“But, indeed, I am the Wallypug,” declared his Majesty, “and we turned this color after we drank the tea, you know.”
“Turned blue through drinking tea!” said the station-master incredulously.
“Ha! ha! a likely story,” laughed the porter derisively.
“Perhaps it will wear off in time,” said the Wallypug, “like being sunburnt does.”
“Very well then, you had better stop here till it does,” said the station-master. “Look here!” he cried, turning to the porter, “you stop here at the barrier, and don’t let them through until they have turned a respectable color, and you can recognize them.”
“But it may take weeks,” began his Majesty.
“Hold your tongue!” said the station-master sharply. “If you have any nonsense with them, shoot them,” he added to the porter, depositing the blunderbuss beside the barrier, and going back to the other end of the platform.
Whatever we should have done I cannot think, if just at that moment the porter’s wife had not put her head out of the signal-box and called to him to “come in at once and mind the baby,” while she “did a little shopping.”
“But he’s on duty, ma’am,” expostulated the station-master.
“I don’t care anything about that; you come in at once, Bill,” shouted the woman, and the porter meekly left the barrier and disappeared within the signal-box.