Wells David Dwight
Her Ladyship's Elephant

"Has that insolent person's trunk arrived?" she inquired; when, to her astonishment, her old retainer, who had always observed in her presence a respectful and highly deferential demeanour, actually tittered.

"Bright!" she said sternly.

"Beg pardon, my lady," giggled Bright, his face still wreathed in smiles; "but the way you put it."

"What have you done with this person's belongings? Have my orders been carried out?"

"You mean in regard to the – the – "

"Trunk. Yes, let it be put off the place immediately."

"Please, your ladyship," he replied, with difficulty restraining his laughter, "it won't go."

"Will not go?"

"No, my lady; it's been rampaging through the greenhouses, and is now on the terrace, where it douched Anne most awful."

"Leave me at once, Bright, and do not let me see you again till you are in a more decent state," she commanded, and swept by him, ignoring his protestations of innocence and respect.

She found Scarsdale awaiting her in the reception-room, and accorded him a very frigid greeting, suggesting that they should have their interview on the terrace, where he had left Mrs. Allingford safely ensconced in an armchair, while he went to meet his great-aunt.

Her ladyship had been considerably ruffled both by her interview with Bright and by the arrival of Scarsdale, towards whom, in the light of recent events, she felt a strong resentment; and a vision of the Consul's wife perched most indecorously on the shoulders of Hercules, which she beheld as she emerged on the terrace, did not tend to calm her already excited nerves. But before she could speak her eyes followed the direction of the unknown lady's gaze, and she saw, for the first time, her unwelcome visitor.

When you come suddenly face to face with an elephant seated amidst the wreck of cherished Chippendale and ancestral Sèvres, it is not calculated to increase your composure or equalise your temper; and Lady Diana may be pardoned, as the vastness of the Consul's impudence dawned upon her, for giving vent to expressions both of anger and amazement, albeit her appearance produced no less of a disturbance in the breast of him who sat amidst the ruins of the breakfast-table. The elephant felt that in the presence of the Maharanee, for such he believed her to be, his position was undignified. She was, without doubt, the wife of the "Damconsul," and, as such, should be paid all proper respect and deference. He, therefore, bowed his head in submission, completing in the process his work of destruction. Whereat Mrs. Allingford shrieked and clung more closely to the protecting shoulders of Hercules.

Serious as the situation was, it was not without its humorous side, and it took all Scarsdale's command of himself to control his face sufficiently to address his relative with becoming respect.

"Why, aunt," he said, "I didn't know that you had gone in for pets!"

"Harold Stanley Malcolm St. Hubart Scarsdale," replied her ladyship – she prided herself on never forgetting a name – "you are one of the most impudent and worthless young men that I have the honour to count among my relatives; but you have been in India, and you ought to know how to manage this monster."

"I've seen enough of them," he answered. "What do you want him to do?"

"Do!" she cried wrathfully. "I should think anybody would know that I wished it to get up and go away."

"Oh," said he, and made a remark in Hindustani to the elephant, whereat the beast gradually and deliberately proceeded to rise from the wreck of the breakfast, till he seemed to the spectators to be forty feet high. Then, in response to Scarsdale's cries of "Mail! mail!" (Go on) he turned himself about, and, after sending the teapot through the nearest window with a disdainful kick of one hind leg, he lurched down the steps of the terrace and on to the lawn, where he remained contentedly standing, gently rocking to and fro, while he meditatively removed from his person, by means of his trunk, the fragments of the feast, with which he was liberally bespattered.

Scarsdale, seeing that his lordship was in an amicable frame of mind, hastened to assist Mrs. Allingford to descend from her somewhat uneasy perch.

"St. Hubart," said Lady Melton, who, throughout this trying ordeal, had lost none of her natural dignity, "you have done me a service. I shall not forget it."

Scarsdale thought it would be difficult to forget the elephant.

"I will even forgive you," she continued, "for marrying that American."

"It was so good of you to receive my wife," he said. "I trust you are pleased with her."

"I am not pleased at all," she said sharply. "I consider her forward and disrespectful, and I am glad she is gone."

"Gone!" he exclaimed.

"You may well be surprised," said his great-aunt, "but such is the case."

"But where has she gone?"

"That I do not know; she left without consulting me, and against my advice and wishes."

"Did she go alone?"

"She went," replied her ladyship, "with one of the most insolent persons it has ever been my misfortune to meet. He is owner of that!" And she pointed to the elephant.

"But who is he?" demanded Scarsdale, not recognising, from her description, his friend the Consul.

"He disgraces," she continued, "a public office given him by a foreign Government."

"You are surely not talking about Allingford!" he exclaimed.

"That, I believe, is his name," replied Lady Melton.

"What, my husband!" cried the Consul's wife, who up to this point had kept silence. "You dare to call my husband a disgrace – !" Here Mrs. Allingford became dumb with indignation.

"If he is your husband," returned her ladyship, "I am exceedingly sorry for you. As for 'daring' to apply to him any epithet I please, I consider myself fully justified in so doing after the indignity to which he has condemned me. I am glad, however, to have met you, as I am thus enabled to return you your husband's property, with the request that you take your elephant and leave my grounds as quickly as possible."

"Do you mean to say that my husband owns that monster?" gasped Mrs. Allingford.

"Such is the case," replied Lady Melton, "and I leave it in your hands. St. Hubart, I trust you will join me at breakfast as soon as another can be prepared."

"Excuse me," he said apologetically, "but really, you know, I can't leave Mrs. Allingford in the lurch. Besides, I must follow my wife."

His great-aunt faced round in a fury.

"That is sufficient!" she cried. "Leave my presence at once! I never desire to see either of you again."

"Don't let us part as enemies, aunt," he said, offering her his hand; but she swept past him into the house.

Scarsdale gloomily watched her depart, and then became conscious of a hand laid on his arm.

"I am so sorry!" murmured Mrs. Allingford. "I only seem to bring you trouble."

"Oh, you mustn't feel badly about this," he said. "We have quarrelled ever since I was born. I'm much more worried about you."

"What am I going to do with it?" she exclaimed, looking hopelessly at her husband's property as it stood rocking before her.

"The first thing is to get it off the place," replied Scarsdale, assuming a cheerfulness which he did not feel. "We may find its keepers at the lodge, and we can make our plans as we walk along."

"Come on, Jehoshaphat, or whatever you may happen to be called!" he cried, addressing the elephant, and at the same time grasping the rope bridle which still dangled from its neck; and the beast, recognising a kindred spirit speaking to him in his native tongue, followed docilely where he led.

"I think," continued Scarsdale, as they trudged slowly across the park, "that our best course will be to take the elephant to Christchurch. Indeed, we ought to have gone there in the first instance."

"What do you expect to gain by that?" she asked quickly, ready in this strange dilemma to catch at any straw which gave opportunity of escape.

"Why, your husband's consulate is situated there, and that is his local habitation in this country, where he is certain to turn up sooner or later, and where, if the laws of his consular service are anything like ours, he would be obliged to report every few days."

"You propose to go there and await his return?"

"Yes," he said. "I don't see that we can do better. Ten to one your husband and my wife will hear of our affair at Winchester, and may be on their way there now to hunt us up; while if we attempted to follow them, it is more than likely that they would return here. I, for one, am about tired of chasing myself around the country; as a steady occupation it is beginning to pall."

"There is a group of men at the lodge," she said, as they drew near the gates with the elephant in tow.

"Then let us hope that there are some station people among them, and that we can arrange for Jehoshaphat's transportation without loss of time," replied Scarsdale.

His hope was, in the first instance, justified; for the station-master at Salisbury, learning of the Consul's early departure that morning, and beginning to doubt the wisdom of inflicting the elephant on so important a personage as Lady Melton, had come up to the Court himself to see how things were going, and had been horrified beyond measure at the exaggerated reports of the lodgekeeper as to the havoc the beast had created. He was therefore unfeignedly relieved at Scarsdale's arrival; a relief, however, which instantly gave way to stubborn opposition at the first hint of putting the animal again in his charge.

Elephants were not in his line, he pointed out, and he had no desire to transport them about the country. Couldn't think of acting without receiving advices from the main offices of the railway company in London, an affair of several days; wouldn't assume charge of the creature during the interval on any account; and shouldn't stir a step in the matter till the wrecked van had been paid for.

This ended the affair, as far as Scarsdale was concerned. He had no intention of paying damages for the Consul's elephant, but he wished to deliver it and the Consul's wife at Christchurch as soon as possible. If this could not be accomplished one way, it must be another. There were plenty of horses and carriages to be had; indeed, the landau and pair which had brought them from Salisbury was still at the gates. The roads were good, the distance to Christchurch was not excessive – say thirty miles – and the elephant could walk. It merely remained to find a leader or driver, and they could start at once on their journey across country.

All this he explained to his fair companion, and she readily acquiesced.

"The only problem to be solved, then, is where to find a mahout," he said in conclusion.

She threw him an inquiring glance; but he felt it was asking too much, and said so.

"If it were any other country, I'd ride the beast myself to oblige you; but in England, and as a representative of one of the first families of the county, I couldn't. The prejudices of the locality would never recover from the shock, and I should not be able to show my face in the streets of Salisbury. But perhaps we can find a substitute. Is there any one here," he went on, addressing the little group of men, "who understands an elephant?"

"Tom, 'e knows the bloomin' beasts," said a member of the company; and Tom, groom to her ladyship, and cockney every inch of him, was pushed forward for inspection.

One glance at the trim form, concealed though it was by stable costume, was sufficient to assure Scarsdale that he had found his man.

"You have been a soldier," he said, "and in India?"

"Yes, sir," replied the man, touching the peak of his cap in a military salute.

"Do you think you could manage him?" continued Scarsdale, indicating the elephant, which, wearied with the morning's exertions, had knelt down, and seemed on the point of taking a nap.

"Do I think as 'ow I could manage 'im? I should 'ope so, if I ain't fergot is 'eathen language, sir."

"I'll give you eighteen pence a mile," said Scarsdale, quick to act on the man's decision.

"Make it two bob, sir, an' I'll ride 'im ter Inja."

"That's too far," he replied, laughing; "my pocket wouldn't stand the strain; but I'll give you the price to Christchurch."

"Right you are," replied the hostler, closing the bargain at once. "Me name's Tom Ropes. What d'yer call 'im, sir?" pointing to his recumbent charge.

"I don't know what he was christened. I call him Jehoshaphat."

"A Christian name fer a 'eathen brute," commented Tom. "Give me a leg up, one er yer."

Once astride the beast's neck, with Scarsdale's cane as an improvised ankus, he poured out a flood of cockney-Indian jargon which no Hindoo could ever have recognised as his native tongue, but which evidently had a familiar sound to the elephant, who proceeded to rise, first with his fore feet and then with his hind feet; after which his novel mahout, who throughout these manœuvres had retained a precarious hold by one ear, hastened to seat himself more firmly upon him.

"All right?" queried Scarsdale, looking up; and on receiving an answer in the affirmative, added: "Keep your feet well under his ears, and hit him on the head with your stick if he gets fractious. All you need do is to follow our carriage. Trust to his judgment about bridges; he knows what will hold him."

Arrangements, on a liberal scale, having been made for the use of the conveyance which had brought them from the station, they were ready to start in a very short space of time; Scarsdale stipulating that they head towards Southampton, taking the least travelled roads, and in any event giving Salisbury a wide berth. This was agreed to; and thereupon commenced one of the most extraordinary progresses that had ever stirred up a staid and conventional countryside: Scarsdale and Mrs. Allingford leading off in the landau, since it was necessary to keep the horse well in front of the elephant, and Tom and his charge plodding on in their wake.

As they left the lodge behind them and came out into the open country, the Consul's wife, turning to her companion in misfortune, said, between tears and smiles:

"What do you think is going to happen next?"

CHAPTER XI
IN WHICH THERE ARE TWO CLAIMANTS FOR ONE DINNER

The village clock was on the stroke of one when the little procession drew up before the door of the principal inn in the main square of a small town on the road between Salisbury and Southampton.

Scarsdale had been surprised to find how little excitement they had created in their progress through the countryside; but then he had chosen the most unfrequented roads, avoiding villages as he would a pestilence. Man and beast must be fed somewhere, however, and, according to Tom, the elephant was giving no uncertain signs that he wanted his dinner. So, against his better judgment, Scarsdale had turned aside into a neighbouring town, whence, after an hour's rest and refreshment, he determined to push on that afternoon to a quiet inn he knew of, near Fording Bridge, and thence to Christchurch the following morning.

Both he and Mrs. Allingford had been as quiet as mice during the last hour; indeed, the novel position in which they found themselves inclined them rather to thought than conversation.

Their entrance into the town was effected more easily than could have been hoped for; though, in some unknown manner, a rumour of their coming seemed to have preceded them: for a crowd had collected along the main street, which cheered them vociferously, under the mistaken impression that they were the proprietors of a circus. No travelling show that wound its course through those country lanes had ever possessed such an attraction, and the people moved away after they had passed, full of wonder at the appearance of this strange monster among them, and regret that with such a beginning there was nothing more to follow.

Once they had come to a halt, they were surrounded by a curious crowd, and Scarsdale lost no time in entering into explanations with the landlord of the inn, who came hurrying out to receive his novel guests.

It was at this point that their troubles first began; for mine host, while he professed to furnish entertainment for man and beast, was dubious concerning the monster which it was proposed to quarter on him so unexpectedly. The lady and gentleman, their coachman, horses, and even the cockney mahout were more than welcome; but elephants were not in his line of business. He didn't know if he could give satisfaction; feared his accommodations were not sufficiently ample; would like to oblige, but had the reputation of his house to maintain, &c., &c.

When Scarsdale happened, however, casually to mention that it was Lady Melton's elephant a change came over the face of affairs, of which he was not slow to take advantage.

Her ladyship was well known throughout the county, while her reputation for severity had a still wider circulation, and the landlord was in abject fear of her, though, nevertheless, obstinately determined to have none of the beast.

The subject of all this altercation had meantime appropriated the public horse-trough to his exclusive use for drinking and bathing purposes, and was enjoying himself in consequence, which was more than could be said of his rider, who shared unwillingly in his ablutions.

"Give 'im the word to sit down, sir. S'welp me, I'll be drownded with 'is tricks!" cried Tom.

"I don't speak his infernal language," returned Scarsdale testily; "that's your business."

"I've told 'im all I know, sir, an' it's no use."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to stay up and get wet."

"Couldn't yer 'elp me down, sir? Quit that, yer 'eathen!" as he dodged a shower of water.

"Certainly not," replied Scarsdale. "You can't leave him riderless in a public place."

Then, turning to the landlord, who stood by in sore perplexity, aimlessly rubbing his hands, he continued:

"It's a beastly shame that a gentleman can't take a lady's elephant out for – exercise without running up against all this nonsense in the first little hamlet he comes across! One would almost think you had never seen an elephant before."

The landlord, whose eyes had up to this time been fairly bulging with curiosity, now declared himself desolated at such an uncalled-for suspicion.

"Perhaps it would be better if the gentleman were to send for a constable."

Mine host neglected to add that he had done so on his own responsibility in his first burst of agitation.

But Scarsdale, noting the excellent effect which his rating had produced on the landlord, determined that he should have some more of it.

"If you are afraid," he said, "of damaging your ramshackle old inn, perhaps you'll consent to give my elephant his dinner in the square?"

Mine host rolled up his eyes at this new phase of the question.

"I suppose," continued Scarsdale, "that the dignity of this 'tuppenny ha'penny' town won't be seriously impaired by his presence for an hour in your elegant plaza!"

The last portion of this speech was lost on the landlord, because he did not know what a "plaza" was; but it sounded imposing, and he hastened to assure his guest that the town would feel honoured by the elephant's presence, though he would have to procure a permit from the mayor. Should he show him the way to that functionary's house?

This, however, proved to be unnecessary, as the mayor himself was present in the crowd, a pompous, fussy little man, full of the importance of his office. Lady Melton's name, which he had heard mentioned in connection with the affair, acted as a charm, and brought him bustling forward to shake Scarsdale's hand, assure him that no permit was required, and snub the innkeeper.

"Anything I can do for a relation of her ladyship's – I think you said a relation?" he inquired.

Scarsdale had not said anything of the kind, but unwillingly admitted that he was her nephew. Upon receiving this intelligence the mayor positively beamed, called Scarsdale "your lordship," and became most solicitous after Lady Melton's health. Her nephew gravely assured him that he might make his mind easy on that score, as his aunt was in the best of health, and that as soon as he returned to Melton Court (a most uncertain date, he thought grimly) he would be sure to convey to her his kind inquiries.

His worship on this was positively effusive, declared himself devoted to Scarsdale's interests, and insisted that he and "her ladyship," indicating Mrs. Allingford – another slip which his companion did not trouble to correct – must do him the honour of dining with Mrs. Mayor and himself.

Scarsdale was now beginning to fear that he was doing it rather too well, and hastened to excuse "her ladyship" and himself, declaring that they could not think of trespassing on his worship's hospitality, and that they would be quite comfortable at the inn, if only the elephant might be permitted to have his dinner in the square.

The mayor declared that it was just what he most desired; but would his lordship kindly indicate of what that meal must consist?

This was a poser; but Scarsdale plunged recklessly on, for, having once entered the broad road of deception, there was no turning back, and he was surprised himself at the facility with which he could romance.

"That is just the trouble of taking charge of other people's pets," he said, with shameless indifference to the demands of truth. "I'm sure I don't know much more about the brute than you do; and as his mahout was away when we started out, I had to take one of the grooms. What does Jehoshaphat eat, Tom?"

"Hay, sir – me lud, I mean," answered Tom, falling in with the humour of the situation.

"Oh! hay, of course," said Scarsdale.

"How much, your lordship?" queried the mayor.

"How much? Confound it! how should I know? Do you take me for an elephant trainer?" A remark which nearly reduced his worship to chaos; but Scarsdale, relenting, added:

"Say five or six tons – I don't know."

"But it is not easy, my lord, to procure such an amount at short notice," expostulated the official.

"Oh, then, get him a waggon-load or two as a first course, and we'll find something else a little later."

"It shall be procured at once. I – er – trust your lordship will not take it amiss, since you will not dine with me, if I offer you a glass of – shall we say champagne?"

"With pleasure," said Scarsdale.

"And her ladyship?" looking towards the carriage.

Mrs. Allingford bowed, and the mayor whispered a few words in mine host's ear.

Just at that moment, as Scarsdale was drawing his first easy breath, feeling at last that things were going smoothly, the very worst contretemps that could possibly happen occurred. Two dusty figures shambled around the corner of a neighbouring street into the square, and one of them in a high-pitched voice, that was distinctly heard by every member of the crowd, exclaimed:

"Hi, there! What are you doing with my elephant?"

Scarsdale swung round to face the newcomers, a premonition of coming evil strong upon him, though a careful inspection assured him that he knew them not; yet conviction hang in every note of that challenge.

They were, in a word, the owner of elephants and the unregenerate Dick.

From early dawn they had made their way across country, in as straight a line as possible from Winchester to Salisbury, sometimes on foot and sometimes in such conveyances as they could hire from place to place; but ever buoyed up by hope – hope of finding that which was lost; hope of restoring elephants to their rightful owners; hope of clearing a brother's name. And here, unexpectedly, they had come upon the object of their search in the hands of total strangers.

"Who the devil are you?" cried Scarsdale hotly, scenting danger, and determined to face the worst at once. "I don't know you."

"I'm Richard Allingford," said the larger of the two men, pushing forward till he faced the bewildered Englishman.

At this point Scarsdale, whose coolness alone could have saved the situation, lost his head. His temper, which had been severely tried by the vicissitudes of the day, gave way in the presence of the man whose escapades had caused him such needless suffering and indignity, and, regardless of results, he spoke his mind.

"So you're Richard Allingford, are you? Then allow me to tell you that you are the prettiest scoundrel that I've run across in a long time! Curse you! Do you know I've spent two days, this week, in Winchester jail on your account?"

A broad grin broke over Richard's face.

"I guess you must be Scarsdale," he said. "But what in thunder are you doing with my brother's elephant?"

"It's mine!" arose the shrill voice of his companion. "I tell you he stole it from me!"

This was too much for Mrs. Allingford, and, to make a bad matter worse, she cried from the carriage:

"The Consul did not steal the elephant! It is his property, and I'm his wife!"

A voice from the crowd chimed in:

"But 'e said it was 'er ladyship's helephant!"

The mayor's face was a study in its various shades of suspicion – anger at being, as he very naturally supposed, duped; and certainty of the duplicity of all concerned, as the contradictory conversation continued. And there is no knowing how quickly he might have precipitated the final catastrophe, if the elephant had not chosen this opportunity for creating a diversion on his own account, which, for the time being, distracted every one's thoughts. He had had, it will be remembered, a very light breakfast, which only served to whet the edge of his appetite. It therefore took him but a short time to locate the whereabouts of a lad who, emerging from the inn with an appetising dinner of bacon and greens arranged in a basket balanced on his head, stood gaping on the outskirts of the crowd, unmindful of the cooling viands. Some playful breeze must have wafted the savoury odour of cabbage to the elephant's nostrils; for suddenly, and without previous warning, flinging his trunk in the air with a joyous trumpet, he pounded down the road, nearly unseating his rider, and scattering the crowd to right and left.

"Wait for me when you get to Christchurch!" Scarsdale called to Tom as the latter shot past him, and then joined in the rush which followed close on the elephant's heels, the mayor and the landlord well to the fore; while Mrs. Allingford's driver, who was only human, increased the confusion by whipping up his horses and joining in the chase.

Ahead of the excited beast and the noisy throng which followed it, holding on like grim death to his dinner-basket, fled the worse-scared boy that had ever been seen in that town. Fortunately the chase was of short duration, for the cubicle of the telegraph-clerk at the railway station was just ahead, and offered a ready refuge. Into it flew the lad, dinner and all, and slammed the door, just in time to escape from the elephant's curling trunk.

The beast, despoiled of his meal, circled the building trumpeting with rage, and finally took up a position across the rails, where he stood guard, prepared to fall upon any one who should venture out.

All the station attendants and officials were now added to the crowd which swarmed about the elephant, and the business of the town practically came to a standstill.

The station-master only added to the excitement by declaring that a train for Salisbury was due, and that the line must be cleared; while the telegraph-clerk announced from an upper storey that wild horses, let alone elephants, would not drag him forth from the shelter of his office, and the blubbering of the unfortunate boy made a monotonous accompaniment to his speech. The mayor blustered, the navvies swore, Tom addressed floods of unintelligible jargon to the obstinate beast, and, as a last resort, Scarsdale coaxed and wheedled him in very defective Hindustani. But it was all useless; not an inch would the elephant budge, and no one in all that assemblage was clever enough to think of giving him the telegraph-clerk's dinner.

In the midst of this confusion, a shrill whistle was heard in the distance, and some one with a clearer head than the rest cried out to "set the signals against the train" – a suggestion which was at once acted upon, and in a moment more the engine drew up, panting, within a dozen feet of the elephant, who was so intent on the contents of the cubicle that he never noticed its arrival.

As a general thing, it is the American tourist who alights from a train on no provocation, while his English cousin is content to sit quiet, and leave the affairs of the line in the hands of the company. In this case, however, some subtle sense of the unusual obstacle seemed to have communicated itself to the passengers; for no sooner had the engine halted than heads were thrust out of every window, and the greatest excitement prevailed.

"I don't know if Scarsdale and my wife are here," said Allingford, who, in company with Carrington and Mrs. Scarsdale, occupied one of the forward carriages, "but there is her ladyship's elephant!"

"You're right," cried his fair companion, taking his place at the window. Then, as she caught sight of Scarsdale, she exclaimed "St. Hubart!" and pushing open the door, jumped out, and fled down the line.

"By Jove! that's my wife!" exclaimed the Consul, fleeing after her, and upsetting a porter in his haste.

From a distance Carrington saw a confused mingling of four persons, and sighed as he caught himself wondering if he would ever be fool enough to do that sort of thing in public.

As he slowly approached them he heard scraps of their conversation.

"By the way, Allingford," Scarsdale was saying, "I brought you back your elephant, which it seems you were careless enough, in the hurry of departure, to leave behind you at Melton Court. I hope you are properly grateful."

"Oh, it isn't mine," replied the Consul; "it belongs to her Ladyship."

"Well, she said it was yours," returned her nephew.

"Ah, that was merely her excessive amiability," said Allingford.

"It had not struck me in that light before," replied Scarsdale. "Anyway, I've brought it back to you, and a nice time I've had of it."

"Did you pilot it all the way from Melton Court?" queried the Consul.