Her Ladyship's Elephant

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?