After the Writer had left, Ridgwell turned to Christine.

"It's the jolliest afternoon we've had since Father and Mother left, isn't it, Chris?"

Christine nodded; she was considering many things.

CHAPTER VI

TWO d.i.c.k WHITTINGTONS

The streets of London were alive with an unwonted gaiety, and crowds of people waited patiently, and with an air of expectancy, to see the Lord Mayor of London pa.s.s in state on his way from the Mansion House to the Home for Children which he had built--about to be opened that day by his Majesty the King.

Ridgwell and Christine sat in the broad, chintz-covered window-seat of the Writer's chambers overlooking Trafalgar Square, and viewed the great crowds of people beneath them with astonishment and interest.

"When the Lord Mayor pa.s.ses my window," said the Writer, "he has promised to look out as far as his dignity will permit and nod to me.

That he also intends to nod to our old friend Lal is a foregone conclusion, for without that recognition upon his part I am sure the day's ceremony would be incomplete."

"Will it be like a circus?" inquired Ridgwell.

"Yes, rather like a circus," admitted the Writer. "That is to say, a very great deal of gilt and highly coloured horses, soldiers, and inevitably one bra.s.s band playing, probably more than one."

"We can see Lal perfectly from here," said Christine.

"What is that large wreath for, placed between Lal's paws?" asked Ridgwell.

"That," declared the Writer, "was placed there early this morning by the Lord Mayor himself. He ordered it from Covent Garden, and he had great difficulty in procuring it even there. The wreath is entirely composed of water-lilies, Lal's favourite flower, and is put there in honour of the occasion. Of course this is undoubtedly one of the great days in the Lord Mayor's life, and he looks upon it as one of the crowning features in his whole career."

A sudden increased agitation among the crowd, a rumble as of cheering in the distance, and the first sound of trumpets and drums announced that the procession was drawing near.

The first sign of the vanguard were some mounted policemen who rode ahead to clear the way. There appeared to be little need for this precaution, as the crowds were standing in most orderly rows along the pavements.

"I'm sure Lal doesn't like those policemen," said Ridgwell decisively.

"No," agreed the Writer, "he sees such a lot of them where he is and, of course, he detests crowds of any sort, they jostle and b.u.mp his pedestal so much that it makes him feel uncomfortable. Here come the mounted soldiers; they look very smart, don't they? And here is the band, blowing their trumpets for all they are worth; some of them almost look as if they would burst with the effort."

"Is that first carriage the Lord Mayor's?" inquired Christine.

"No, the first carriages are all the other Aldermen."

"Six carriages full," said Christine. "And look at those men in red and gold standing up behind the last coaches."

"Yes," said Ridgwell, "strap-hangers. I wonder how they keep their balance and keep all that powder on their heads."

"I fancy," said the Writer, "they have to practise it; and as for the powder, I expect it is a secret preparation known only to themselves."

A burst of renewed cheering greeted the appearance of six cream horses, richly caparisoned with red and gold trappings, urged on by outriders.

"Here is the Lord Mayor," exclaimed the Writer excitedly, as he produced a large red silk handkerchief and waved it wildly out of the window.

There could be no doubt whatever that a fat old gentleman with red cheeks and a white moustache, whose portly form was covered with a scarlet and fur gown, around which hung a lot of glittering golden chains, and who had one side of the state coach all to himself, saw the Writer's greeting and returned it. The children saw him look up at the window and deliberately bow, then he turned his head in the direction of Lal, the Pleasant-Faced Lion, and bowed and smiled.

"Quite gorgeous," observed Ridgwell when the procession had pa.s.sed, "but I always thought from what you told us that Alderman Gold was tall and thin."

"Ah," said the Writer, "that was at the beginning of the story, and he was a Miser then, and most misers are thin; but as he grew more and more cheerful, more and more happy, he grew a bit fatter and a bit fatter still, and then he got colour in his cheeks, until he became the jolly, agreeable, fat, old, good-natured gentleman you have seen just now in the distance. However, you will be able to see him at closer quarters and make his jolly acquaintance for yourselves presently, for he will call here and see me after all the ceremony is over."

"Will he be in time for tea?" inquired Christine.

"No, much too late for tea, Christine, but there will be a welcome for him, which I know he is looking forward to, and something I think he will like better than the big City banquet he has presided at, and it will be waiting for him here--a good cigar and a drink," and the Writer indicated a very handsome piece of old oak furniture at the end of the long room, which contained mysterious little cupboards which opened in odd angles and unexpected curves.

"I do hope he will turn up in his robes," ventured Ridgwell. "I rather want to see what they are like."

"We must wait and see about that, and as it must be some considerable time before tea, and a longer time still before His Worshipful the Mayor can possibly be here, I propose to finish the rest of the story I told you, right up to the present time. Of course, Lal may give the sign he promised to-night, or he may not; if he does you will both be here to see it."

Thereupon Ridgwell and Christine curled themselves up upon the broad window seat, and prepared to listen.

The Writer closed the window, and they all noticed that the crowds beneath were rapidly dispersing; occasionally some one would stop for a second and look at the big wreath of water-lilies between the Lion's paws, but the majority of people pa.s.sing appeared not to have noticed it at all.

"Where did I get to in the story?" asked the Writer.

"Lal had said his last word to you," volunteered Ridgwell; "and what I particularly want to know is this: how did that second mysterious promise about d.i.c.k Whittington come true eventually, and did you ever meet d.i.c.k Whittington as Lal declared that you would, and did he really bring you fame and fortune when you met him?"

The Writer smiled. "Yes, indeed I met him, but not in any way or fashion that I should ever have expected. Of course both of you children know Lal well enough by this time to realise that he loves a little joke of his own at our expense, and many of his mysterious promises, although they come true in a way, turn out to be utterly and completely different from what he would seem to suggest to us by his words; in fact, Lal is like a great happy conjuror or wizard who dearly loves to mystify us with a trick. I am convinced he enjoys our amazement at any of his pet tricks, as much as he enjoys the laugh he has at our expense."

"That's right," said Ridgwell; "he tricked Chris and me finely once. I haven't forgiven him so very long for it, and it made me feel very uncomfortable for a good while."

"Everybody forgives Lal in the end," laughed the Writer; "one simply cannot help oneself, but really his pranks are too absurd, and yet when I found out how I had been tricked, I couldn't be cross with him, for I actually loved his funny old ways more than before, if such a thing were possible. To continue my story where I left off, Alderman Gold seemed in some miraculous way to have had much more than his sight restored to him that night. The first thing he did was to lift the body of poor Sam very gently, and as we left the Square he called a cab, and whilst we drove to his big mansion in Lancaster Gate, he asked me to tell him everything I could remember about my short life up to that time. Of course, I did so in my own peculiar fashion; the verbiage of the street and the gutter must have been freely sprinkled about during that narrative. Sometimes he looked thoughtful, and at other times he lay back in the cab and laughed out loud. When we arrived at his big house, which seemed to me at that time to be a mighty great mansion, he first made his way into a very big garden at the back where there were a lot of trees, and opening a gardening shed, he got a spade and dug a grave for Sam deep down under the trees, and it is there with his name, which was afterwards carved on a piece of wood, until this day.

"Whilst my childish tears were still flowing as the result of this sad ceremony, a lady came down the garden path in the moonlight, and as she joined us I noticed that although she appeared a little startled, she had a most beautiful face.

"'I didn't know it was you, sir, I couldn't think who could be digging in the garden at this time of night, and I grew frightened.'

"'Mrs. Durham,' said the Alderman earnestly, 'I was digging a grave for the dead pet of this small piece of humanity here, who will henceforth be one of your special charges.'

"Mrs. Durham glanced at the Alderman rather in amazement, I thought, as if he had suddenly taken leave of his senses, but she looked at me as she has ever done in a most kindly way.

"'Skylark,' said the Alderman, 'this is Mrs. Durham, my housekeeper.'

Perhaps the Alderman had seen the expression upon Mrs. Durham's face, and had interpreted it correctly, for he added, 'Mrs. Durham, I am somewhat ashamed to say that in the grave of a faithful and most devoted creature I have here buried metaphorically, for good and all, as many of the reprehensible habits of my old life as I can cast at once, therefore, if I seem to you to be very different in the future, you may know there is a good reason for my being so. Could you conveniently take this infant and get him something substantial to eat and drink, and see he is put to bed?'

"Mrs. Durham said, 'Very well, sir,' and taking my hand led me into the house; but she still looked amazed, as if she had seen a ghost, I thought.

"A good many other people, I fancy, must have looked amazed the next day, when in the Alderman's big City offices all the clerks found that their salaries were to be raised. I rather imagine the office boy was the most astonished of all, for upon discovering that his master had raised his weekly remuneration to a pound a week, he was heard to exclaim, 'Well, that knocks all, that is if the Governor hasn't got softening of the brain!'

"The Alderman didn't stop there by a long way, for I know that all the servants in his house commenced to have a different time of it, and his thoughtfulness, as far as I was concerned, was more than wonderful.

"I remember a few days after my arrival he called a council of war with Mrs. Durham, at which I was present, and I may say in pa.s.sing, that Mrs. Durham and I were by this time fast friends.

"'There is one thing that must be done at once, Mrs. Durham,' I remember him saying during that important interview; 'the youngster must go at once to school. Now the difficulty is this: I don't want him to start at a disadvantage from the very beginning, and speaking as he does now, no ordinary school would take him.'