The Fantastical World of Magical Beasts. Andrew LangЧитать онлайн книгу.
after all.”
“Oh, but I hope there will, though!” replied the little fellow, wistfully.
“I’ve brought a friend to see you, dragon,” said the Boy, rather loud.
The dragon woke up with a start. “I was just — er — thinking about things,” he said in his simple way. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Charming weather we’re having!”
“This is St. George,” said the Boy, shortly. “St. George, let me introduce you to the dragon. We’ve come up to talk things over quietly, dragon, and now for goodness’ sake do let us have a little straight common-sense, and come to some practical business-like arrangement, for I’m sick of views and theories of life and personal tendencies, and all that sort of thing. I may perhaps add that my mother’s sitting up.”
“So glad to meet you, St. George,” began the dragon rather nervously, “because you’ve been a great traveller, I hear, and I’ve always been rather a stay-at-home. But I can show you many antiquities, many interesting features of our country-side, if you’re stopping here any time — ”
“I think,” said St. George, in his frank, pleasant way, “that we’d really better take the advice of our young friend here, and try to come to some understanding, on a business footing, about this little affair of ours. Now don’t you think that after all the simplest plan would be just to fight it out, according to the rules, and let the best man win? They’re betting on you, I may tell you, down in the village, but I don’t mind that!”
“Oh, yes, do, dragon,” said the Boy, delightedly; “it’ll save such a lot of bother!
“My young friend, you shut up,” said the dragon severely. “Believe me, St. George,” he went on, “there’s nobody in the world I’d sooner oblige than you and this young gentleman here. But the whole thing’s nonsense, and conventionality, and popular thick-headedness. There’s absolutely nothing to fight about, from beginning to end. And anyhow I’m not going to, so that settles it!”
“But supposing I make you?” said St. George, rather nettled.
“You can’t,” said the dragon, triumphantly. “I should only go into my cave and retire for a time down the hole I came up. You’d soon get heartily sick of sitting outside and waiting for me to come out and fight you. And as soon as you’d really gone away, why, I’d come up again gaily, for I tell you frankly, I like this place, and I’m going to stay here!”
St. George gazed for a while on the fair landscape around them. “But this would be a beautiful place for a fight,” he began again persuasively. “These great bare rolling Downs for the arena, — and me in my golden armour showing up against your big blue scaly coils! Think what a picture it would make!”
“Now you’re trying to get at me through my artistic sensibilities,” said the dragon. “But it won’t work. Not but what it would make a very pretty picture, as you say,” he added, wavering a little.
“We seem to be getting rather nearer to business,” put in the Boy. “You must see, dragon, that there ‘s got to be a fight of some sort, ‘cos you can’t want to have to go down that dirty old hole again and stop there till goodness knows when.”
“It might be arranged,” said St. George, thoughtfully. “I must spear you somewhere, of course, but I’m not bound to hurt you very much. There’s such a lot of you that there must be a few spare places somewhere. Here, for instance, just behind your foreleg. It couldn’t hurt you much, just here!”
“Now you ‘re tickling, George,” said the dragon, coyly. “No, that place won’t do at all. Even if it didn’t hurt, — and I’m sure it would, awfully, — it would make me laugh, and that would spoil everything.”
“Let’s try somewhere else, then,” said St. George, patiently. “Under your neck, for instance, — all these folds of thick skin, — if I speared you here you ‘d never even know I ‘d done it!”
“Yes, but are you sure you can hit off the right place?” asked the dragon, anxiously.
“Of course I am,” said St. George, with confidence. “You leave that to me!”
“It’s just because I’ve got to leave it to you that I’m asking,” replied the dragon, rather testily. “No doubt you would deeply regret any error you might make in the hurry of the moment; but you wouldn’t regret it half as much as I should! However, I suppose we’ve got to trust somebody, as we go through life, and your plan seems, on the whole, as good a one as any.”
“Look here, dragon,” interrupted the Boy, a little jealous on behalf of his friend, who seemed to be getting all the worst of the bargain: “I don’t quite see where you come in! There’s to be a fight, apparently, and you’re to be licked; and what I want to know is, what are you going to get out of it?”
“St. George,” said the dragon, “Just tell him, please, — what will happen after I’m vanquished in the deadly combat?”
“Well, according to the rules I suppose I shall lead you in triumph down to the market-place or whatever answers to it,” said St. George.
“Precisely,” said the dragon. “And then — ”
“And then there’ll be shoutings and speeches and things,” continued St. George. “And I shall explain that you’re converted, and see the error of your ways, and so on.”
“Quite so,” said the dragon. “And then —?”
“Oh, and then — ” said St. George, “why, and then there will be the usual banquet, I suppose.”
“Exactly,” said the dragon; “and that’s where I come in. Look here,” he continued, addressing the Boy, “I’m bored to death up here, and no one really appreciates me. I’m going into Society, I am, through the kindly aid of our friend here, who’s taking such a lot of trouble on my account; and you’ll find I’ve got all the qualities to endear me to people who entertain! So now that’s all settled, and if you don’t mind — I ‘m an old-fashioned fellow — don’t want to turn you out, but — ”
“Remember, you’ll have to do your proper share of the fighting, dragon!” said St. George, as he took the hint and rose to go; “I mean ramping, and breathing fire, and so on!”
“I can ramp all right,” replied the dragon, confidently; “as to breathing fire, it’s surprising how easily one gets out of practice, but I’ll do the best I can. Good-night!”
They had descended the hill and were almost back in the village again, when St. George stopped short, “Knew I had forgotten something,” he said. “There ought to be a Princess. Terror-stricken and chained to a rock, and all that sort of thing. Boy, can’t you arrange a Princess?”
The Boy was in the middle of a tremendous yawn. “I’m tired to death,” he wailed, “and I can’t arrange a Princess, or anything more, at this time of night. And my mother’s sitting up, and do stop asking me to arrange more things till to-morrow!”
Next morning the people began streaming up to the Downs at quite an early hour, in their Sunday clothes and carrying baskets with bottle-necks sticking out of them, every one intent on securing good places for the combat. This was not exactly a simple matter, for of course it was quite possible that the dragon might win, and in that case even those who had put their money on him felt they could hardly expect him to deal with his backers on a different footing to the rest. Places were chosen, therefore, with circumspection and with a view to a speedy retreat in case of emergency; and the front rank was mostly composed of boys who had escaped from parental control and now sprawled and rolled about on the grass, regardless of the shrill threats and warnings discharged at them by their anxious mothers behind.
The Boy had secured a good front place, well up towards the cave, and was feeling as anxious as a stage-manager on a first night. Could the dragon be depended upon? He might change his mind and vote the whole performance