Who indeed could tell how he ached and longed and desired He had a very vague idea as to the nature of a play;they had often dressed up at home and pretended to be different things and people,and,of course,he knew by heart the whole history of Dick Whittington,but this knowledge and experience did not in the least force him to realise that this performance of Mr.Denny's was simply a larger,more developed "dressing up"and pretending.In some mysterious but nevertheless direct fashion Dick Whittington was coming to Polchester.It was just as he had heard for a long time of the existence of Aunt Emily who lived in Manchester--and then one day she appeared in a black bonnet and a shawl,and gave them wet kisses and sixpence apiece.
Dick Whittington was coming,having perhaps heard that Polchester was a very jolly place.So might come any day Jack of the Beanstalk,Cinderella,Queen Victoria,and God.
There were questions meanwhile that he would like to ask,but he was already a victim to that properly English fear of making a fool of himself,so he asked nothing.He dragged out his toy village and tried to make it a bridge in his imagination between the nursery and Whittington's world.As the village opened a door from the nursery,so might Whittington open a door from the village.
He considered Hamlet and wondered whether he knew anything about it.
Hamlet,in spite of his mongrel appearance,was a very clever dog.
He had his especial corners in the garden,the kitchen and the nursery.He never misbehaved,was never in the way,and was able to amuse himself for hours together.Although he attached himself quite deliberately to Jeremy,he did this in no sentimental fashion,and in his animosities towards the Jampot,Aunt Amy and the boy who helped with the boots and the knives,he was always restrained and courteous.He did indeed growl at Aunt Amy,but always with such a sense of humour that everyone (except Aunt Amy)was charmed,and he never actually supported the children in their rebellions against the Jampot,although you could see that he liked and approved of such things.The Jampot hated him with a passion that caused the nursery to quiver with emotion.Was he not the cause of her approaching departure,his first appearance having led her into a tempest of passion that had caused her to offer a "notice"that she had never for an instant imagined would be accepted?Was he not a devilish dog who,with,his quiet movements and sly expressions,was more than human?"Mark my words,"she said in the kitchen,"there's a devil in that there animal,and so they'll find before they're many years older--'Amlet indeed--a 'eathenish name and a 'eathenish beast."Her enemy had discovered that in one corner of the nursery there were signs and symbols that witnessed to something in the nature of a mouse or a rat.That nursery corner became the centre of all his more adventurous instincts.It happened to be just the corner where the Jampot kept her sewing machine,and you would think,if you came to the nursery as a stranger,and saw him sitting,his eyes fixed beamingly upon the machine,his tail erect,and his body here and there quivering a little,that from duties of manly devotion he was protecting the Jampot's property.She knew better;she regarded,in some undefined way,this continued contemplation by him of her possessions as an ironical insult.She did everything possible to drive him from the corner;he inevitably returned,and as he always delicately stepped aside when she approached,it could not be said that he was in her way.Once she struck him;he looked at her in such a fashion that "her flesh crept.".She never struck him again.
For Jeremy he became more and more of a delight.He understood so much.He sympathised,he congratulated,he sported,always at the right moment.He would sit gravely at Jeremy's feet,his body pressed against Jeremy's leg,one leg stuck out square,his eyes fixed inquisitively upon the nursery scene.He would be motionless;then suddenly some thought would electrify him--his ears would cock,his eyes shine,his nose quiver,his tail tumble.The crisis would pass;he would be composed once more.He would slide down to the floor,his whole body collapsing;his head would rest upon Jeremy's foot;he would dream of cats,of rats,of birds,of the Jampot,of beef and gravy,of sugar,of being washed,of the dogs'Valhalla,of fire and warmth,of Jeremy,of walks when every piece of flying paper was a challenge,of dogs,dogs that he had known of when he was a puppy,of doing things he shouldn't,of punishment and wisdom,pride and anger,of love-affairs of his youth,of battle,of settling-down,of love-affairs in the future,again of cats and beef,and smells--smells--smells,again of Jeremy,whom he loved.
And Jeremy,watching him now,thus sleeping,and thinking of Dick Whittington,wondered why it was that a dog would understand so easily,without explanations,the thoughts and desires he had,and that all grown-up people would not understand,and would demand so many explanations,and would laugh at one,and pity one,and despise one.Why was it?he asked himself.
"I know,"he suddenly cried,turning upon Helen;"it can be your birthday treat!""What can?"she asked.
"Why,going to Dick Whittington--all of us."
Helen had,most unfortunately for herself,a birthday only a week after Christmas,the result being that,in her own opinion at any rate,she never received "proper presents"on either of those two great present-giving occasions.She was always allowed,however,a "treat";her requests were generally in the nature of food;once of a ride in the train;once even a visit to the Polchester Museum.
It was difficult in those days to find "treats"in Polchester.
"Oh,do you think they'd let us?"she said,her eyes wide.
