One Maid's Mischief Part 74

"You have a woman to fight with," said the Princess, smiling, "and I have taken my steps so well that no one will seek you here. I told my people to bring you both, and they obeyed. They would have sooner died than failed."

"Tell me more," said Chumbley, quickly. "Have you seen Mr Harley?"

"I will tell you nothing," said the Princess, "till you are both my friends. There, I must leave you now. Promise me you will be patient, and not so foolish as to try to escape and fight. It would be horrible to me if you or any of my people should be hurt in some mad attempt.

Promise me you will be patient and not try."

"Not I," said Chumbley, laughing. "I shall try to escape, and so will he."

"Then you are wicked and foolis.h.!.+" cried the Inche Maida, angrily.

"Both, I am afraid," said Chumbley. "I always was; but may I make a request as a prisoner?"

"As a visitor, yes," said the Princess, smiling. "May I ask, then, if you propose to gild the bars of our cage?"

"I do not understand," she replied, gazing at him earnestly.

"I mean that it is very hot. May I have a cold drink of some kind; and do you allow smoking in the drawing-room?"

The Princess smiled, and in what Chumbley afterwards called the Arabian Nights style, clapped her hands, when a couple of Malay slave-girls ran in, received their orders, and hurried out again, while their mistress walked to the window, as she had done more than once before, apparently with the idea of giving her prisoners an opportunity to converse and debate their position.

"Well, Hilton, old man, what do you think of this?" said Chumbley, smiling. "We Europeans have gone ahead, and got steam and electricity, and all the luxuries of civilisation, as the fine writers call it, while the East has stopped just where it was, and we might be Ali Baba's Brothers, or the One-eyed Calender, or some other of those Arabian Night c.o.c.k-o'-waxes here amongst all these slaves and spearmen. I say, I think I shall write a book about it--'The adventures of two officers taken prisoners by a wicked queen.'"

"Chumbley," retorted Hilton, "you used to have one good quality."

"Had I? What was that, old man?"

"You were a fellow who didn't talk much," said Hilton; "but now your tongue goes like a woman's, and you are a positive nuisance."

"Thankye, old fellow. But you ought not to grumble, seeing how impressionable you have of late proved to the prattling of a woman's tongue."

"The Inche Maida's?" said Hilton, in a low voice. "Well no: not exactly hers, dear boy. But I say, Hilton, she is a woman and a lady; don't say hard things to her."

"Hard things?" cried Hilton, angrily. "Come, I like that! Hang it, man, after this outrage she ought to be shut up in a lunatic asylum!"

"Humph!" said Chumbley, slowly. "I don't know. They say love is a sort of lunacy, and people do strange things who get the disease badly.

You're been an awful idiot lately!"

"Chumbley, do you want me to strike you?" cried Hilton, fiercely.

"No, dear boy," drawled his friend; "but you can give me a punch if it will do you good. I shan't hit you again."

"Bah;" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Hilton. "There's no quarrelling with you!"

"Not a bit of it dear boy; but as I was saying, seeing what stupid things you did about--"

"Chumbley!"

"All right: I wasn't going to mention her name. I say, seeing what stupid things you did, it was not surprising that a lady in love with your n.o.ble features and Apollo-like form--"

"I declare I shall forget myself directly!" cried Hilton, between his teeth.

"No: don't, old fellow; but you might let me finish my speech. It isn't often I'm flush of words, and when I am you check me. I say once more it was not so very surprising that her ladys.h.i.+p here should set a trap for you, catch you, and want to persuade you to accept her very eligible offers. There, sit down, man, and make the best of it! Stop that irritating walk of yours! You are like a human pendulum!"

"Idiot!" muttered Hilton, between his teeth, glancing at the Princess's back, though, as she leaned in a graceful att.i.tude against the window, with her arm through the bamboo bars.

"Calling names!" said Chumbley, coolly. "Imitation's the sincerest form of flattery. Will you stop that wolf-in-a-cage walk?"

"No!"

"Then you're a Zoological Gardens beast! I say, why don't you utter a short howl every time you turn?"

"If you cannot talk sensibly, Chumbley, pray be silent!" said Hilton, in a low, angry whisper. "You are like a big boy more than a man!"

"Go on, old fellow!" said Chumbley, coolly. "If ever I marry, which isn't likely, I daresay I shall have a woman with a tongue like an arrow. What a chance she will have to shoot sharp words at my thick hide!"

"Will you talk sense for a few moments before this woman goes?"

"Lady."

"Well, lady, then! I want to try and devise some plan for getting away."

"What's the hurry?" said Chumbley. "We're caught and caged, and I have always noticed that the birds that are trapped and caged are of two kinds."

"Is there much of this moral sermon to come?"

"No," said Chumbley, good-humouredly, "not much. It seems tiresome to you because you are standing. Sit down, man, and listen. I feel quite like an Eastern speaker of parables. It is the atmosphere, I suppose.

I was saying that the birds that are caught are of two kinds--those that take it coolly and those that don't. Those that don't keep on beating their b.r.e.a.s.t.s against the bars, and knocking their feathers off in the most insane way, till they die, looking exceedingly bare and uncomfortable; while those that take it coolly sit upon the perches, set up their feathers till they look nice and plump, and keep on saying '_chiswick_' except when they stop to eat their seed."

"And, most profound moralist, the restless, brave-hearted birds that breast the bars are the truest," cried Hilton. "I would not be so spiritless and craven for worlds."

"Stuff!" said Chumbley. "n.o.body's going to wring your neck and put you in a pie; then it would be uncomfortable. The Princess only wants you to sing. I say, I think I shall ask her if she means to give us the seed that is becoming necessary in the shape of dinner."

The Inche Maida turned round.

"I could not help being a listener, Mr Chumbley," she said, quietly; "and surely you did not suppose that you could both talk like that unheard. Now let me speak before I go."

Chumbley bowed, and Hilton folded his arms, leaning against the wall, while his friend slowly rose, and once more offered the Princess a seat.

"No!" she cried, angrily. "I can only sit with my friends, and you persist in treating me as an enemy. As Captain Hilton's friend, I ask pardon for the roughness of my people. Can I do more?"

"Well, yes," said Chumbley; "after we have granted your pardon, you can set us free!"

"That I shall not do!" she cried, with her eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

"Not now, Princess," said Chumbley, speaking calmly, seriously and well; "but after a little reflection. You do not realise the power of England, madam. You do not know what our Government will always do to maintain the honour and prestige of our nation."

"No," she said, scornfully, "I do not."

"Let me tell you then," said Chumbley, with a return of his dry, sarcastic manner; "I am of no consequence whatever as compared to our handsome young captain there."