And then it was George’s turn, and he trod on the butter. I didn’t say anything, but I sat on the edge of the table and watched them. It irritated them. I felt that. It made them nervous and excited, and they stepped on things, and put things behind them, and then couldn’t find them when they wanted them. They packed the pies at the bottom, and put heavy things on top, and smashed the pies in.
They upset salt over everything. But the butter! They tried to put it in the kettle. It wouldn’t go in, and what was in wouldn’t come out. They scraped it out at last,[37] and put it down on a chair, and Harris sat on it, and it stuck to him, and they went looking for it all over the room.
“I put it down on that chair,” said George, staring at the empty seat.
“So mysterious!” said Harris.
Then George got round at the back of Harris and saw it.
“Here it is all the time,” he exclaimed, indignantly.
And they got it off,[38] and packed it in the tea-pot.
Montmorency came and sat down on things, just when they were wanted to be packed; and he was sure that Harris or George wanted to touch his cold, damp nose. He put his leg into the jam, and he fought the teaspoons, and he pretended that the lemons were rats, and killed three of them.
Harris said I encouraged him. I didn’t encourage him. A dog like that doesn’t want any encouragement.
The packing was done at 12.50; and Harris said he hoped nothing would be found broken. George said that if anything was broken it was broken. He also said he was ready for bed. We were all ready for bed. We went upstairs.
Chapter V
It was Mrs. Poppets that woke me up next morning.
She said:
“Do you know that it’s nearly nine o’clock, sir?”
“Nine o’ what?” I cried.
“Nine o’clock,” she replied, through the keyhole.
I woke Harris, and told him. He said:
“I thought you wanted to get up at six?”
“So I did,” I answered; “why didn’t you wake me?”
“How could I wake you, when you didn’t wake me?” he retorted.
I saw George. He was still sleeping – the man who had wanted to know what time he should wake us – on his back, with his mouth wide open. I shouted in his ear, and he awoke.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, sitting up.
“Get up!” roared Harris. “It’s quarter to ten.”
“What!” he shrieked, jumping out of bed into the bath.
We finished dressing, and we remembered that we had packed the tooth-brushes and the brush and comb, and we had to go downstairs, and take them out of the bag.
We went downstairs to breakfast. Montmorency had invited two other dogs to come and see him off,[39] and they were sitting on the doorstep.
It was very bright and sunny on that morning. Harris and I brought our luggage to the doorstep, and began to wait for a cab.
Our luggage was rather big. There was a huge suitcase and the small hand-bag, and the two hampers, and a large roll of rugs, and some four or five overcoats and mackintoshes, and a few umbrellas, and then there was a melon in a bag, and a couple of pounds of grapes in another bag, and a Japanese paper umbrella, and a frying-pan.
Quite a small crowd had collected, and people were asking each other what was the matter. One party (the young and giddy portion of the crowd) thought that it was a wedding, and pointed out Harris as the bridegroom; while the elder and more thoughtful party said that it was a funeral, and that I was probably the corpse’s brother.
At last, an empty cab came, and packing ourselves and our things into it, we drove away amidst the cheers of the crowd.
We got to Waterloo[40] at eleven, and asked where the eleven-five started from.[41] Of course nobody knew; nobody at Waterloo ever knows where a train is going to start from, or where a train when it starts is going to, or anything about it. The porter who took our things thought it would go from number two platform, while another porter, with whom he discussed the question, had heard a rumour that it would go from number one.
We went upstairs, and asked the traffic superintendent, and he told us that he had just met a man, who said he had seen it at number three platform. We went to number three platform. We saw the engine-driver, and asked him if he was going to Kingston. He said he couldn’t say for certain of course, but that he rather thought he was. We gave him half-a-crown, and begged him to be the 11.5 for Kingston.
“Nobody will ever know,” we said, “what you are, or where you’re going. You know the way, so go to Kingston.”
“Well, I don’t know, gentlemen,” replied the noble fellow, “but I’ll do it. Give me the halfcrown.”
Thus we got to Kingston.
We learnt, afterwards, that they had spent hours at Waterloo, looking for the train we had come by, and nobody knew what had become of it.
Our boat was waiting for us at Kingston just below bridge. We stored our luggage, and into it we stepped.
Chapter VI
It was a glorious morning, late spring or early summer, when the year seems like a fair young maid. I was looking at the town and began to think about great English kings and queens who built it.
Suddenly Harris got up and left his seat, and sat on his back, and stuck his legs in the air.[42] Montmorency howled, and the top hamper jumped up, and all the things came out.
I was somewhat surprised, but I did not lose my temper. I said, pleasantly enough:
“Hello! what’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter? Why – ”
No, on second thoughts, I will not repeat what Harris said. Maybe I was guilty, I admit it; but nothing excuses violence of language of Harris. I was thinking of other things, and forgot, as any one might easily understand, that I was steering, and our boat hit the bank of the river.
I got out and took the tow-line, and ran the boat on past Hampton Court.[43] What a dear old wall that is that runs along by the river there! If I could only draw, and knew how to paint, I could make a lovely sketch of that old wall, I’m sure.
I’ve often thought I should like to live at Hampton Court. It looks so peaceful and so quiet, and it is such a dear old place to walk around in the early morning.
We are creatures of the sun, we men and women. We love light and life. That is why we crowd into the towns and cities, and the country grows more and more deserted every year.
Harris asked me if I’d ever been in the maze at Hampton Court.[44] He said he went in once to show somebody else the way. He had studied it up in a map, and it was so simple that it seemed foolish – hardly worth the twopence charged for admission. Harris took his country cousin there. He said:
“We’ll just go in here, so that you can say you’ve been, but it’s very simple. It’s absurd to call it a maze. You must always turn right – that’s all. We’ll just walk round for ten minutes, and then go and get some lunch.”
They met some people soon after