The Tale of Lal Part 15

"I think," suggested Mother, who had caught audible fragments of this conversation, "I think you children had better run away now and play."

The morning appeared to go quite quickly up to the cutlets and the pancake stage.

The late afternoon shadows threw their creeping patterns over both lawns, and still there was no sign whatever of their eccentric friend Lal.

Tea-time came and pa.s.sed, and then the shadows grew deeper, first blue, then violet, then black, the trees and shrubs could scarcely be distinguished at all; and, as ill luck would have it, there was no moon.

At length the time arrived when the family not unreasonably suggested that the blinds of the house should be pulled down. Here was a dilemma. How was it possible to warn the household of the Pleasant-Faced Lion's approach if the blinds were pulled down? When Ridgwell found, in spite of much lingering, that the last crumb of cake had been consumed, to say nothing of the last currant which he had made last quite a long time, and that the third summons to go to bed must have some sort of notice taken of it, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and with a hopeless look at Christine, prepared to talk to Father.

Father was reading quite quietly, and apparently deeply engrossed in a book, and somehow that didn't help matters.

"Please, Father, would you mind very much if the hall door and the back door were both left wide open all night?"

Father considered this somewhat odd request for a s.p.a.ce, then inquired with a stray gleam of amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes, "Do you consider the house stuffy? Or have you suddenly adopted one of the Futurist ideas concerning Health?"

"No, it isn't that, but Chris and I expect somebody; no, I mean _something_, and we should be so disappointed if it, no, I mean _he_ didn't come."

"Rather a late visitor," said Father, "and rather an inconsiderate one if this quite Eastern welcome of him includes us all catching our death of cold. No, Ridgie, I'm afraid he will have to knock."

"But, Father, I'm not sure he can knock."

"Then ring," suggested their parent, "nice new electric bell I've just had fixed up. He's only got to push the b.u.t.ton."

"Perhaps he doesn't understand about electric bells," objected Ridgwell.

"Your friend seems a trifle old-fas.h.i.+oned," observed Father, good-naturedly.

"And then," said Ridgwell, "his paw is so big he might never find the bell-push."

"I see; a dog, eh?"

"No, bigger than a dog, much."

"Well, then, say a donkey."

"No, Father, bigger than a dog, and not so big as a donkey."

"I give it up," said Father, "but I promise whatever he is he shall be attended to and entertained if possible."

"I cannot think what you will say to him," debated Ridgwell anxiously.

"I will do my best, Ridgwell; but from your description I should imagine the conversation will be a little one-sided. However,"

remarked Father drily, "perhaps he can be persuaded to smoke, or drink."

"No, Father, he never smokes, and he only drinks water."

"Ah! very abstemious," murmured Father; "perhaps he is a vegetarian as well, sounds like it, and they are always the most difficult people to entertain."

At this moment the conversation was interrupted by a loud knocking at the front door, and immediately the new electric bell sounded throughout the house. Ridgwell and Christine nearly tumbled over one another in order to get to the hall door first.

"It's Lal after all," shouted Ridgwell.

"Sure to be," chimed in Christine.

At length in the struggle the hall door was opened, but it wasn't the form of the Pleasant-Faced Lion who greeted them, only Mr. Jollyface, a friend of Father's and a happy, jolly old bachelor, who loved both of the children.

"Anybody with you?" inquired Ridgwell anxiously, as he peered either side of Mr. Jollyface's portly form.

"No, only me," chuckled Mr. Jollyface. "Whom are you expecting? Glad to find you children up; I've got something for you in my pocket, Master Ridgie; your birthday, isn't it?"

"Yes," confessed Ridgwell, but it could be plainly seen that his former enthusiasm had died a sudden death. "But do tell me, Mr. Jollyface, did you see anything as you came along?"

"Lots of things," replied Mr. Jollyface, cheerily.

"A lion?" whispered Ridgwell mysteriously.

"No," debated Mr. Jollyface, "no, I think I may say that a lion was the only thing I didn't see."

"Oh, Mr. Jollyface, are you sure?"

"Yes," replied Mr. Jollyface gravely, "I can really be quite certain upon that point."

"If you had seen a great lion, Mr. Jollyface, what would you have done?"

"I think," debated Mr. Jollyface, as he prepared to disenc.u.mber himself of his great-coat, "I think I should have wished him good-evening and pa.s.sed politely, like the--ahem--Levite, on the opposite side of the way."

"Oh, Mr. Jollyface," sighed Ridgwell, "if you only knew we have waited all day long for a lion."

"Now, that's very funny," whispered Mr. Jollyface, "for I have actually brought one for you in my pocket, I have really. Here it is,"

announced the imperturbable Mr. Jollyface, as he produced a parcel from his pocket and thrust it into Ridgwell's hand.

"No, no, not that sort of lion," remonstrated Ridgwell.

"Well, perhaps this one would do," suggested Mr. Jollyface. "It's the best sort of lion, you know, really, and made of the very finest chocolate, too."

Here a well-known voice was heard to remark: "If I have to speak to you children once more about going to bed there will be trouble."

"Scamper off," exclaimed the good-natured Mr. Jollyface; then he added, "you know you can eat chocolate in bed quite as well as you can anywhere else. I used to enjoy it as a boy more than I should have done upon a plate in the dining-room. Off you go; good-night, kids."

Thereupon Father claimed Mr. Jollyface, and as the children slowly mounted the stairs they could hear him saying: "So it was you the children were waiting for, and the animal friend they expected was a chocolate lion, eh?"

"Very likely," agreed Mr. Jollyface. "Ha! ha! ha! so they have been puzzling you, my old friend, eh?"

"Well, children's riddles are very difficult to guess," said Father, "and yet they are always so simple."

"Chris," observed Ridgwell dejectedly, as they reached their room and turned the handle of the door, "they none of them understand; isn't it dreadful? and they are grown up, too, and really ought to know."

"We've waited and waited, Ridgie, and there's nothing else to be done; Lal won't come now, and he's never broken his word before, has he?"