FullReads

The Piper came next. “Call that a’ English tongue?” he asked, with an impudent grin at the soldier’s shining weapon.

“Yes, sir.”

“Pah!”

Now Thomas gave Jane a quick shove forward—but a shove which sent her only as far as the Gate.

The King’s English stared down at her. “How are you?” he said coldly.

“I’m awful uncomfortable,” was the mournful answer.

“Then take off your stays,” he advised. Whereat the polished tongue glanced through the light, caught Jane fairly around the waist, and with a swift recoil brought her to her feet!

And now Gwendolyn, astonished, saw that too much laughter had again remolded that sateen bulk. The nurse had grown woefully heavy about the shoulders—which put a fearful strain on the stitches of her bodice! and gave her the appearance of a gigantic humming-top! As she swayed a moment on her wide-toed shoes—shoes now utterly lacking buttons—the King’s English again struck out, caught her, this time, around the neck, and sent her spinning through the Gate!

“Zing-g-g-g!” she laughed dizzily—that laugh the high, persistent note of a top!

Thomas attempted to follow. “I just will come in,” he cried, wielding his warped weapon with a flourish.

“You shall not!” To bar the way, the King’s English thrust out his polished tongue.

“I will!” Crack! Crack!

“You won’t!” Crack! Crack!

The fight was on! For the combatants, tongue’s-length from each other, were prowling to and fro menacingly.

“Oh, there’s going to be a tongue-lashing,” cried Gwendolyn, frightened.

“I’m the King’s Hinglish!”—it was the soldier’s slogan.

“This is me!” sang Thomas, saucily flicking at a brass button. His face was all cunning.

Then how the tongues popped!

“This is I!” corrected the King’s English promptly. But his face got a trifle more florid.

“Steady!” counseled the little old gentleman.

“I’m hall right,” the other cried back.

“Oh, Piper!” said Gwendolyn; “which side are you on?”

The Piper shifted his tobacco pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. “I’m for the man that’s got the cash,” he declared.

There was no doubt about Jane’s choice. Seeing Thomas’s momentary advantage, she came spinning close to the Gate. “Use h-words, Thomas!” she hummed. “Use h-words!”

Thomas acted upon her advice. “Hack and hit and hammer!” he charged. “Haggle and halve and hamper! Halt and hang and harass!”

“‘Ack and ‘it and ‘ammer!” struck back the King’s English, beginning to breath hard. “Aggie and ‘alve and ‘amper! ‘Alt and ‘ang and ‘arass!”

As the tongues met, Gwendolyn saw small bright splinters fly this way and that—a shower of them! These splinters darted downward, falling upon the road. And each, as it lit, was an h!

The Policeman was frightened. “Which is your best foot?” he called.

The King’s English indicated his right. “This!”

“Then put it forward!”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Gwendolyn. “Am I seeing this, or is it just Pretend?”

Thomas now warmed to the fray. “Harm!” he scourged, “Harness! Hash! Hew! Hoodwink! Hurt and hurk!”

“‘Eavens!” breathed the King’s English.

“Turn your cold shoulder,” advised the little old gentleman.

The King’s English thrust out the right. And it helped! “Oh, hayches don’t matter,” he panted. “I’m hall right has long has ‘is grammar doesn’t get too bad.” And off came one of Thomas’s ears—a large one—and blew along the ground like a great leaf.

That was an unfortunate boast. For Thomas, enraged by the loss of an ear, fought with renewed zeal. “If you see he, just tell I!” he shouted.

The King’s English went pallid. “If you see ‘im, just tell me,” he gasped, meeting Thomas gallantly—with the loss of only one splinter.

“Oh, I want you to win!” called Gwendolyn to him.

But the contest was unequal. That was now plain. The King’s English had polish and finish. Thomas had more: his tongue, newly sharpened, cut deep at each blow.

Unequal as was the contest, Jane’s interference a second time made it more so. For as the fighters trampled to and fro, seeking the better of each other, she twirled near again. “Try your verbs, Thomas!” she counseled. “Try your verbs!”

Eagerly Thomas grasped this second hint. “By which I could was!” he cried, with a curling stroke of the warped tongue; “or shall am!”

At that, the King’s English showed distressing weakness. He seemed scarcely to have enough strength for another snap. “By w’ich I could be!” he whipped back feebly; “or shall ‘ave been!” And staggered sidewise.