CHAPTER X

THE ARCHBISHOP

Hardly had they finished the last chorus, when they heard once more the clank of the Court Crier's bell, and there were the Court Crier, himself, and all the courtiers running up the hill to join them.

The King turned to fly, when Lobsterneck, with a sudden snort, straightened himself up, and stretching out his long neck, began sniffing the breeze.

"What is it, Six-foot?" asked Coco Bolo.

Without waiting to reply, the dragon bolted into his tower and up the stairway, when, no sooner had he reached the top than he clapped his fore-paws to his mouth and began bellowing like a cow. At the very first bellow all the dog-fish down in the bay began to bark, while Periwinkle, excitedly jumping about, joined in the chorus, though he had not the least idea what he was barking about.

"What is it, Lobsterneck?" shouted the King. "Who's coming?"

"Can't tell yet," the dragon shouted back. "All I can see is the upper half of a mast with a big gray cat sitting on top of it."

"A cat!" cried the King. "Then it must be the Archbishop."

"The Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half?" asked Margaret.

"Yes, the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half. He promised to drop in to-day. He's cruising around on his private raft."

"That's who it is!" cried the dragon, leaning over the edge of the tower and calling down to the King. "I can see him now. He's just come through the cloud-wall. Hooray, for the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half!"

With that, the enthusiastic Lobsterneck dived head-first down his staircase, with a clash as though someone had flung a shovelful of tenpenny nails on a stone pavement, bolted out of the arched doorway, and galloped off down the hill toward the beach to welcome the Archbishop.

"Come on!" shouted the King; and away he went, himself, down the hill, followed by Margaret and Frances, the little Coco Bolos, the Admiral, the Court Crier and all the courtiers, everyone of them running so fast that stumpy-legged Periwinkle, the only one who had not had any aëro-plane water, was the last in the race.

As soon as they arrived at the pier, they saw the raft slowly approaching, escorted on all sides by the whole pack of dog-fish. It was a trim and well built raft, about as big as a bedroom floor, with a mast in the middle, to which was attached a square sail, blown out tight by the wind. On top of the mast, having evidently been scared up there by the barking of the dog-fish, sat a big gray cat; while in front of the sail, holding his crozier in one hand and kissing the other to the people ashore stood the Archbishop, himself.

To Margaret and Frances, who had never seen one before, an Archbishop was almost as much of a curiosity as a snap-dragon. At the same time, however, they had formed in their own minds a sort of picture of what an Archbishop would be like, expecting to find him a dignified old gentleman, dressed in black, with a bald head, a long white beard, and most probably wearing a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

What was their surprise, therefore, when, as the raft drew near, they saw that the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half was not by any means the kind of person they had imagined. He was a jaunty young gentleman with a neat little black moustache; instead of gold-rimmed spectacles, he wore in his right eye an eyeglass which he kept in place with difficulty by screwing up one corner of his mouth; on his shoulders, concealing all but his white silk stockings and red shoes, he wore a purple cloak embroidered all over with gold lace; while, most noticeable of all, on his head was an archbishop's mitre of ample size and antique design.

Slowly the raft glided forward, until it presently bumped gently against the pier, when the frisky Archbishop, using his crozier as a jumping pole, leaped lightly upon the steps, and running up them with hand extended, he cried:

"Well, Coco, how goes it? How are you, old block; and how are all the little chips? All cheerful and smiling as usual? Ah!"--catching sight of the two little girls--"You have guests, I see. Won't you present me?"

"With pleasure," replied the King. "Ladies, let me present the Archbishop of Timbuctoo-and-a-half. Archbishop, these are my friends, Margaret and Frances, who have done me the honor to come to my garden-party. And talking of garden-parties," he continued, "come along up to the palace and have some refreshment. Bring your cat, too. I expect he's hungry. What's his name?"

"Thomas A'Becket," replied the Archbishop. "Come on, Thomas!" he called to the cat. "Come and have some milk."

But Thomas A'Becket declined. He looked at the Archbishop, but he stayed where he was.

"He's a little out of sorts today," remarked the Archbishop, "and if he has made up his mind to stay up there, it's no use trying to make him come down."

"Isn't it, though!" cried the dragon, hastily pulling off his boxing-gloves. "Just you wait a minute. I'll make him."

"Hallo, Lobsterneck!" exclaimed the Archbishop, giving the dragon a friendly tap on the head with his crozier. "You're here, are you? Glad to see you again, old gargoyle. So you think you can make Thomas A'Becket come down, do you? All right. Go ahead, and let's see how you do it."

"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.

For a full half-minute everyone stood speechless, with hands held up and eyes and mouths wide open, until suddenly the Court Crier, who was the first to recover, began ringing his bell and shouting, "Blue paint! Blue paint!" as loud as he could.

Upon this, everybody else shouted, "Blue paint!"--the King and the Admiral and the little Coco Bolos, as well; though Margaret and Frances felt sure that half of them, at least, had no idea what they meant by it, especially as they kept on shouting, "Blue paint!" without ever thinking, seemingly, that it was anybody's business to go and get it.

The only one who seemed to be quite unconcerned was the one who had caused all the rumpus: Thomas A'Becket, himself. Calmly seated on the pier, he proceeded to wash his face with his paws, paying no attention at all to the King and his courtiers, who, standing in a circle around him, continued to shout, "Blue paint!" without intermission.

How long they might have gone on shouting there is no knowing, had not Margaret interfered. Losing patience, she stepped up to the King, and clapping her hand over his mouth just as he had opened it for another shout--the King almost exploded at being so suddenly "corked"--she stooped and called into his ear:

"Why don't you send for your new policeman?"

Coco Bolo, with his eyes turned up, waited till Margaret removed her hand, when he took off his crown with a flourish, and bowing politely, said:

"That's a capital idea of yours. Why didn't I think of it before?"

So saying, he clapped his crown upon his head again and set off running up the middle of the pier, shouting, "Police!" at the top of his voice.

Not a single one of the courtiers had the least idea that there was any such thing as a policeman on the island, but they were a well-trained company, and knowing that the first duty of a courtier is to do as the King does, they all set off running, too, shouting, "Police! Police! Police!"

Just as they got clear of the pier and had started up the hill to the carpenter's shop, round the end of the shop, itself, came the new policeman, running as fast as he could, with a butterfly net in one hand and a pot of blue paint in the other; while behind him ran the carpenter, a gimlet in his right hand and a hollow tooth in his left, calling out, "Hi! Hi! Come back! You're not finished yet!"

The policeman, however, took no notice--perhaps he thought he could get along well enough without a hollow tooth. Down the hill he came, ran along the pier to where Thomas A'Becket still sat washing his face, and made a scoop at the cat with the butterfly net.

But Thomas A'Becket was not the sort of cat to be caught quite so easily as that. He just popped between the policeman's legs and came racing up the pier, when those wooden-headed courtiers, instead of heading him off, got out of his way and allowed him to pass.

Away he went, straight for the palace, the policeman behind him and everybody else behind the policeman, until they came to the tea-garden, and there Thomas A'Becket vanished from sight.