The Wallypug in London Part 6

"What is it?" he inquired, glaring at me fiercely.

"I've called to know if you could a.s.sist me in finding a friend who, I fear, has lost his way," I replied.

The official did not answer me, but reached down another large book.

"What's his name?" he inquired gruffly.

"His name? Oh--er--his name is--er--that is to say he is the--" I had not the least idea what the Wallypug's name really was, so I couldn't very well say.

"What's his name?" shouted the official. "I'll ask you what he _is_ presently."

"Well, I'm very sorry, but I really do not know his name."

The man glanced at me very suspiciously.

"You said he was a friend of yours--it's a very odd thing that you don't know his name. What is he?"

"He's a--a--Wallypug," I stammered. "That is to say he--er--"

"Wallypug!" exclaimed the man contemptuously. "What's that?"

"Why, it's a kind of king, you know," I explained, feeling that the explanation was rather a lame one.

"A _kind_ of king!" exclaimed the police officer. "Explain yourself."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't explain more clearly than that," I replied.

"This gentleman has been staying with me for a couple of days, and went out this morning and lost his way."

"Where did he come from?" asked the man.

"Why," I answered.

"Why? Because I want to know," he shouted. "Don't let me have any further prevarication. Where did the man, or Wallypug, or whatever you call him, come from?"

"From Why. From a place called Why, you know," I repeated.

"I _don't_ know," said the officer. "I've never heard of such a place.

Where is it?"

"Well, really," I said, "I'm very sorry, but I cannot tell you. I don't know myself."

"This is _very_ remarkable," said the man, glaring at me through his gla.s.ses. "You don't know your friend's name; you call him a Wallypug, and can't explain what that is, you don't know where he comes from--perhaps you can tell me how he reached your house?"

I was now really in a fix, for how could I tell this man that his Majesty had stepped out of a picture.

I thought the best thing to do was to hold my tongue.

"How did he come?" repeated the officer. "By train?"

I shook my head.

"By steamer?"

I shook my head again.

"Did he drive?--or come on a bicycle, or walk?"

I remained silent.

The police officer stared at me for a moment or two, waiting for my answer.

"Look here, young man," said he at last, evidently very angry indeed.

"It strikes me that you are having a game with me. You had better go away quietly or I shall be obliged to take you in charge as a lunatic."

"But I a.s.sure you that--"

"How was your friend dressed?"

"Oh, he wore a somewhat battered gold crown, and carried an orb and sceptre, and was dressed in knee breeches and a velvet cloak with an ermine collar."

The man gave me a keen glance and then rang a bell. A policeman appeared a moment or two afterwards, and the officer whispered something to him, of which I only caught the words, "harmless lunatic."

"Lunatic, sir; yes, sir. Step this way, please," said the policeman, and before I could realize what had happened I was bundled into a small bare room, and the key was turned in the lock and I was a prisoner.

Here was a pretty state of affairs. The stupid people had mistaken me for a lunatic, and I was no doubt to be locked up here till a doctor arrived.

Of course the only thing for me to do was to sit still and wait as patiently as I could. Fortunately the police people thought of telegraphing to the other stations to find out if anything was known of an escaped lunatic; and from Fulham came the reply, "We have found one ourselves. He calls himself a Wallypug, and is dressed like a second-hand king." This caused inquiries to be made, and eventually I was taken in a cab to Fulham, where we found his Majesty in the charge of the police, he having been found wandering about the Fulham Road quite unable to give what they considered a satisfactory account of himself.

It was most unfortunate that his Majesty should have taken the wrong 'bus, for, not having any money with him, he was set down in a totally strange neighbourhood, and had quite forgotten my address. Of course, now that we had been brought face to face, we had no difficulty in convincing the police people that we were what we represented ourselves to be, and were soon, to our great relief, on our way home again.

"I don't think that I should like to be a policeman," remarked the Wallypug, on our way there.

"No?" I answered. "Why not?"

"They have to catch dogs for a living?" remarked his Majesty solemnly.

"There were several brought in while I was waiting, and the policeman who had caught them seemed so pleased about it."

I explained to the Wallypug as well as I was able about the muzzling order, and his Majesty was highly indignant, and when I pointed out several dogs with muzzles on he was more indignant still.

"And are they always obliged to wear those horrible wire cages over their heads?" he inquired.

I told his Majesty that in London the order for wearing them had been in force for some considerable time, and we had a long talk over the matter, his Majesty declaring that he should try and invent a new muzzle which should be more comfortable for the poor dogs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: UNABLE TO GIVE AN ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF]

"Oh, here we are at last," he exclaimed, as we turned the corner near my house. "And there are the others on the steps!"

"Here they are! Here they are!" shouted the Rhymester to the others, and everyone rushed forward to a.s.sist his Majesty to alight, seemingly very glad to see us back again.