I was sitting in an adjoining room—but the door being open I could hear all that was said.
“Oh!” exclaimed the Wallypug, “in the most extraordinary way you can possibly imagine. We went into a house in High Street, Kensington, and bought some little tickets, and then we handed them to a man at a barrier, who cut a little piece out of each one as we passed through.”
“To rebebber us by,” chimed in A. Fish, Esq.
“Yes,” continued the Wallypug; “and then we went down two flights of stairs, and by-and-bye a lot of little houses on wheels came rushing into the station, and we got into one of them and before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’ we were rushing through a big black tunnel under the ground.”
“Why, you mean the Underground Railway,” declared Girlie.
“Yes,” agreed his Majesty. “And the little room we sat in had beautiful soft cushions and a big light in the middle of the roof, and little texts printed on the wall—”
“Texts!” exclaimed both of the children.
“Texts,” repeated the Wallypug. “What were they? Do you remember?” he asked of the others.
“Oh, one was, ‘You are requested not to put your feet on the cushions,’” said the Rhymester.