THE DODO”S LITTLE RUSE.
The State Umbrella, which the Dodo had been carrying, fell to the ground with a crash, and so startled the Little Panjandrum that he jumped to his feet and nervously tried to run away. The chains, however, by which the Dodo was attached to his girdle, prevented him from doing so.
The bird, with his beak in the air, and his gloves extended in a most grotesque attitude, was immovable and rigid as stone. Not a muscle moved, and the Little Panjandrum, after staring at him a moment, called out, angrily—
“Olla—balloo—calle—gablob?”
There was not the slightest movement on the part of the bird, and just then the Ambassador returned.
“Hullo! What’s the trouble?” he cried, staring at the Dodo.
“Gablobbee—balloo—olla—wobble!” said the Little Panjandrum, excitedly.
“What!” exclaimed the Ambassador, “something gone wrong with the Dodo? Here, what’s the matter with you?” he continued, giving the bird a shake.
The Dodo didn’t budge an inch, but continued in the same position, his eyes fixed in a stony stare.
“I can’t think what’s wrong with him,” declared the Ambassador, with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Perhaps he’s turned into stone, like the others,” suggested Dick, mischievously.
“Ah!” said the Ambassador, clapping his hand to his forehead in a dramatic manner; “that’s what it is, depend upon it. Good gracious! how unfortunate. Let’s see, what did I say when pronouncing the spell?”
“Why, after mentioning most of the creatures’ names, you said, ”and all other prehistoric wretches.” I remember quite well,” said Marjorie, “because I thought at the time it was rather rude of you to call them wretches.”
“H’m! Then he must have been a prehistoric wretch,” said the Ambassador, absently. “Dear me! I always knew he was extinct, but I had no idea he was antediluvian as well. That accounts for a lot of things. No wonder he was eccentric.” And he gazed at the Dodo quite sorrowfully.
The Dodo was rigid, motionless.
“Well, well,” he resumed, “it can’t be helped now. We must make the best of a bad matter; all the talking in the world won’t restore him to life again.” And he turned to the Little Panjandrum and entered into a lengthy conversation with him in their native language, which the children could not understand in the least.
The Little Panjandrum seemed greatly distressed at the disaster which had befallen the Dodo, and, it appeared, insisted upon a monument being erected to his memory. Thereupon the Ambassador, by a brilliant inspiration, thought of the novel plan of making the bird act as his own statue.
“As he is turned into stone,” said he, “we have only to find a pedestal to put him on, and there we are.”
A little way off, a stone Cupid, rather the worse for wear, stood beside the pathway, and this, the Ambassador decided, should be removed to make way for the Dodo.
The united efforts of the Little Panjandrum’s suite (who had by this time returned, having been assured that the creatures which had so alarmed them had been rendered harmless) soon succeeded in overthrowing Cupid from his pedestal, and after a great deal of pulling, pushing, and straining, the Dodo, still posing in his grotesque attitude, was stuck up in his place.
“There must be an inscription,” said the Ambassador, and, rummaging about in his pockets, he brought forth a piece of black crayon. “The Dodo, now fortunately extinct,” he wrote in large letters, and then stood back to admire the effect.
The Dodo's Monument.
The Little Panjandrum beamed approval, and calling together his suite, the Black Attendant once more raised the State Umbrella over His Importance’s head, and the tom-tom and Jew’s harp began their strange music, while the Ambassador took a hurried leave of the children, and the cortège passed out of sight. Fainter and fainter grew the sound of the instruments, and the children, somewhat alarmed at being left all alone, were half undecided whether to follow or not, when their attention was called to a smothered giggling at the back of them.
Turning around, they beheld the Dodo holding his hands to his sides, and shaking with suppressed laughter.
“Ho! ho! ho!” he laughed, dancing about on the pedestal, “haven’t I tricked them beautifully? Turned to stone! The Dodo, now fortunately extinct! Ha! ha! ha! he! he! what a lark! They’ll find I’m not so extinct as they think.” And, jumping down, he made a grimace in the direction in which the Little Panjandrum and suite had vanished.
“I think I’ve got the best of them this time,” he continued, triumphantly.
“But come, let’s get out of this as soon as possible. You want to get to London, don’t you? Let’s start at once, if not sooner.”
“But, I say, what are we going to do for money?” said Dick. “One can’t get to London without that, you know.”
“Oh, we’ll find a way somehow,” said the Dodo, hopefully. “Come along.”
So the children all trudged back to the Palace again. Fidge, who was very glad to see his old friend the Dodo restored to life again, wouldn’t leave his side, but trotted along with him, chatting merrily.
“Ah!” said the Dodo, as they went up the steps leading into the great hall, “there’s my old friend the Missionary; perhaps he will be able to help us out of our difficulty.” And going up to the gentleman, he gave him a playful pat on the shoulder, and exclaimed, pleasantly—
“Here we are again, you see!”
The Missionary started nervously, and peered at the Dodo through his glasses.
“Oh—er—how do you do?” he cried, hurriedly, giving a rather startled glance all round him. “Are your other friends with you?”
"'You're very good,' said the Dodo."
“Oh, you mean the Eterædarium, and the Palæotherium. No—they—er, they’ve met with a rather nasty accident. They’ve been turned into stone.”
“Bless me!” exclaimed the Missionary, looking greatly concerned. “You don’t say so! What an extraordinary thing to happen. I had no idea that there were any petrifying waters hereabouts.”
“Well, they’re turned to stone, anyhow,” said the Dodo, “down by the lake there. It’s rather awkward for us, you see, because we can’t stop here forever by ourselves, and we haven’t any money to get home with.”
“My dear Sir,” said the Missionary, generously taking out his purse, “can I be of any assistance to you?”
“It’s very kind of you,” said the Dodo.
“Not at all,” cried the Missionary, heartily, pressing some money into the Dodo’s glove, which, of course, immediately fell off and disconcerted the Missionary very much, while the Dodo scrambled about and picked up the scattered coins.
The children thought it very kind of the Missionary to lend them the money, and Dick and Marjorie went up to him and thanked him very politely; and then, having done this, the whole party hurried off to the train.