"I'll show you, Archbishop," replied Lobsterneck. "I'll fetch him down all right—never you fear."
Standing on the pier, the dragon stretched out his long neck and tried to pick the cat off the top of the mast with his teeth. He could not quite reach him, however, so—forgetting what a rickety sort of thing a raft is—he gathered his six feet under him and jumped aboard.
Greatly to his astonishment, the raft instantly tilted up, the mast came over and hit him a severe crack on the crown of his head, and the next thing he knew he was down at the bottom of the sea with all the dog-fish worrying and snapping at him—though this was a matter of small consequence, for Lobsterneck was so well shingled that the dog-fishes' teeth could make no impression.
A moment later, snorting and spluttering, up bobbed Lobsterneck again, with half-a-dozen of the biggest dog-fish holding on to his tail, while all the rest, leaping out of the water, turned somersaults in the air and barked encouragement.
Instead of climbing up the steps of the pier again, so confused was the amiable old snap-dragon by the worrying and the barking and the splashing of the dog-fish, that he made straight for the shore, when, having shaken himself free of his tormentors, he galloped off home to his tower, upon the top of which he presently reappeared, seated on his three-legged stool, drying his scales with his pocket handkerchief.
But though Lobsterneck's plan for getting Thomas A'Becket ashore had not turned out exactly as he had intended, it had nevertheless proved entirely successful, for when the raft tilted up and the mast hit the dragon such a crack on the top of his head, the reluctant cat was sent flying through the air, landing on the pier so close to Periwinkle that they almost bumped noses.
Periwinkle, himself, strange to say, did not notice the sudden arrival of the Archbishop's cat. With his head in the air and his eyes shut tight, he was barking and barking and barking, having the very best time he ever remembered, when, all of a sudden something sharp stuck into his nose. With a yelp of astonishment, he leaped backwards and opened his eyes, to see standing before him the angry Thomas A'Becket, who, with arched back and distended tail, swore sharply at the unoffending puppy.
"Oh!" cried everybody, throwing up their hands in dismay; for such a dreadful breach of the laws had never happened before.
"Be cheerful," said law number one; and here was a cat just as angry as a cat could be.
"Be polite," said law number two; and here was a cat using language—Tut! Tut! And an archbishop's cat, too. Just think of that! If it had been a curate's cat, or even a vicar's—but, an archbishop's cat! No wonder the poor Archbishop covered his face with his hand and blushed purple with embarrassment.