H. O. agreed: he is not at all a mean kid, but I found out afterwards that Alice paid his share out of her own money.
Then we wanted some new paints, and Noel wanted a pencil and a halfpenny account-book to write poetry with, and it does seem hard never to have any apples. So, somehow or other nearly all the money got spent, and we agreed that we must let the advertisement run loose a little longer.
I only hope, Alice said, that they wont have got all the ladies and gentlemen they want before we have got the money to write for the sample and instructions.
And I was a little afraid myself, because it seemed such a splendid chance; but we looked in the paper every day, and the advertisement was always there, so we thought it was all right.
Then we had the detective try-onand it proved no go; and then, when all the money was gone, except a halfpenny of mine and twopence of Noels and three-pence of Dickys and a few pennies that the girls had left, we held another council.
Dora was sewing the buttons on H. O.s Sunday things. He got himself a knife with his money, and he cut every single one of his best buttons off. Youve no idea how many buttons there are on a suit. Dora counted them. There are twenty-four, counting the little ones on the sleeves that dont undo.
Alice was trying to teach Pincher to beg; but he has too much sense when he knows youve got nothing in your hands, and the rest of us were roasting potatoes under the fire. We had made a fire on purpose, though it was rather warm. They are very good if you cut away the burnt partsbut you ought to wash them first, or you are a dirty boy.
Well, what can we do? said Dicky. You are so fond of saying Lets do something! and never saying what.
We cant try the advertisement yet. Shall we try rescuing some one? said Oswald. It was his own idea, but he didnt insist on doing it, though he is next to the eldest, for he knows it is bad manners to make people do what you want, when they would rather not.
What was Noels plan? Alice asked.
A Princess or a poetry book, said Noel sleepily. He was lying on his back on the sofa, kicking his legs. Only I shall look for the Princess all by myself. But Ill let you see her when were married.
Have you got enough poetry to make a book? Dicky asked that, and it was rather sensible of him, because when Noel came to look there were only seven of his poems that any of us could understand. There was the Wreck of the Malabar, and the poem he wrote when Eliza took us to hear the Reviving Preacher, and everybody cried, and Father said it must have been the Preachers Eloquence. So Noel wrote:
O Eloquence and what art thou?
Ay what art thou? because we cried
And everybody cried inside
When they came out their eyes were red
And it was your doing Father said.
But Noel told Alice he got the first line and a half from a book a boy at school was going to write when he had time. Besides this there were the Lines on a Dead Black Beetle that was poisoned
O Beetle how I weep to see
Thee lying on thy poor back!
It is so very sad indeed.
You were so shiny and black.
I wish you were alive again
But Eliza says wishing it is nonsense and a shame.
It was very good beetle poison, and there were hundreds of them lying deadbut Noel only wrote a piece of poetry for one of them. He said he hadnt time to do them all, and the worst of it was he didnt know which one hed written it toso Alice couldnt bury the beetle and put the lines on its grave, though she wanted to very much.
Well, it was quite plain that there wasnt enough poetry for a book.
We might wait a year or two, said Noel. I shall be sure to make some more some time. I thought of a piece about a fly this morning that knew condensed milk was sticky.
But we want the money now, said Dicky, and you can go on writing just the same. It will come in some time or other.
Theres poetry in newspapers, said Alice. Down, Pincher! youll never be a clever dog, so its no good trying.
Do they pay for it? Dicky thought of that; he often thinks of things that are really important, even if they are a little dull.
I dont know. But I shouldnt think any one would let them print their poetry without. I wouldnt I know. That was Dora; but Noel said he wouldnt mind if he didnt get paid, so long as he saw his poetry printed and his name at the end.
We might try, anyway, said Oswald. He is always willing to give other peoples ideas a fair trial.
So we copied out The Wreck of the Malabar and the other six poems on drawing-paperDora did it, she writes bestand Oswald drew a picture of the Malabar going down with all hands. It was a full-rigged schooner, and all the ropes and sails were correct; because my cousin is in the Navy, and he showed me.
We thought a long time whether wed write a letter and send it by post with the poetryand Dora thought it would be best. But Noel said he couldnt bear not to know at once if the paper would print the poetry, So we decided to take it.
I went with Noel, because I am the eldest, and he is not old enough to go to London by himself. Dicky said poetry was rotand he was glad he hadnt got to make a fool of himself. That was because there was not enough money for him to go with us. H. O. couldnt come either, but he came to the station to see us off, and waved his cap and called out Good hunting! as the train started.
There was a lady in spectacles in the corner. She was writing with a pencil on the edges of long strips of paper that had print all down them. When the train started she asked
What was that he said?
So Oswald answered
It was Good huntingits out of the Jungle Book! Thats very pleasant to hear, the lady said; I am very pleased to meet people who know their Jungle Book. And where are you off tothe Zoological Gardens to look for Bagheera?
We were pleased, too, to meet some one who knew the Jungle Book.
So Oswald said
We are going to restore the fallen fortunes of the House of Bastableand we have all thought of different waysand were going to try them all. Noels way is poetry. I suppose great poets get paid?
The lady laughedshe was awfully jollyand said she was a sort of poet, too, and the long strips of paper were the proofs of her new book of stories. Because before a book is made into a real book with pages and a cover, they sometimes print it all on strips of paper, and the writer make marks on it with a pencil to show the printers what idiots they are not to understand what a writer means to have printed.
We told her all about digging for treasure, and what we meant to do. Then she asked to see Noels poetryand he said he didnt likeso she said, Look hereif youll show me yours Ill show you some of mine. So he agreed.
The jolly lady read Noels poetry, and she said she liked it very much. And she thought a great deal of the picture of the Malabar. And then she said, I write serious poetry like yours myself; too, but I have a piece here that I think you will like because its about a boy. She gave it to usand so I can copy it down, and I will, for it shows that some grown-up ladies are not so silly as others. I like it better than Noels poetry, though I told him I did not, because he looked as if he was going to cry. This was very wrong, for you should always speak the truth, however unhappy it makes people. And I generally do. But I did not want him crying in the railway carriage. The ladys piece of poetry: