“Then,” continued Geoffrey, “I shall lead thee away as my spoil, and the people shall see the lizard-skin after a little while. But thou must journey far from Wantley, and never show face again.”
“And go from Oyster-le-Main and the tithings?” exclaimed Sir Francis. “My house and my sustenance?”
“Sustain thyself elsewhere,” said Geoffrey; “I care not how.”
“No!” said Sir Francis. “I’ll not do this.”
“Then we call Sir Godfrey. The Baron will not love thee very much, seeing how well he loves his Burgundy thou hast drank. Thou gavest him sermons on cold spring-water. He’ll remember that. I think thou’lt be soon hanging. So choose.”
The Knight of the Voracious Stomach was silent.
“This is a pretty scheme thou hast,” he presently said. “And not thine own. She has taught thee this wit, I’ll be bound. Mated to her, thou’lt prosper, I fear.”
“Come, thy choice,” said Geoffrey, sternly.
A sour smile moved the lips of Sir Francis. “Well,” he said, “it has been good while it lasted. Yes, I consent. Our interests lie together. See how Necessity is the mother of Friendship, also.”
The mask was drawn over his face, and they wound the chain about the great body.
“There must be sounds of fighting,” said Elaine. “Make them when I am gone into the house.”
“If I had strangled thee in thy prison, which was in my mind,” said the voice of the hidden speaker, “this folly we—but there. Let it go, and begin.”
Then they fell to making a wonderful disturbance. The Dragon’s voice was lifted in horrid howlings; and the young knight continually bawled with all his lungs. They chased as children in a game do: forward, back, and across to nowhere, knocking the barrels, clanking and clashing, up between the rows and around corners; and the dry earth was ground under their feet and swept from the floor upward in a fine floating yellow powder that they sucked down into their windpipes, while still they hustled and jangled and banged and coughed and grew dripping wet, so the dust and the water mingled and ran black streams along their bodies from the neck downwards, tickling their backs and stomachs mightily. When the breath was no longer inside them, they stopped to listen.
The house was stone still, and no noise came, save always the wind’s same cheerless blowing.
“How much more of this before they will awaken?” exclaimed Geoffrey, in indignation. “’Tis a scandal people should sleep so.”
“They are saying their prayers,” said Sir Francis.
“It is a pity thou art such a miscreant,” Geoffrey said, heartily; “otherwise I could sweat myself into a good-humour with thee.”
But Sir Francis replied with coldness, “It is easy for the upper hand to laugh.”
“We must at it again,” said Geoffrey; “and this time I will let them hear thou art conquered.” The din and hubbub recommenced. And Mistletoe could hear it where she quaked inside her closet holding the door with both hands. And the Baron could hear it. He was locked in the bath-room, dreadfully sorry he had not gone to the Crusade. Quite unknowingly in his alarm he had laid hold of a cord that set going the shower-bath; but he gave no heed at all to this trifle. And every man and woman in the house heard the riot, from the scullion up through the cook to Popham, who had unstrapped his calves before retiring, so that now his lean shanks knocked together like hockey-sticks. Little Whelpdale, freezing in his shirt-tail under the bed, was crying piteously upon all Saints to forget about his sins and deliver him. Only Miss Elaine standing in her room listened with calm; and she with not much, being on the threshold of a chance that might turn untoward so readily. Presently a victorious shouting came from far down through the dark.
“He is mine!” the voice bellowed. “I have laid him low. The Dragon is taken.” At this she hastened to summon Sir Godfrey.
“Why, where can he be?” she exclaimed, stopping in astonishment at his room, empty and the door open wide.
Down in the cellar the voice continued to call on all people to come and see the Dragon of Wantley. Also Elaine heard a splashing and dripping that sounded in the bath-room. So she ran to the door and knocked.
“You can’t come in!” said the Baron angrily.
“Papa! They’ve caught the Dragon. Oh why are you taking your bath at such a time?”
“Taking my grandmother!” Sir Godfrey retorted in great dudgeon. But he let the rope go, and the shower stopped running. “Go to your room,” he added. “I told you to lock your door. This Dragon——”
“But he’s caught, papa,” cried Elaine through the key-hole. “Don’t you hear me? Geoff——somebody has got him.”
“How now?” said the Baron, unlocking the door and peering out. “What’s all this?”
His dressing-gown was extremely damp, for stray spouts from the shower-bath had squirted over him. Fortunately, the breast-plate underneath had kept him dry as far as it went.
“Hum,” he said, after he had listened to the voice in the cellar. “This is something to be cautious over.”
“If the people of this house do not come soon to bear witness of my conquest,” said the voice in tones of thunder, “I’ll lead this Dragon through every chamber of it myself.”
“Damnum absque injuria!” shrieked Sir Godfrey, and uttered much more horrible language entirely unfit for general use. “What the Jeofailes does the varlet mean by threatening an Englishman in his own house? I should like to know who lives here? I should like to know who I am?”
The Baron flew down the entry in a rage. He ran to his bedside and pulled his sword from under the pillows where he always kept it at night with his sun-dial.
“We shall see who is master of this house,” he said. “I am not going to—does he suppose anybody that pleases can come carting their dragons through my premises? Get up! Get up! Every one!” he shouted, hurrying along the hall with the sword in his right hand and a lantern in his left. His slippers were only half on, so they made a slithering and slapping over the floor; and his speed was such that the quilted red dressing-gown filled with the wind and spread behind him till he looked like a huge new sort of bird or an eccentric balloon. Up and down in all quarters of the house went Sir Godfrey, pounding against every shut door. Out they came. Mistletoe from her closet, squeaking. Whelpdale from under his bed. The Baron allowed him time to put on a pair of breeches wrong side out. The cook came, and you could hear her panting all the way down from the attic. Out came the nine house-maids with hair in curl-papers. The seven footmen followed. Meeson and Welsby had forgotten their wigs. The coachman and grooms and stable-boys came in horse-blankets and boots. And last in the procession, old Popham, one calf securely strapped on, and the other dangling disgracefully. Breathless they huddled behind the Baron, who strode to the cellar, where he flung the door open. Over in a corner was a hideous monster, and every man fell against his neighbour and shrieked. At which the monster roared most alarmingly, and all fell together again. Young Geoffrey stood in the middle of the cellar, and said not a word. One end of a chain was in his hand, and he waited mighty stiff for the Baron to speak. But when he saw Miss Elaine come stealing in after the rest so quiet and with her eyes fixed upon him, his own eyes shone wonderfully.
At the sight of the Dragon, Sir Godfrey forgot his late excitement, and muttered “Bless my soul!” Then he stared at the beast for some time.
“Can—can’t he do anything?” he inquired.
“No,” said Geoffrey shortly; “he can’t.”
“Not fly up at one, for instance?”
“I