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Updated: June 3, 2025
Handsomebody, if I was to smile at you, would you smile back at me?" "Alexander," replied Mrs. Handsomebody, "I hope I have never been found wanting in courtesy. But, at present, I should prefer to see you eat your breakfast with as much speed as possible. John, eat your porridge." "I can't, please." "Eat it instantly, sir." "I can't," I repeated, beginning to blubber, "I want to see father!"
"Well, if she is, faith! 'tis yersilves has kilt her." "She's just in a swoond," asserted Mrs. Coe, calmly. "Wot she needs is brandy. Yus, and terbaccer smoke blowed dahn 'er froat." Mrs. Handsomebody moaned. "Better get her out of here," suggested Angel, his eye on Coppertoes who, sated by bloodshed, lay with wings outstretched, panting on the floor of the case. "Thrue," agreed Mary Ellen.
My brothers and I were hanging over the gate that barred our way to the outer world, and singing, as loudly as we could, considering the pressure of the top bar on our young stomachs. We sang to keep warm, for Mrs. Handsomebody had decreed that no reefers were to be worn till the first of December. So, though November was raw, she maintained her discipline and refused to mollycoddle us.
"Is he comin' home?" "No, silly," replied Angel. "Some one belonging to Mrs. Handsomebody is dead. She's goin' to the funeral, I s'pose. Whoever can it be, John? Didn't know she had any people." "A whole day away," I mused, "it has never happened before." I looked at Angel, and Angel looked at me such looks as might be exchanged by lion cubs in captivity.
Handsomebody marched us, like conscripts to the schoolroom, where she assigned to each of us a task to keep him busy until her return from market. But the front door had barely closed upon her black bombazine dress, when we scampered to the head of the stairs, threw ourselves upon the hand-rail, and slid lightly to the bottom, and from there ran to find Mary Ellen in the parlour.
As the hands of our alarm clock neared the hour of four we obliterated the traces of our sojourn on the bed as well as we could, and, when Mrs. Handsomebody entered, she found us sitting in a row on the three cane-bottomed chairs, on which we hung our clothes at night. The scolding she gave us was even longer and more humiliating to our manhood than usual.
"I trust that your father, the Duke, keeps well," she said to Lord Simon. "Great old boy," he replied. "Never misses a meet. Been in at the death of nearly four thousand foxes." "Ah, blood will tell," breathed Mrs. Handsomebody. "You see," interposed Lady Simon, "the Duke disinherited my husband when he married me. Didn't approve of the Profession. I was Miss Dulcie June, awfully well known.
My next sensation was that of a scuffle, several sharp smacks with the ruler, and at last being sat down very hard on a chair in our bedroom. Mrs. Handsomebody was standing in the doorway. I had never seen her with so high a colour. "You will remain in that chair," she commanded, "until tea time. Do not loll on the bed.
Handsomebody peered down into the Bishop's garden to see how we behaved. Rawlins brought a tray and set it on the wicker table beside the Bishop's elbow. We discovered a silver muffin dish, a plate of cakes, and a glass pot of honey, to say nothing of the tea. Still the Bishop kept his gaze buried in his book, marking his progress with a blade of grass.
Yet, I had to admit, that if any one in the schoolroom played the rôle of spider, it was Mrs. Handsomebody herself, whose desk was the centre of a web of books, pencils, rulers and a cane, in the meshes of which we three were caught like young flies, before our bright wings had been unfolded. I looked at The Seraph.
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