ones--rolledtight, and the paper moulded gently to their forms. The plum-pudding wasa newspaper ball. The mince-pies were newspapers too, and so were thealmonds and raisins. The box of figs was a real fig-box with cindersand ashes in it damped to keep them from rattling about. The French-plumbottle was real too. It had newspaper soaked in ink in it, and the cakewas half a muff-box of Dora's done up very carefully and put at thebottom of the hamper. Inside the muff-box we put a paper with--
"Revenge is not wrong when the other people begin. It was you began, andnow you are jolly well served out."
We packed all the bottles and parcels into the hamper, and put the liston the very top, pinned to the paper that covered the false breast ofthe imitation Turk.
Dicky wanted to write--"From an unknown friend," but we did not thinkthat was fair, considering how Dicky felt.
So at last we put--"From one who does not wish to sign his name."
And that was true, at any rate.
Dicky and Oswald lugged the hamper down to the shop that has CarterPaterson's board outside.
"I vote we don't pay the carriage," said Dicky, but that was perhapsbecause he was still so very angry about being pulled
off the train.Oswald had not had it done to him, so he said that we ought to pay thecarriage. And he was jolly glad afterwards that this honourable feelinghad arisen in his young bosom, and that he had jolly well made Dicky letit rise in his.
We paid the carriage. It was one-and-five-pence, but Dicky said it wascheap for a high-class revenge like this, and after all it was his moneythe carriage was paid with.
So then we went home and had another go in of grub--because tea had beenrather upset by Dicky's revenge.
The people where we left the hamper told us that it would be deliverednext day. So next morning we gloated over the thought of the sell thatporter was in for, and Dicky was more deeply gloating than any one.
"I expect it's got there by now," he said at dinner-time; "it's a firstclass booby-trap; what a sell for him! He'll read the list and thenhe'll take out one parcel after another till he comes to the cake. It_was_ a ripping idea! I'm glad I thought of it!"
"I'm not," said Noel suddenly. "I wish you hadn't--I wish we hadn't. Iknow just exactly what he feels like now. He feels as if he'd like to_kill_ you for it, and I daresay he would if you hadn't been a craven,white-feathered skulker and not signed your name."
It was a thunderbolt in our midst Noel behaving like this. It madeOswald feel a sick inside feeling that perhaps Dora had been right. Shesometimes is--and Oswald hates this feeling.
Dicky was so surprised at the unheard-of cheek of his young brother thatfor a moment he was speechless, and before he got over hisspeechlessness Noel was crying and wouldn't have any more dinner. Alicespoke in the eloquent language of the human eye and begged Dicky to lookover it this once. And he replied by means of the same useful organ thathe didn't care what a silly kid thought. So no more was said. When Noelhad done crying he began to write a piece of poetry and kept at it allthe afternoon. Oswald only saw just the beginning. It was called
"THE DISAPPOINTED PORTER'S FURY _Supposed to be by the Porter himself_,"
and it began:--
"When first I opened the hamper fair And saw the parcel inside there My heart rejoiced like dry gardens when It rains--but soon I changed and then I seized my trusty knife and bowl Of poison, and said 'Upon the whole I will have the life of the man Or woman who thought of this wicked plan To deceive a trusting porter so. No noble heart would have thought of it. No.'"
There were pages and pages of it. Of course it was all nonsense--thepoetry, I mean. And yet . . . . . . (I have seen that put in books whenthe author does not want to let out all he thought at the time.)
That evening at tea-time Jane came and said--
"Master Dicky, there's an old aged man at the door inquiring if you livehere."
So Dicky thought it was the bootmaker perhaps; so he went out, andOswald went with him, because he wanted to ask for a bit of cobbler'swax.
But it was not the shoemaker. It was an old man, pale in the face andwhite in the hair, and he was so old that we asked him into Father'sstudy by the fire, as soon as we had found out it was really Dicky hewanted to see.
When we got him there he said--
"Might I trouble you to shut the door?"
This is the way a burglar or a murderer might behave, but we did notthink he was one. He looked too old for these professions.
When the door was shut, he said--
"I ain't got much to say, young gemmen. It's only to ask was it you sentthis?"
He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and it was our list.Oswald and Dicky looked at each other.
"Did you send it?" said the old man again.
So then Dicky shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yes."
Oswald said, "How did you know and who are you?"
The old man got whiter than ever. He pulled out a piece of paper--it wasthe greenish-grey piece we'd wrapped the Turk and chains in. And it hada label on it that we hadn't noticed, with Dicky's name and address onit. The new bat he got at Christmas had come in it.
WHEN THE DOOR WAS SHUT HE SAID, "I AIN'T GOT MUCH TO SAY,YOUNG GEMMEN."]
"That's how I know," said the old man. "Ah, be sure your sin will findyou out."
"But who are you, anyway!" asked Oswald again.
"Oh, _I_ ain't nobody in particular," he said. "I'm only the father ofthe pore gell as you took in with your cruel, deceitful, lying tricks.Oh, you may look uppish, young sir, but I'm here to speak my mind, andI'll speak it if I die for it. So now!"
"But we didn't send it to a girl," said Dicky. "We wouldn't do such athing. We sent it for a--for a----" I think he tried to say for a joke,but he couldn't with the fiery way the old man looked at him--"for asell, to pay a porter out for stopping me getting into a train when itwas just starting, and I missed going to the Circus with the others."Oswald was glad Dicky was not too proud to explain to the old man. Hewas rather afraid he might be.
"I never sent it to a girl," he said again.
"Ho," said the aged one. "An' who told you that there porter was asingle man? It was his wife--my pore gell--as opened your low parcel,and she sees your lying list written out so plain on top, and, sez sheto me, 'Father,' says she, 'ere's a friend in need! All these goodthings for us, and no name signed, so that we can't even say thank you.I suppose it's some one knows how short we are just now, and hardlyenough to eat with coals the price they are,' says she to me. 'I do callthat kind and Christian,' says she, 'and I won't open not one of themlovely parcels till Jim comes 'ome,' she says, 'and we'll enjoy thepleasures of it together, all three of us,' says she. And when he camehome--we opened of them lovely parcels. She's a cryin' her eyes out athome now, and Jim, he only swore once, and I don't blame him for thatone--though never an evil speaker myself--and then he set himself downon a chair and puts his elbows on it to hide his face like--and 'Emmie,'says he, 'so help me. I didn't know I'd got an enemy in the world. Ialways thought we'd got nothing but good friends,' says he. An' I saysnothing, but I picks up the paper, and comes here to your fine house totell you what I think of you. It's a mean, low-down, dirty, nasty trick,and no gentleman wouldn't a-done it. So that's all--and it's off mychest, and good-night to you gentlemen both!"
He turned to go out. I shall not tell you what Oswald felt, except thathe did hope Dicky felt the same, and would behave accordingly. And Dickydid, and Oswald was both pleased and surprised.
Dicky said--
"Oh, I say, stop a minute. I didn't think of your poor girl."
"And her youngest but a bare three weeks old," said the old man angrily.
"I didn't, on my honour I didn't think of anything but paying the porterout."
"He was only a doing of his duty," the old man said.
"Well, I beg your pardon and his," said Dicky; "it was ungentlemanly,and I'm very sorry. And I'll try to make it up somehow. Please make itup. I can't do more than own I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't--there!"
"Well," said the old man slowly, "we'll leave it at that. Next timep'r'aps you'll think a bit who it's going to be as'll get the benefit ofyour payings out."
Dicky made him shake hands, and Oswald did the same.
Then we had to go back to the others and tell them. It was hard. But itwas ginger-ale and seed-cake compared to having to tell Father, whichwas what it came to in the end. For we all saw, though Noel happened tobe the one to say it first, that the only way we could really make it upto James Johnson and his poor girl and his poor girl's father, and thebaby that was only three weeks old, was to send them a hamper with allthe things in it--_real_ things, that we had put on the list in therevengeful hamper. And as we had only six-and-sevenpence among us we hadto tell Father. Besides, you feel better inside when you have. He talkedto us about it a bit, but he is a good Father and does not jaw unduly.He advanced our pocket-money to buy a real large Turk-and-chains. And hegave us six bottles of port wine, because he thought that would bebetter for the poor girl who had the baby than rum or sherry or evensparkling champagne.
We were afraid to send the hamper by Carter Pat. for fear they shouldthink it was another Avenging Take-in. And that was one reason why wetook it ourselves in a cab. The other reason was that we wanted to seethem open the hamper, and another was that we wanted--at least Dickywanted--to have it out man to man with the porter and his wife, and tellthem himself how sorry he was.
So we got our gardener to find out secretly when that porter was offduty, and when we knew the times we went to his house at one of them.
Then Dicky got out of the cab and went in and said what he had to say.And then we took in the hamper.
And the old man and his daughter and the porter were most awfully decentto us, and the porter's wife said, "Lor! let bygones be bygones is what_I_ say! Why, we wouldn't never have had this handsome present but forthe other. Say no more about it, sir, and thank you kindly, I'm sure."
And we have been friends with them ever since.
We were short of pocket-money for some time, but Oswald does notcomplain, though the Turk was Dicky's idea entirely. Yet Oswald is just,and he owns that he helped as much as he could in packing the Hamper ofthe Avenger. Dora paid her share, too, though she wasn't in it. Theauthor does not shrink from owning that this was very decent of Dora.
This is all the story of--
THE TURK IN CHAINS; or, RICHARD'S REVENGE.
(His name is really Richard, the same as Father's. We only call himDicky for short.)
