Алан Милн - Once on a Time

"Oh, I'm so glad," said Hyacinth, completely convinced, as any one would have been, by this demonstration.

"Yes, well, that's all right then. Now we can make our plans. First of all we'd better―" He stopped suddenly, and Hyacinth saw that he was gazing at his tail.

"Yes?" she said encouragingly.

He picked up his tail and held it out in front of him. There was a large knot in the middle of it.

"Now, what have I forgotten?" he said, rubbing his head thoughtfully.

Poor Hyacinth!

"Oh, dear Prince Udo, I'm so sorry. I'm afraid I did that without thinking."

Udo, the gallant gentleman, was not found wanting.

"A lover's knot," he said, with a graceful incli—no, he stopped in time. But really, those ears of his made ordinary politeness quite impossible.

"Oh, Udo," said Hyacinth impulsively, "if only I could help you to get back to your proper form again."

"Yes, if only," said Udo, becoming practical again; "but how are we going to do it? Just one more watercress sandwich," he said apologetically; "they go with the ears so well."

"I shall threaten the Countess," said Hyacinth excitedly. "I shall tell her that unless she makes the enchanter restore you to your proper form, I shall put her in prison."

Udo was not listening. He had gone off into his own thoughts. "Banana fritters and watercress sandwiches," he was murmuring to himself. "I suppose I must be the only animal of the kind in the world."

"Of course," went on Hyacinth, half to herself, "she might get the people on her side, the ones that she's bribed. And if she did―"

"That's all right, that's all right," said Udo grandly. "Leave her to me. There's something about your watercress that inspires me to do terrible deeds. I feel a new—whatever I am."

One gathers reluctantly from this speech that Udo had partaken too freely.

"Of course," said Hyacinth, "I could write to my father, who might send some of his men back, but I shouldn't like to do that. I shouldn't like him to think that I had failed him."

"Extraordinary how I take to these things," said Udo, allowing himself a little more room on the seat. "Perhaps I am a rabbit after all. I wonder what I should look like behind wire netting." He took another bite and went on, "I wonder what I should do if I saw a ferret. I suppose you haven't got a ferret on you, Princess?"

"I beg your pardon, Prince? I'm afraid I was thinking of something else. What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing. One's thoughts run on." He put his hand out for the plate, and discovered that it was empty. He settled himself more comfortably, and seemed to be about to sink into slumber when his attention was attracted suddenly by the knot in his tail. He picked it up and began lazily to undo it. "I wish I could lash my tail," he murmured; "mine seems to be one of the tails that don't lash." He began very gingerly to feel the tip of it. "I wonder if I've got a sting anywhere." He closed his eyes, muttering, "Sting Countess neck, sting all over neck, sting lots stings," and fell peacefully asleep.

It was a disgraceful exhibition. Roger Scurvilegs tries to slur it over; talks about the great heat of the sun, and the notorious effect of even one or two watercress sandwiches on an empty on a man who has had nothing to eat for several days. This is to palter with the facts. The effect of watercress sandwiches upon Udo's arrangements (however furnished) we have all just seen for ourselves; but what Roger neglects to lay stress upon is the fact that it was the effect of twenty–one or twenty–two watercress sandwiches. There is no denying that it was a disgraceful exhibition. If I had been there, I should certainly have written to his father about it.

Hyacinth looked at him uneasily. Her first feeling was one of sympathy. "Poor fellow," she thought, "he's had a hard time lately." But it is a strain on the sympathy to gaze too long on a mixture of lion, rabbit, and woolly lamb, particularly when the rabbit part has its mouth open and is snoring gently.

Besides, what could she do with him? She had two of them on her hands now: the Countess and the Prince. Belvane was in an even better position than before. She could now employ Udo to help her in her plots against the Princess. "Grant to me so and so, or I'll keep the enchantment for ever on his Royal Highness." And what could a poor girl do?

Well, she would have to come to some decision in the future. Meanwhile the difficulties of the moment were enough. The most obvious difficulty was his bedroom. Was it quite the sort of room he wanted now? Hyacinth realised suddenly that to be hostess to such a collection of animals as Udo was would require all the tact she possessed. Perhaps he would tell her what he wanted when he woke up. Better let him sleep peacefully now.

She looked at him, smiled in spite of herself, and went quickly down into the Palace.

Udo awoke, slightly refreshed, and decided to take a firm line with the Countess at once. He had no difficulty about finding his way down to her. The Palace seemed to be full of servants, all apparently busy about something which brought them for a moment in sight of the newly arrived Prince, and then whisked them off, hand to mouth and shoulders shaking. By one of these, with more control over her countenance than the others, an annoyed Udo was led into Belvane's garden.

She was walking up and down the flagged walk between her lavender hedges, and as he came in she stopped and rested her elbows on her sundial, and looked mockingly at him, waiting for him to speak. "Between the showers I mark the hours," said the sundial (on the suggestion of Belvane one wet afternoon), but for the moment the Countess was in the way.

"Ah, here we are," said Udo in rather a nasty voice.

"Here we are," said Belvane sweetly. "All of us."

Suddenly she began to laugh.

"Oh, Prince Udo," she said, "you'll be the death of me. Count me as one more of your victims."

It is easy to be angry with any one who will laugh at you all the time, but difficult to be effective; particularly when—but we need not dwell upon Udo's handicap again.

"I don't see anything to laugh at," he said stiffly. "To intelligent people the outside appearance is not everything."

"But it can be very funny, can't it?" said Belvane coaxingly. "I wished for something humorous to happen to you, but I never thought―"

"Ah," said Udo, "now we've got it."

He spoke with an air of a clever cross–examiner who has skilfully extracted an admission from a reluctant witness. This sort of tone goes best with one of those keen legal faces; perhaps that is why Belvane laughed again.

"You practically confess that you did it," went on Udo magnificently.

"Did what?"

"Turned me into a—a―"

"A rabbit?" said Belvane innocently.

A foolish observation like this always pained Udo.

"What makes you think I'm a rabbit?" he asked.

"I don't mind what you are, but you'll never dare show yourself in the country like this."

"Be careful, woman; don't drive me too far. Beware lest you rouse the lion in me."

"Where?" asked Belvane, with a child–like air.

With a gesture full of dignity and good breeding Udo called attention to his tail.

"That," said the Countess, "is not the part of the lion that I'm afraid of."

For the moment Udo was nonplussed, but he soon recovered himself.

"Even supposing—just for the sake of argument—that I am a rabbit, I still have something up my sleeve; I'll come and eat your young carnations."

Belvane adored her garden, but she was sustained by the thought that it was only July just now. She pointed this out to him.

"It needn't necessarily be carnations," he warned her.