Dick, Marjorie and Fidge: A Search for the Wonderful Dodo
his feet and nervously tried to run away. The chains, however, by which
the Dodo was attached to his girdle, prevented him from doing so.
The bird, with his beak in the air, and his gloves extended in a most
grotesque attitude, was immovable and rigid as stone. Not a muscle
moved, and the Little Panjandrum, after staring at him a moment, called
out, angrily--
"Olla--balloo--calle--gablob?"
There was not the slightest movement on the part of the bird, and just
then the Ambassador returned.
"Hullo! What's the trouble?" he cried, staring at the Dodo.
"Gablobbee--balloo--olla--wobble!" said the Little Panjandrum,
excitedly.
"What!" exclaimed the Ambassador, "something gone wrong with the Dodo?
Here, what's the matter with you?" he continued, giving the bird a
shake.
The Dodo didn't budge an inch, but continued in the same position, his
eyes fixed in a stony stare.
"I can't think what's wrong with him," declared the Ambassador, with a
puzzled expression on his face.
"Perhaps he's turned into stone, like the others," suggested Dick,
mischievously.
"Ah!" said the Ambassador, clapping his hand to his forehead in a
dramatic manner; "_that's_ what it is, depend upon it. Good gracious!
_how_ unfortunate. Let's see, what did I say when pronouncing the
spell?"
"Why, after mentioning most of the creatures' names, you said, 'and all
other prehistoric wretches.' I remember quite well," said Marjorie,
"because I thought at the time it was rather rude of you to call them
wretches."
"H'm! Then _he_ must have been a prehistoric wretch," said the
Ambassador, absently. "Dear me! I always knew he was extinct, but I had
no idea he was antediluvian as well. That accounts for a lot of things.
No wonder he was eccentric." And he gazed at the Dodo quite sorrowfully.
"Well, well," he resumed, "it can't be helped now. We must make the best
of a bad matter; all the talking in the world won't restore him to life
again." And he turned to the Little Panjandrum and entered into a lengthy
conversation with him in their native language, which the children could
not understand in the least.
The Little Panjandrum seemed greatly distressed at the disaster which
had befallen the Dodo, and, it appeared, insisted upon a monument being
erected to his memory. Thereupon the Ambassador, by a brilliant
inspiration, thought of the novel plan of making the bird act as his own
statue.
"As he is turned into stone," said he, "we have only to find a pedestal
to put him on, and there we are."
A little way off, a stone Cupid, rather the worse for wear, stood beside
the pathway, and this, the Ambassador decided, should be removed to make
way for the Dodo.
The united efforts of the Little Panjandrum's suite (who had by this
time returned, having been assured that the creatures which had so
alarmed them had been rendered harmless) soon succeeded in overthrowing
Cupid from his pedestal, and after a great deal of pulling, pushing, and
straining, the Dodo, still posing in his grotesque attitude, was stuck
up in his place.
"There must be an inscription," said the Ambassador, and, rummaging
about in his pockets, he brought forth a piece of black crayon. "THE
DODO, NOW FORTUNATELY EXTINCT," he wrote in large letters, and then
stood back to admire the effect.
[Illustrastion: The Dodo's Monument.]
The Little Panjandrum beamed approval, and calling together his suite,
the Black Attendant once more raised the State Umbrella over His
Importance's head, and the tom-tom and Jew's harp began their strange
music, while the Ambassador took a hurried leave of the children, and
the cortege passed out of sight. Fainter and fainter grew the sound of
the instruments, and the children, somewhat alarmed at being left all
alone, were half undecided whether to follow or not, when their
attention was called to a smothered giggling at the back of them.
Turning around, they beheld the Dodo holding his hands to his sides, and
shaking with suppressed laughter.
"Ho! ho! ho!" he laughed, dancing about on the pedestal, "haven't I
tricked them beautifully? _Turned to stone! The Dodo, now fortunately
extinct!_ Ha! ha! ha! he! he! _what_ a lark! They'll find I'm not so
extinct as they think." And, jumping down, he made a grimace in the
direction in which the Little Panjandrum and suite had vanished.
"I think I've got the best of them _this_ time," he continued,
triumphantly.
"But come, let's get out of this as soon as possible. You want to get to
London, don't you? Let's start at once, if not sooner."
"But, I say, what are we going to do for money?" said Dick. "One can't
get to London without that, you know."
"Oh, we'll find a way somehow," said the Dodo, hopefully. "Come along."
So the children all trudged back to the Palace again. Fidge, who was
very glad to see his old friend the Dodo restored to life again,
wouldn't leave his side, but trotted along with him, chatting merrily.
"Ah!" said the Dodo, as they went up the steps leading into the great
hall, "there's my old friend the Missionary; perhaps he will be able to
help us out of our difficulty." And going up to the gentleman, he gave
him a playful pat on the shoulder, and exclaimed, pleasantly--
"Here we are again, you see!"
The Missionary started nervously, and peered at the Dodo through his
glasses.
"Oh--er--how do you do?" he cried, hurriedly, giving a rather startled
glance all round him. "Are your other friends with you?"
"Oh, you mean the Eteraedarium, and the Palaeotherium. No--they--er,
they've met with a rather nasty accident. They've been turned into
stone."
"Bless me!" exclaimed the Missionary, looking greatly concerned. "You
don't say so! What an extraordinary thing to happen. I had no idea that
there were any petrifying waters hereabouts."
"Well, they're turned to stone, anyhow," said the Dodo, "down by the
lake there. It's rather awkward for us, you see, because we can't stop
here forever by ourselves, and we haven't any money to get home with."
"My dear Sir," said the Missionary, generously taking out his purse,
"can I be of any assistance to you?"
"It's very kind of you," said the Dodo.
"Not at all," cried the Missionary, heartily, pressing some money into
the Dodo's glove, which, of course, immediately fell off and
disconcerted the Missionary very much, while the Dodo scrambled about
and picked up the scattered coins.
The children thought it very kind of the Missionary to lend them the
money, and Dick and Marjorie went up to him and thanked him very
politely; and then, having done this, the whole party hurried off to the
train.
CHAPTER XXIV.
FIRST CLASS TO LONDON.
The railway station at the Crystal Palace was soon reached, and the Dodo
went boldly up to the booking-office and demanded some tickets for
London.
The Ticket-clerk, who could only see the top of the Dodo's head, very
naturally mistook him for an old gentleman without his hat, and
inquired, politely, "What class, Sir?"
This was a puzzler, and the Dodo went back to Dick and told him that the
gentleman in the office wanted to know what class they were in.
"What does he mean?" asked Dick.
"What class you're in at school, I suppose," said the Dodo, doubtfully.
"Why, I'm in the fourth form," said Dick; "but I don't see what he wants
to know _that_ for, unless--Oh yes, of course, I see--he wants to find
out how old we are, because up to twelve years of age you can travel
half-price, you know. Let's see--we only want halves, Marjorie and
Fidge and myself; you'll have to get a whole ticket, I suppose, though I
have seen a notice at a railway station somewhere, on which it stated,
'Soldiers and Dogs half-price.' Perhaps it applies to birds, too. You
had better ask, I think."
So the Dodo went back to the booking-office again and inquired, "Do
birds travel half-price?"
"Birds!" exclaimed the Booking-clerk. "Nonsense! There is no charge for
birds, unless you have a quantity," he added, as an afterthought. "How
many have you?"
"Oh, there's only one," said the Dodo.
"Take it in the carriage with you, no charge," said the Clerk.
"Thanks! It's awfully kind of you," said the Dodo. "I'll take three
half-tickets for London, then, please."
"First class?" inquired the Clerk.
"No! Fourth form, please," said the Dodo.
"You mean fourth _class_, I suppose," said the Clerk, laughing; "but
there _is_ no fourth class, you know. First, second, or third."
"Oh! then I'll have third; I suppose that's the best?" cried the Dodo.
"No," explained the Clerk, "first class is best."
"What a funny arrangement," said the Dodo. "I should have thought the
third would have been an improvement on the first; but, however, let's
have the first-class tickets, please. When does the train start?"
"There's one due in directly," said the Clerk. "Down the steps on the
right."
And the Dodo, collecting his change, and grasping his tickets, marched
off towards the barrier.
The Clerk, whose curiosity was aroused by the strange questions which
had been addressed to him, came to the window to have a better view of
his interrogator, and was just in time to catch sight of the Dodo
walking off with the three children.
"Well, I never!" he exclaimed, perfectly astounded at this strange
sight. "And he asked if birds traveled at half-price, too! Well, I've
had some odd customers here at the Crystal Palace, but never a one like
that before." And he went back to his work in a highly-bewildered frame
of mind.
Meanwhile the Dodo and the children, finding no one at the barrier to
obstruct them, went down to the platform, and a moment later the train
came dashing into the station.
"First class in the middle of the train," shouted Dick, grasping Fidge's
hand, and hurrying down the platform.
"Here! where are you going to with that bird?" shouted a voice behind
them, and Dick and the Dodo turned around and walked slowly back to
where the Guard, an elderly and very important-looking man, stood
regarding them sternly.
"Oh, it's all right; the gentleman up-stairs said there was no charge
for birds," explained the Dodo, importantly, thinking that the man was
inquiring about his ticket.
"H'm! sort of a big parrot, I suppose, Sir?" said the Guard, addressing
Dick, and not taking the slightest notice of the Dodo's remark.
"Parrot, indeed!" shouted the bird, indignantly. "Perhaps you haven't
noticed my gloves and necktie?"
The Guard smiled indulgently. "Talks well, Sir," he said to Dick, "but
you can't take _that_ into the carriage with you, you know. Better put
him in the van."
"How dare you?" said the Dodo. "You'll do nothing of the sort, I can
tell you." And despite the protests of the Guard he strutted up the
platform and entered a first-class carriage, followed by the children.
There was no further time for argument, as the train was even now late
in starting; so the Guard blew his whistle and waved his flag, and,
after an answering toot from the engine, they were off.
They had the carriage all to themselves, and a moment or two after
starting Marjorie discovered that somebody had left a little illustrated
Magazine on one of the seats.
They all crowded round to look at the pictures, and presently the Dodo
exclaimed, excitedly--
"Hullo! Look here! Why, here's a situation that would just suit
me:--'Typewriter wanted; must be quick and accurate, and of undoubted
respectability. Hours, nine till six. Liberal salary to suitable
person.--Apply to A. B. C., Suffolk House, Norfolk Street, Strand.' It's