Minkie E-Book

Louis Tracy

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 137

Beschreibung

Louis Tracy (1863-1928) was a British journalist and writer of fiction. He also used the pseudonyms Gordon Holmes and Robert Fraser.

Leseprobe

Minkie

MinkieCHAPTER ICHAPTER IICHAPTER IIICHAPTER IVCHAPTER VCopyright

Minkie

CHAPTER I

HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END

Told by Bobby, the Horse

Minkie says I ought to begin this story, because I am the biggest and strongest. I don’t see that at all, but she thinks I can’t see much, anyhow, owing to my silly habit of wearing blinkers, which is just her irritating way of settling an argument—as if I made the harness. And she knows better, too. I have an eye stuck on each side of my head to enable me to look nearly all round the circle; but that clever individual, man, tries to improve on Providence by making me don the rogue’s badge. Well, it would make any horse laugh. You watch how the clever individual came to grief when Minkie and her gang tackled him. Yes, that is what they call us—her “gang”—although Dandy, the fox-terrier, won’t admit that Tibbie belongs to our crowd, and he gets furious if one even mentions the Parrot. Perhaps he is prejudiced against Tibbie—I have noticed that most dogs seldom have a good word for a cat—but I do agree with him about that green idiot, Polly. Of all the back-biting, screeching—Eh, what? Oh, don’t worry, as I tell Dan when he trots in to my place to look for a rat—you’ll be in the middle of a real up-to-date yarn in two buzzes of a gad-fly....

The fun started last Christmas Eve, when a small blue boy on a big red bicycle came to our front door and tried to pull the bell out by the roots after playing tricks with the knocker. Everybody thought it was a parcel for herself. Dorothy sailed out of the drawing-room; Cookie and Evangeline, our housemaid (Mam wanted to call her Mary, but she threatened to give notice), rushed from the kitchen; even dearest Mam dropped her sewing and wondered what the Guv’nor had sent her; but Minkie tobogganed downstairs on a tray, and came in an easy first. Dan was close up, as he simply hates every sort of postman; so Minkie grabbed him with one hand and opened the door with the other.

And it was only a telegram.

When Mam opened it, she said “Good gracious!”

“What is it, mother?” inquired Dorothy.

But Minkie had read it over Mam’s shoulder and it was just this:

“Schwartz arrived unexpectedly to-day. Have invited him to spend Christmas and New Year with us. Send victoria meet 2.15. Tom.”

Tom is the Old Man. His other name is Grosvenor. He isn’t really old, but Jim calls him the Old Man, or the Guv’nor, and we are all pretty free and easy in the stable, you know.

“Good gracious!” said Mam again, “he will be here in half an hour. Evangeline, run and tell James to drive to the station at once. Mr. Grosvenor is bringing a friend home with him.”

Now, it is to be observed, in the first place, that ladies are always flustered by telegrams. The Old Man said nothing about “bringing” Schwartz by the 2.15, and Mam knew quite well that he expected to be detained at the office until the 5.30. Next, when two-legged people are in a hurry, they put the rush on to their four-legged helpers. I was just enjoying a nice wisp of hay when Jim banged in and rattled me into my harness, while Mole, the gardener, who also cleans the knives and boots, pulled the victoria out of the shed.

I was going through the gate in fine style when Minkie came flying.

“Don’t stop,” she said, and skipped inside.

Jim thought Mam had sent her, but Jim is always wrong when he imagines anything about Minkie. The fact was, as she told me afterwards, she had heard a lot of talk about this Schwartz, and she felt that it would be good for all parties if she took his measure a few minutes ahead of the rest of the family; so she jammed on a pirate cap and Dorothy’s fur coat, and slid across the lawn without any one’s being the wiser, except Dan, and he was sore with her on account of the escape of the telegraph boy. He tried to take it out of Tibbie, but she nipped up a tree, and the parrot, who was watching him head downwards through the drawing-room window, yelled “Yah!” at him. That settled it. He came after me and jumped up at my bit.

“Race you to the station,” he said, pretending he hadn’t seen Minkie.

“Right,” said I; “but, to make a match of it, you ought to get Mole to harness you to his little girl’s toy pram.”

This remark seemed to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know then about the rat-tatling messenger boy. Anyhow, he met the doctor’s poodle in the village, so he joined us at the station in a good temper.

When the train arrived, it brought heaps of people. It always puzzles me that folk should gorge more at Christmas time than any other. Every man, woman, and child carried half-a-dozen parcels, and nearly every parcel held something to eat. Some of the men hugged long narrow boxes, which looked as if they contained wax candles, but which really held a bottle of whisky. I know, because Jim....

“Mr. Grosvenor hasn’t come, miss,” said Jim, when the crowd thinned.

“Who said he was coming?” asked Minkie.

“Well, Evangeline thought—”

“Evangeline never thinks. The doctor has warned her against it. If ever she tries to do anything of the kind the excitement will kill her. No, Jim. Dad has told a Mr. Schwartz to come on by this train, and make himself at home until he joins him later. Schwartz is German for black. Most Germans are dumpy. But things often go by contraries. Our green-grocer is named Brown, so Mr. Schwartz should be a tall thin man, with straw hair and white eyebrows.”

Nail my shoes, she wasn’t far out of it. A humpbacked porter came along with a couple of portmanteaux, followed by a heavy swell who was up to specification except as to the color of his hair, which was chestnut.

“This is Mr. Grosvenor’s carriage, sir,” said the porter.

“Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose?” said the newcomer, grinning at Minkie. 

“Are you Mr. Schwartz?” she asked, and Dan inspected his calf, because Minkie’s tone told us she had taken a violent dislike to the visitor at first sight.

“Yes,” he smirked, being so busy looking at her that he paid no heed to the porter, who was waiting for his tip.

“Well, if you give the porter a shilling I’ll drive you to our place. Mother is expecting you.”

“Are you particular as to the exact amount?” he inquired, still grinning. In fact, he was one of those silly men who believe that you must laugh when you want to be amiable; so please imagine Mr. Schwartz always guffawing—at least, not always, because he could scowl very unpleasantly at times. Tickle my withers, we made him scowl all right before we were through with him.

“No,” said Minkie, giving the porter just one little look. “As it is Christmas time, you might make it half a crown.”

Schwartz got his hand down quick. Because he was a rich man, he thought tuppence would be ample. He produced a florin, but Minkie spotted it.

“If you haven’t another sixpence I can lend you one,” she said sweetly, and I saw Dan licking his lips when he heard her speak in that way.

“Don’t trouble,” said Schwartz, rather shortly, and he handed the porter three shillings. That was another of his queer ways. He liked to impress people, but cheaply. He wanted a girl of fourteen to realize what a grand person he was, yet he was afraid she would spring him up to a crown, or even half a sovereign, if he didn’t make haste.

Then Minkie made room for him by her side, and Dan hopped in too.

“Is that dog yours?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

“And does your father permit a beast with muddy paws to sit in his carriage?”

“Not often,” said Minkie, looking at his boots. “Dandy, you wicked imp, get out at once.”

Dan took a header into the roadway, and ran up alongside me, barking for all he was worth.

“Tell you what, Bob,” he cried, nearly choking himself with joy, “this red-headed Jew is going to find trouble. He is sure to drop into the stable to-morrow. I’ll keep you posted in affairs inside the house, and, when I give you the office, you’ll let him have both heels in the right place, eh?”

“I’ll do my best,” I coughed, and Jim wondered what was the matter, as there are no flies about in winter-time.

Meanwhile, Minkie took Schwartz in hand, and my long ears were not given me for amusement.

“We thought you were not coming until next week,” she said, by way of being polite.

“I finished some business in Paris sooner than I expected, and Mr. Grosvenor was good enough to ask me to spend Christmas and New Year at Dale End. I shall enjoy the visit immensely, I am sure. I have not had a Christmas at home for many years.”

“At home?” Minkie raised her large blue eyes so innocently. I knew exactly how she looked, and I rattled my harness to tell her I was listening.

“Yes; in England, I mean.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t you call England ‘home,’ too?”

“Of course, but I live here.”

“So do I.”

“Sorry. I fancied you just said you had been in some other country for a long time.”

“Well, I’m a bit of a cosmopolitan, I admit. Do you know what a cosmopolitan is?”

“It means anything but English.”

Mr. Schwartz roared. “Gad!” he cried, “that is not so far wrong.”

An old gentleman passed us in a mail phaeton, drawn by a pair of fat cobs, your bellows-to-mend and step-short sort. They don’t like me, because I always make a point of giving them the dust in summer, so one of them snorted, “Station hack!”

“Going to have a shave?” I asked, quite civilly, he being all of a lather.

Minkie gave the old gentleman a smile and a bow. He was rather surprised, which was reasonable enough, seeing that she usually sails along without seeing anybody; but he got his hat off in good time.

“Who is that?” inquired Schwartz.

“Jack’s uncle,” said Minkie.

“Jack is a friend of yours, eh?”

“Um, yes, but he—perhaps I shouldn’t say anything about it. Jack is twenty-five, you see.”

“Oh, is he?” Schwartz was not smiling now. It was easy to guess that by his voice. “I suppose he is better acquainted with your sister than with you?”

“Yes, heaps.”

“What is his other name?”

“Percival Stanhope.”

“Mr. John Percival Stanhope, in fact? Odd that I should not have heard of him, if he is such a great friend of the family?”

“Dolly doesn’t say much about him. He’s in India, and India is such a long way off.”

“Jolly good job, too, or you would be frizzling to-day.” Mr. Schwartz was brightening up again.

“I think you are mistaken,” said Minkie, quietly. “Jack says it is ever so cold in the Punjab at Christmas-time.”

“Does he write to you, then?” demanded Schwartz.

“No; that was in a letter to Dolly.”

“A recent letter?”

“He was talking about Christmas two years ago. But please don’t mention him to her. We have no right to discuss her affairs, have we?”

“No, no; of course not. It was just by way of conversation, eh?”

“That is the cemetery,” said Minkie, pointing to a low tree-lined wall in the distance. “Some day, if you like, I shall take you there, and show you his mother’s grave.”

“Thanks, but I am not fond of cemeteries, as a rule.”

“Perhaps you would prefer to be cremated?”

“I haven’t considered the matter.”

“But you ought to. You are quite old, nearly forty, and I saw in a pill advertisement the other day that forty is a dangerous age if your liver is out of order.”

“Here, young lady, not quite so fast, please. How do you know I am forty, and why do you think I have a diseased liver?”

“It said so in the paper.”

“The deuce it did.”

“Yes; in one of those little spicy bits, telling you all about people, you know. It said: ‘Mr. Montague Schwartz is one of the Chosen People.’ You are Mr. Montague Schwartz, aren’t you?”

“Go on, do.”

“Oh, I remember every word ‘—one of the Chosen People—’ that means you are a Jew, doesn’t it?”

“Of Jewish descent, certainly.”

“Well, it went on: ‘His rise has been meteoric. At twenty he quitted the paternal fried fish shop in the Mile End Road, at thirty he was running a saloon and other industries at Kimberley, and at forty he is building a mansion in Mayfair.’ There was a lot more, but now you see how I knew your age.”

“It is perfectly clear. There only remains the liver.”

“I got that from the pill advertisement. There are several sure signs of congestion, and you have all of them in your face and eyes. Shall I show it to you? Those pills might cure you.”

“Really, you are too kind for words. May I ask if your sister shares your knowledge of my career and state of health?”

“Did I show her the paper, do you mean?”

“Yes.”

“No, I had forgotten all about it, but if you would like her to see it—”

“Look here, Miss Millicent, you are a sharp girl. Now, I’ll make a bargain with you. Find that paper, say no more about the paragraph—which, I may tell you, is rank nonsense from start to finish—and your Christmas box will be five sovereigns.”

“Done,” said Minkie, coolly. “And here we are at Dale End. Mile End—Dale End. Funny, isn’t it, how names run together that way occasionally.”

Before Jim led me around to the stable I heard Mam express her surprise that Mr. Schwartz had come alone. She had expected her husband by the same train. And she did not know Millicent had gone in the victoria. How on earth did the child recognise Mr. Schwartz, as she had never seen him?

“I rather fancy your younger daughter would pick me out in the Strand if she were so minded,” explained the visitor, cheerfully.

“I hope she did not bore you by her chatter,” said dear, innocent Mam. “Or perhaps she was in one of her silent moods?”

“No. We got along famously; didn’t we, Millicent?”

“It was a nice drive,” said Minkie, “not too cold, and the village is quite gay.”

“Well, I find the air rather chilly,” said Mam. “Why are we all standing here? Come into the drawing-room, Mr. Schwartz. Dorothy is there, and we shall have tea brought a little earlier than usual. Evangeline, tell James to take Mr. Schwartz’s portmanteaux to the Blue Room.”

Of course, I should not have heard what happened next if Tibbie had not looked in to see me that night. As a matter of fact, the gang does not miss much in the way of gossip. One or other of us is always on hand. And that parrot—though he is no friend of mine—is a terror for picking up news. Jim hangs his cage on a tree opposite my door every fine morning, and the things he tells me are surprising. He has hardly a good word for anybody, but then, what a dull world it would be if we only told the nice things about our friends. Why, we should all be dumb soon.

Dan tried to sneak in behind Minkie, but Mam had her eye on him.

“I do believe that naughty Dandy has been in the wars again,” she said. “Millicent, did you see him fighting any other dog?”

“No, mother. He met the doctor’s poodle, but there was no fight.” Minkie was always strictly accurate.

“What a wonder! Anyhow, he is muddy and wet. Ask cook to rub him over with a damp cloth.”

Tibbie, pretending to be asleep, twitched one ear as she saw Dan being led off to the kitchen. “Gnar!” muttered Dan, who hates damp cloths, “wait till I catch you in the garden!” Tibbie just smiled. I must say that cats take life easily; they are given the best of everything, and do nothing. A friend of mine, a regular old stager, who pulls near in the Black Lion bus, tells me that Tibbie’s method is the only way to get on, and he sees a lot of different people at the inn, so he ought to be a bit of a philosopher. “Make other people work for you,” he says. “That’s the ticket; when they bring you chaff tell ’em you must have oats, an’ snap their heads off if they don’t move quick enough. Bless your hoof, they like it. You hear ’em say: ‘There’s blood for you, a born aristocrat, he is,’ an’ they’ll do any mortal thing you want.”

Well, Tibbie curled up like a hedgehog, and listened, because we don’t have many strangers at Dale End. The talk turned on Ostend—no, it’s as true as I’m standing on four legs, but the very first place mentioned had an “end” in it—where the Old Man and Mam and Dorothy had been in the summer. Minkie had measles, or something spotty, so she was forbidden to travel, and we had a ripping July all to ourselves. Eclipse wasn’t in it; why, I had beer every day. They met Mr. Schwartz at Ostend, it seems, and he took such a fancy to Dolly that he wanted to marry her straight off. She wouldn’t do that, even if Mam and the Guv’nor were agreeable, but she had not heard from Jack for ages, and Schwartz was really very attentive, besides being tremendously rich. Now, we at Dale End find it difficult to pay the hay and corn bills, so you see that a wealthy son-in-law would be what the sale catalogues call “a desirable acquisition.”