_ARCHIBALD THE UNPLEASANT_
THE house of Bastable was once in poor, but honest, circs. That was whenit lived in a semi-detached house in the Lewisham Road, and looked fortreasure. There were six scions of the house who looked for it--in factthere were seven, if you count Father. I am sure he looked right enough,but he did not do it the right way. And we did. And so we found atreasure of a great-uncle, and we and Father went to live with him in avery affluent mansion on Blackheath--with gardens and vineries andpineries and everything jolly you can think of. And then, when we wereno longer so beastly short of pocket-money, we tried to be good, andsometimes it came out right, and sometimes it didn't. Something likesums.
And then it was the Christmas holidays--and we had a bazaar and raffledthe most beautiful goat you ever saw, and we gave the money to the poorand needy.
And then we felt it was time to do something new, because we were asrich as our worthy relative, the uncle, and our Father--now alsowealthy, at least, compared to what he used to be--thought right for us;and we were as good as we could be without being good for nothing andmuffs, which I hope no one calling itself a Bastable will ever stoop to.
So then Oswald, so often the leader in hazardous enterprises, thoughtlong and deeply in his interior self, and he saw that something must bedone, because, though there was still the goat left over, unclaimed byits fortunate winner at the Bazaar, somehow no really fine idea seemedto come out of it, and nothing else was happening. Dora was getting abit domineering, and Alice was too much taken up with trying to learn toknit. Dicky was bored and so was Oswald, and Noel was writing far morepoetry than could be healthy for any poet, however young, and H.O. wassimply a nuisance. His boots are always much louder when he is notamused, and that gets the rest of us into rows, because there are hardlyany grown-up persons who can tell the difference between his boots andmine. Oswald decided to call a council (because even if nothing comes ofa council it always means getting Alice to drop knitting, and makingNoel chuck the poetical influences, that are no use and only make himsilly), and he went into the room that is our room. It is called thecommon-room, like in colleges, and it is very different from the roomthat was ours when we were poor, but honest. It is a jolly room, with abig table and a big couch, that is most useful for games, and a thickcarpet because of H.O.'s boots.
Alice was knitting by the fire; it was for Father, but I am sure hisfeet are not at all that shape. He has a high and beautifully formedinstep like Oswald's. Noel was writing poetry, of course.
"My dear sister sits And knits, I hope to goodness the stocking fits,"
was as far as he had got.
"It ought to be 'my dearest sister' to sound right," he said, "but thatwouldn't be kind to Dora."
"Thank you," said Dora, "You needn't trouble to be kind to me, if youdon't want to."
"Shut up, Dora!" said Dicky, "Noel didn't mean anything."
"He never does," said H.O., "nor yet his poetry doesn't neither."
"_And_ his poetry doesn't _either_," Dora corrected; "and besides, yououghtn't to say that at all, it's unkind----"
"You're too jolly down on the kid," said Dicky.
And Alice said, "Eighty-seven, eighty-eight--oh, do be quiet half asec.!--eighty-nine, ninety--now I shall have to count the stitches allover again!"
Oswald alone was silent and not cross. I tell you this to show that thesort of worryingness was among us that is catching, like measles.Kipling calls it the cameelious hump, and, as usual, that great and goodwriter is quite correct.
So Oswald said, "Look here, let's have a council. It says in Kipling'sbook when you've got the hump go and dig till you gently perspire. Well,we can't do that, because it's simply pouring, but----"
The others all interrupted him, and said they hadn't got the hump andthey didn't know what he meant. So he shrugged his shoulders patiently(it is not his fault that the others hate him to shrug his shoulderspatiently) and he said no more.
Then Dora said, "Oh, don't be so disagreeable, Oswald, for goodness'sake!"
I assure you she did, though he had done simply nothing.
Matters were in this cryptical state when the door opened and Fathercame in.
"Hullo, kiddies!" he remarked kindly. "Beastly wet day, isn't it? Anddark too. I can't think why the rain can't always come in term time. Itseems a poor arrangement to have it in 'vac.,' doesn't it?"
I think every one instantly felt better. I know one of us did, and itwas me.
Father lit the gas, and sat down in the armchair and took Alice on hisknee.
"First," he said, "here is a box of chocs." It was an extra big andbeautiful one and Fuller's best. "And besides the chocs., a piece ofgood news! You're all asked to a party at Mrs. Leslie's. She's going tohave all sorts of games and things, with prizes for every one, and aconjurer and a magic lantern."
The shadow of doom seemed to be lifted from each young brow, and we felthow much fonder we were of each other than any one would have thought.At least Oswald felt this, and Dicky told me afterwards he felt Dorawasn't such a bad sort after all.
"It's on Tuesday week," said Father. "I see the prospect pleases. Numberthree is that your cousin Archibald has come here to stay a week or two.His little sister has taken it into her head to have whooping-cough. Andhe's downstairs now, talking to your uncle."
We asked what the young stranger was like, but Father did not know,because he and cousin Archibald's father had not seen much of each otherfor some years. Father said this, but we knew it was because Archibald'sfather hadn't bothered to see ours when he was poor and honest, but nowhe was the wealthy sharer of the red-brick, beautiful Blackheath houseit was different. This made us not like Uncle Archibald very much, butwe were too just to blame it on to young Archibald. All the same weshould have liked him better if his father's previous career had notbeen of such a worldly and stuck-up sort. Besides, I do think Archibaldis quite the most rotten sort of name. We should have called himArchie, of course, if he had been at all decent.
"You'll be as jolly to him as you can, I know," Father said; "he's a bitolder than you, Oswald. He's not a bad-looking chap."
Then Father went down and Oswald had to go with him, and there wasArchibald sitting upright in a chair and talking to our Indian uncle asif he was some beastly grown-up. Our cousin proved to be dark and rathertall, and though he was only fourteen he was always stroking his lip tosee if his moustache had begun to come.
Father introduced us to each other, and we said, "How do you do?" andlooked at each other, and neither of us could think of anything else tosay. At least Oswald couldn't. So then we went upstairs. Archibald shookhands with the others, and every one was silent except Dora, and sheonly whispered to H.O. to keep his feet still.
You cannot keep for ever in melancholy silence however few things youhave to say, and presently some one said it was a wet day, and thiswell-chosen remark made us able to begin to talk.
I do not wish to be injurious to anybody, especially one who was aBastable, by birth at least if not according to the nobler attributes,but I must say that Oswald never did dislike a boy so much as he didthat young Archibald. He was as cocky as though he'd done something tospeak of--been captain of his eleven, or passed a beastly exam., orsomething--but we never could find that he had done anything. He wasalways bragging about the things he had at home, and the things he wasallowed to do, and all the things he knew all about, but he was a mostuntruthful chap. He laughed at Noel's being a poet--a thing we never do,because it makes him cry and crying makes him ill--and of course Oswaldand Dicky could not punch his head in their own house because of thelaws of hospitableness, and Alice stopped it at last by saying shedidn't care if it was being a sneak, she would tell Father the very nexttime. I don't think she would have, because we made a rule, when we werepoor and honest, not to bother Father if we could possibly help it. Andwe keep it up still. But Archibald didn't know that. Then this cousin,who is, I fear, the black sheep of the Bastables, and hardly wort
hy tobe called one, used to pull the girls' hair, and pinch them at prayerswhen they could not call out or do anything to him back.
And he was awfully rude to the servants, ordering them about, andplaying tricks on them, not amusing tricks like other Bastables mighthave done--such as booby-traps and mice under dish-covers, which seldomleaves any lasting ill-feeling--but things no decent boy would do--likehiding their letters and not giving them to them for days, and then itwas too late to meet the young man the letter was from, and squirtingink on their aprons when they were just going to open the door, and oncehe put a fish-hook in the cook's pocket when she wasn't looking. He didnot do anything to Oswald at that time. I suppose he was afraid. I justtell you this to show you that Oswald didn't cotton to him for noselfish reason, but because Oswald has been taught to feel for others.
AND HE WAS AWFULLY RUDE TO THE SERVANTS.]
He called us all kids--and he was that kind of boy we knew at once itwas no good trying to start anything new and jolly--so Oswald, everdiscreet and wary, shut up entirely about the council. We played gameswith him sometimes, not really good ones, but Snap and Beggar myNeighbour, and even then he used to cheat. I hate to say it of one ofour blood, but I can hardly believe he was. I think he must have beenchanged at nurse like the heirs to monarchies and dukeries.
Well, the days passed slowly. There was Mrs. Leslie's party shiningstarrishly in the mysteries of the future. Also we had another thing tolook forward to, and that was when Archibald would have to go back toschool. But we could not enjoy that foreshadowing so much because of ushaving to go back at nearly the same time.
Oswald always tries to be just, no matter how far from easy, and so Iwill say that I am not quite sure that it was Archibald that set thepipes leaking, but we were all up in the loft the day before, snatchinga golden opportunity to play a brief game of robbers in a cave, whileArchibald had gone down to the village to get his silly hair cut.Another thing about him that was not natural was his being alwayslooking in the glass and wanting to talk about whether people werehandsome or not; and he made as much fuss about his ties as though hehad been a girl. So when he was gone Alice said--
"Hist! The golden moment. Let's be robbers in the loft, and when hecomes back he won't know where we are."
"He'll hear us," said Noel, biting his pencil.
"No, he won't. We'll be the Whispering Band of Weird Bandits. Come on,Noel; you can finish the poetry up here."
"It's about _him_," said Noel gloomily, "when he's gone back to----"(Oswald will not give the name of Archibald's school for the sake of theother boys there, as they might not like everybody who reads this toknow about there being a chap like him in their midst.) "I shall do itup in an envelope and put a stamp on it and post it to him, and----"
"Haste!" cried Alice. "Bard of the Bandits, haste while yet there'stime."
So we tore upstairs and put on our slippers and socks over them, and wegot the high-backed chair out of the girls' bedroom, and the others heldit steady while Oswald agilitively mounted upon its high back and openedthe trap-door and got up into the place between the roof and theceiling (the boys in "Stalky & Co." found this out by accident, and theywere surprised and pleased, but we have known all about it ever since wecan remember).
Then the others put the chair back, and Oswald let down the rope ladderthat we made out of bamboo and clothes-line after uncle told us thestory of the missionary lady who was shut up in a rajah's palace, andsome one shot an arrow to her with a string tied to it, and it mighthave killed her I should have thought, but it didn't, and she hauled inthe string and there was a rope and a bamboo ladder, and so she escaped,and we made one like it on purpose for the loft. No one had ever told usnot to make ladders.
The others came up by the rope-ladder (it was partly bamboo, butrope-ladder does for short) and we shut the trap-door down. It is jollyup there. There are two big cisterns, and one little window in a gablethat gives you just enough light. The floor is plaster with woodenthings going across, beams and joists they are called. There are someplanks laid on top of these here and there. Of course if you walk on theplaster you will go through with your foot into the room below.
We had a very jolly game, in whispers, and Noel sat by the littlewindow, and was quite happy, being the bandit bard. The cisterns arerocks you hide behind. But the jolliest part was when we heard Archibaldshouting out, "Hullo! kids, where are you?" and we all stayed as stillas mice, and heard Jane say she thought we must have gone out. Jane wasthe one that hadn't got her letter, as well as having her apron inkedall over.
THE OTHERS CAME UP BY THE ROPE-LADDER.]
Then we heard Archibald going all over the house looking for us. Fatherwas at business and uncle was at his club. And we were _there_. And soArchibald was all alone. And we might have gone on for hours enjoyingthe spectacle of his confusion and perplexedness, but Noel happened tosneeze--the least thing gives him cold and he sneezes louder for his agethan any one I know--just when Archibald was on the landing underneath.Then he stood there and said--
"I know where you are. Let me come up."
We cautiously did not reply. Then he said:
"All right. I'll go and get the step-ladder."
We did not wish this. We had not been told not to make rope-ladders, noryet about not playing in the loft; but if he fetched the step-ladderJane would know, and there are some secrets you like to keep toyourself.
So Oswald opened the trap-door and squinted down, and there was thatArchibald with his beastly hair cut. Oswald said--
"We'll let you up if you promise not to tell you've been up here."
So he promised, and we let down the rope-ladder. And it will show youthe kind of boy he was that the instant he had got up by it he beganto find fault with the way it was made.
SO OSWALD OPENED THE TRAP-DOOR AND SQUINTED DOWN, ANDTHERE WAS THAT ARCHIBALD.]
Then he wanted to play with the ball-cock. But Oswald knows it is betternot to do this.
"I daresay _you're_ forbidden," Archibald said, "little kids like you.But _I_ know all about plumbing."
And Oswald could not prevent his fiddling with the pipes and theball-cock a little. Then we went down. All chance of further banditrywas at an end. Next day was Sunday. The leak was noticed then. It wasslow, but steady, and the plumber was sent for on Monday morning.
Oswald does not know whether it was Archibald who made the leak, but hedoes know about what came after.
I think our displeasing cousin found that piece of poetry that Noel wasbeginning about him, and read it, because he is a sneak. Instead ofhaving it out with Noel he sucked up to him and gave him a six-pennyfountain-pen which Noel liked, although it is really no good for him totry to write poetry with anything but a pencil, because he always suckswhatever he writes with, and ink is poisonous, I believe.
Then in the afternoon he and Noel got quite thick, and went offtogether. And afterwards Noel seemed very peacocky about something, buthe would not say what, and Archibald was grinning in a way Oswald wouldhave liked to pound his head for.
Then, quite suddenly, the peaceable quietness of that happy Blackheathhome was brought to a close by screams. Servants ran about with broomsand pails, and the water was coming through the ceiling of uncle's roomlike mad, and Noel turned white and looked at our unattractive cousinand said: "Send him away."
Alice put her arm round Noel and said: "Do go, Archibald."
But he wouldn't.
So then Noel said he wished he had never been born, and whatever wouldFather say.
"Why, what is it, Noel?" Alice asked that. "Just tell us, we'll allstand by you. What's he been doing?"
"You won't let him do anything to me if I tell?"
"Tell tale tit," said Archibald.
"He got me to go up into the loft and he said it was a secret, and wouldI promise not to tell, and I won't tell; only I've done it, and now thewater's coming in."
"You've done it? You young ass, I was only kidding you!" said ourdetestable cousin. And he laughe
d.
"I don't understand," said Oswald. "What did you tell Noel?"
"He can't tell you because he promised--and I won't--unless you vow bythe honour of the house you talk so much about that you'll never tell Ihad anything to do with it."
That will show you what he was. We had never mentioned the honour of thehouse except once quite at the beginning, before we knew how discapablehe was of understanding anything, and how far we were from wanting tocall him Archie.
We had to promise, for Noel was getting greener and more gurgly everyminute, and at any moment Father or uncle might burst in foaming for anexplanation, and none of us would have one except Noel, and him in thisstate of all-anyhow.
So Dicky said--
"We promise, you beast, you!" And we all said the same.
Then Archibald said, drawling his words and feeling for the moustachethat wasn't there, and I hope he'll be quite old before he gets one--
"It's just what comes of trying to amuse silly little kids. I told thefoolish little animal about people having arteries cut, and your havingto cut the whole thing to stop the bleeding. And he said, 'Was that whatthe plumber would do to the leaky pipe?' And how pleased your governorwould be to find it mended. And then he went and did it."
"You told me to," said Noel, turning greener and greener.
"Go along with Alice," said Oswald. "We'll stand by you. And Noel, oldchap, you must keep your word and not sneak about that sneaking hound."
Alice took him away, and we were left with the horrid Archibald.
"Now," said Oswald, "I won't break my word, no more will the rest of us.But we won't speak another word to you as long as we live."
"Oh, Oswald," said Dora, "what about the sun going down?"
"Let it jolly well go," said Dicky in furiousness. "Oswald didn't saywe'd go on being angry for ever, but I'm with Oswald all the way. Iwon't talk to cads--no, not even before grown-ups. They can jolly wellthink what they like."
After this no one spoke to Archibald.
Oswald rushed for a plumber, and such was his fiery eloquence he reallycaught one and brought him home. Then he and Dicky waited for Fatherwhen he came in, and they got him into the study, and Oswald said whatthey had all agreed on. It was this:
"Father, we are all most awfully sorry, but one of us has cut the pipein the loft, and if you make us tell you any more it will not behonourable, and we are very sorry. Please, please don't ask who it wasdid it."
Father bit his moustache and looked worried, and Dicky went on--
"Oswald has got a plumber and he is doing it now."
Then Father said, "How on earth did you get into the loft?"
And then of course the treasured secret of the rope-ladder had to berevealed. We had never been told not to make rope-ladders and go intothe loft, but we did not try to soften the anger of our Father by sayingthis. It would not have been any good either. We just had to stick it.And the punishment of our crime was most awful. It was that we weren'tto go to Mrs. Leslie's party. And Archibald was to go, because whenFather asked him if he was in it with the rest of us, he said "No." Icannot think of any really gentle, manly, and proper words to say what Ithink about my unnatural cousin.
We kept our word about not speaking to him, and I think Father thoughtwe were jealous because he was going to that conjuring, magic lanternparty and we were not. Noel was the most unhappy, because he knew wewere all being punished for what he had done. He was very affectionateand tried to write pieces of poetry to us all, but he was so unhappy hecouldn't even write, and he went into the kitchen and sat on Jane's kneeand said his head ached.
Next day it was the day of the party and we were plunged in gloom.Archibald got out his Etons and put his clean shirt ready, and a pair offlashy silk socks with red spots, and then he went into the bath-room.
Noel and Jane were whispering on the stairs. Jane came up and Noel wentdown, Jane knocked at the bath-room door and said--
"Here's the soap, Master Archerbald. I didn't put none in to-day."
He opened the door and put out his hand.
"Half a moment," said Jane, "I've got something else in my hand."
As she spoke the gas all over the house went down blue, and then wentout. We held our breaths heavily.
"Here it is," she said; "I'll put it in your hand. I'll go down and turnoff the burners and see about the gas. You'll be late, sir. If I was youI should get on a bit with the washing of myself in the dark. I daresaythe gas'll be five or ten minutes, and it's five o'clock now."
It wasn't, and of course she ought not to have said it, but it wasuseful all the same.
Noel came stumping up the stairs in the dark. He fumbled about and thenwhispered, "I've turned the little white china knob that locks thebath-room door on the outside."
The water was bubbling and hissing in the pipes inside, and the darknesswent on. Father and uncle had not come in yet, which was a fortunateblessing.
"Do be quiet!" said Noel. "Just you wait."
We all sat on the stairs and waited. Noel said--
"Don't ask me yet--you'll see--you wait."
And we waited, and the gas did not come back.
At last Archibald tried to come out--he thought he had washed himselfclean, I suppose--and of course the door was fastened. He kicked and hehammered and he shouted, and we were glad.
At last Noel banged on the door and screamed through the keyhole--
"If we let you out will you let us off our promise not to tell about youand the pipes? We won't tell till you've gone back to school."
He wouldn't for a long time, but at last he had to.
"I shan't ever come to your beastly house again," he bellowed throughthe keyhole, "so I don't mind."
"Turn off the gas-burners then," said Oswald, ever thoughtful, though hewas still in ignorance of the beautiful truth.
Then Noel sang out over the stairs, "Light up!" and Jane went round witha taper, and when the landing gas was lighted Noel turned the knob ofthe bath-room, and Archibald exited in his Indian red and yellowdressing-gown that he thought so much of. Of course we expected his faceto be red with rage, or white with passion, or purple with mixedemotions, but you cannot think what our feelings were--indeed, we hardlyknew what they were ourselves--when we saw that he was not red or whiteor purple, but _black_. He looked like an uneven sort of bluish nigger.His face and hands were all black and blue in streaks, and so were thebits of his feet that showed between his Indian dressing-gown and hisTurkish slippers.
"WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?" HE ASKED. "NYANG, NYANG!" JANEANSWERED TAUNTINGLY.]
The word "Krikey" fell from more than one lip.
"What are you staring at?" he asked.
We did not answer even then, though I think it was less fromkeep-your-wordishness than amazement. But Jane did.
"Nyang, Nyang!" she uttered tauntingly. "You thought it was soap I wasgiving you, and all the time it was Maple's dark bright navy-blueindelible dye--won't wash out." She flashed a looking-glass in his face,and he looked and saw the depth of his dark bright navy-blueness.
Now, you may think that we shouted with laughing to see him done brownand dyed blue like this, but we did not. There was a spellbound silence.Oswald, I know, felt a quite uncomfortable feeling inside him.
When Archibald had had one good look at himself he did not want anymore. He ran to his room and bolted himself in.
"_He_ won't go to no parties," said Jane, and she flounced downstairs.
We never knew how much Noel had told her. He is very young, and not sostrong as we are, and we thought it better not to ask.
Oswald and Dicky and H.O.--particularly H.O.--told each other it servedhim right, but after a bit Dora asked Noel if he would mind her tryingto get some of it off our unloved cousin, and he said "No."
WHEN FATHER CAME HOME THERE WAS AN AWFUL ROW.]
But nothing would get it off him; and when Father came home there was anawful row. And he said we had disgraced ourselves and forgotten theduties of hospitality
. We got it pretty straight, I can tell you. And webore it all. I do not say we were martyrs to the honour of our house andto our plighted word, but I do say that we got it very straight indeed,and we did not tell the provocativeness we had had from our guest thatdrove the poet Noel to this wild and desperate revenge.
But some one told, and I have always thought it was Jane, and that iswhy we did not ask too many questions about what Noel had told her,because late that night Father came and said he now understood that wehad meant to do right, except perhaps the one who cut the pipe with achisel, and that must have been more silliness than naughtiness; andperhaps the being dyed blue served our cousin rather right. And he gaveArchibald a few remarks in private, and when the dye began to comeoff--it was not a fast dye, though it said so on the paper it waswrapped in--Archibald, now a light streaky blue, really did seem to bemaking an effort to be something like decent. And when, now merely apale grey, he had returned to school, he sent us a letter. It said:--
"_My dear Cousins_,--
"_I think that I was beastlier than I meant to be, but I am not accustomed to young kids. And I think uncle was right, and the way you stand up for the honour of our house is not all nonsense, like I said it was. If we ever meet in the future life I hope you will not keep a down on me about things. I don't think you can expect me to say more. From your affectionate cousin,_
"_Archibald Bastable._"
So I suppose rays of remorse penetrated that cold heart, and now perhapshe will be a reformed Bastable. I am sure I hope so, but I believe it isdifficult, if not impossible, for a leopard to change his skin.
Still, I remember how indelibly black he looked when he came out of thefatal bath-room; and it nearly all wore off. And perhaps spots on thehonourable inside parts of your soul come off with time. I hope so. Thedye never came off the inside of the bath though. I think that was whatannoyed our good great-uncle the most.