AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE.
The bread-and-milk was very good, and the children enjoyed it immensely.
They would have taken a second basinful had the Eterædarium been at all pressing in his invitation for them to do so; but instead of asking them in the usual way, “Will you have any more?” he said, in a very anxious tone of voice, “You won’t have any more, will you?” which was, of course, a very different thing; and so they each meekly said, “No, thank you,” and watched the Eterædarium finish up the remaining basins.
“There now, I feel that I’ve done my duty,” he said, with a sigh of satisfaction, as he wiped his lips with a serviette, after scraping out the very last spoonful.
“You see,” he said, with a sort of half attempt at an apology, “I was afraid the poor, dear Dodo, in his delicate state of health, might come in to breakfast and eat more than was good for him; so, by eating the lot myself, I have prevented him from doing that. He ought to be very grateful to me, I’m sure.”
“But what about the others?” asked Dick.
“Oh, great, strong, healthy animals like them, it will do them good to go without for once in a way. I think, though, that in order to prevent them from feeling any disappointment it will be better to throw the basins out of the window, the sight of them would probably be rather tantalizing.” And the Eterædarium began hurriedly to throw all the breakfast things out of the window—spoons, basins, tablecloths, and serviettes, all disappeared, and only the three basins which the children had been using remained.
They, doubtless, would have followed the others had not the Dodo, leaning heavily on the Prehistoric Doctor’s arm, entered the breakfast car just at that moment.
“Ah! bread-and-milk—capital!” exclaimed the Doctor, rubbing his hands, and looking at the children’s basins. “I think our patient could manage a small basinful, eh?”
The Dodo, with a great affectation of weakness, feebly nodded his head.
“I think I could manage a small basinful, Doctor—er—er—not too small, you know. A very small quantity never agrees with me.”
“No, no; of course not,” said the Doctor, soothingly. “I will see that it is not too small; and perhaps, just to encourage you, I will have a basinful myself.”
“It’s all gone!” said the Eterædarium, suddenly and emphatically.
“Gone!” screamed the Dodo, in a loud voice, quite forgetting his supposed weakness. “Do you mean to say there is none left?”
The Eterædarium shook his head.
“But where’s it all gone to?” asked the Doctor.
The Eterædarium solemnly pointed to the children.
“Pigs!” declared the Dodo, wrathfully.
“Here, who are you calling pigs?” demanded Dick, getting up angrily.
“Well, I must say that it was exceedingly greedy of you to devour all of the breakfast,” said the Doctor, reprovingly.
“But we didn’t,” said Dick. “It was the Eterædarium; he had ever so many basinsful. We only had one each, didn’t we, Marjorie?”
“No,” said Marjorie; “and mine was a very small one.”
“And mine was the littlest of all,” said Fidge, flourishing his spoon, “like the littlest bear’s, you know, in the story of the Three Bears.”
“Well, where are the other basins, then, if you say the Eterædarium had such a lot?” demanded the Dodo.
“He threw them out of the window,” declared the children.
“Oh! Oh! Well, I never—whatever will they say next?” cried the Eterædarium, throwing up his hands and turning his eyes up to the ceiling.
“I must say it doesn’t seem a very probable story,” said the Doctor, looking out of the window; “and as I don’t see any of the basins lying about I am afraid I cannot believe your statement.”
“But that was some time ago,” argued Dick, “and as we are traveling very rapidly they must be some miles down the line by this time.”
The arrival at the Crystal Palace.
“Rubbish!” exclaimed the Dodo, “you are only making matters worse by your lame excuses. I always had my suspicions that you were a greedy lot, like all the rest of the human creatures.”
“Ahem!” coughed the Doctor, looking pained.
“Oh, you’re prehistoric—that doesn’t count,” said the Dodo, and the Doctor brightened up again.
Fortunately, at this moment, something occurred to prevent the argument from continuing, or goodness knows where it might have led to, for the children were naturally indignant at being so greatly misjudged. Dick was particularly wroth. Their attention was diverted, however, by the train dashing into a station, and coming to a somewhat abrupt stop, causing the passengers to pitch forward, while a porter called in a loud voice, “Crystal Palace! Crystal Palace! All change here!”
“Oh! here we are, at last,” cried the children, hurrying on to the platform where the animals were all turning out.
The porter had given one horrified glance at the strange creatures, and then, with a howl of fear, had fled up the steps at the end of the platform. The children could see that he was explaining something or other to the ticket collector, for that worthy came to the barrier and peeped over.
“Oh—o—o—a—aah!” the children heard him cry, and then he fled, as his companion had done, leaving the barrier free.
“Come,” laughed Dick, “that simplifies matters considerably, for we shall not have to bother about our tickets now.” And the children hurried up the stairs, while the Dodo remained behind to adjust his gloves, complaining loudly that notice ought to have been given that they were nearing the station, so that he might have made himself presentable before alighting.
On turning back, while on the steps, the children could see that, besides their own party, the train had contained a number of other strange animals, some of whom, the Archæopteryx whispered, impressively, were “antediluvians.”
"'Sh'sh! A Missionary,' whispered the Dodo, excitedly."
The whole party having alighted, with a great deal of noise and confusion, they proceeded at once to the Palace. Everywhere their appearance was the signal for a wild stampede of other visitors, and by the time they had reached the great hall no one at all was in sight, except one old gentleman in glasses, who was consulting a guide book while he stood before a group of wooden Hottentots.
“Sh!” whispered the Dodo, “a Missionary! I have seen them before, when abroad. In some places they are greatly admired by the natives, some of whom have described them enthusiastically as being simply delicious! Let us be friendly to him; he is, no doubt, a very excellent man.
“My dear Sir,” he continued, waddling up to the Missionary, “delighted to see you looking so well.”
The Missionary, who was very short-sighted, beamed kindly, and grasped the Dodo’s glove, while he peered up into his face through his glasses. On catching sight of his beak, however, he gave a gasp of astonishment, and stammered—
“I’m afraid, Sir, you’ve made a mistake. I—er—I—er—don’t remember your face.”
“Oh, well, it is some time since we met, certainly; but perhaps you know my friend?” said the Dodo, introducing the Eterædarium, who came forward with an engaging grin.
The poor Missionary gave him a hasty glance through his glasses, and then, nervously clutching his guide book and umbrella, muttered something about “an important engagement,” and fled in the direction of the big clock.
“Strange how nervous everybody is in my presence,” murmured the Dodo, conceitedly. “It’s doubtless my beauty and brilliant wit which alarms them; but, come on, let’s go out to the lake, and I’ll take you for a row.”
"The Dodo was a muff at rowing."
So, having met with the Palæotherium, they all three got into a boat.
The Dodo was a muff at rowing, though, and kept “catching a crab,” which disaster he accounted for by declaring that the fishes would keep holding on to his oar when he dipped it into the water; but the Palæotherium, who was in the bow of the boat, and consequently got all of the splashes and knocks with the oar, declared that this was all nonsense, and I am inclined to agree with him.