The King of the Golden River - John Ruskin (read novels website .txt) 📗

again very hard, and, what

was particularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry

and not to be in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck

went to the window, opened it, and put his head out to see who

it was.

 

It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman he had

ever seen in his life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his cheeks were very round and very red, and might have

warranted a supposition that he had been blowing a refractory

fire for the last eight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled

merrily through long, silky eyelashes; his mustaches curled twice

round like a corkscrew on each side of his mouth; and his hair,

of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt color, descended far over his

shoulders. He was about four feet six in height and wore a

conical pointed cap of nearly the same altitude, decorated with a

black feather some three feet long. His doublet was prolonged

behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of what

is now termed a “swallowtail,” but was much obscured by the

swelling folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which

must have been very much too long in calm weather, as the wind,

whistling round the old house, carried it clear out from the

wearer’s shoulders to about four times his own length.

 

Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of

his visitor that he remained fixed without uttering a word,

until the old gentleman, having performed another and a more

energetic concerto on the knocker, turned round to look after his

flyaway cloak. In so doing he caught sight of Gluck’s little

yellow head jammed in the window, with its mouth and eyes very

wide open indeed.

 

“Hollo!” said the little gentleman; “that’s not the way to answer

the door. I’m wet; let me in.”

 

To do the little gentleman justice, he WAS wet. His feather hung

down between his legs like a beaten puppy’s tail, dripping like

an umbrella, and from the ends of his mustaches the water was

running into his waistcoat pockets and out again like a mill

stream.

 

“I beg pardon, sir,” said Gluck, “I’m very sorry, but, I really

can’t.”

 

“Can’t what?” said the old gentleman.

 

“I can’t let you in, sir—I can’t, indeed; my brothers would beat

me to death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you

want, sir?”

 

“Want?” said the old gentleman petulantly. “I want fire and

shelter, and there’s your great fire there blazing, crackling,

and dancing on the walls with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I

say; I only want to warm myself.”

 

Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window

that he began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when

he turned and saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring and

throwing long, bright tongues up the chimney, as if it were

licking its chops at the savory smell of the leg of mutton, his

heart melted within him that it should be burning away for

nothing. “He does look very wet,” said little Gluck; “I’ll just

let him in for a quarter of an hour.” Round he went to the door

and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, there came

a gust of wind through the house that made the old chimneys

totter.

 

“That’s a good boy,” said the little gentleman. “Never mind your

brothers. I’ll talk to them.”

 

“Pray, sir, don’t do any such thing,” said Gluck. “I can’t let

you stay till they come; they’d be the death of me.”

 

“Dear me,” said the old gentleman, “I’m very sorry to hear that.

How long may I stay?”

 

“Only till the mutton’s done, sir,” replied Gluck, “and it’s very

brown.”

 

Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen and sat himself

down on the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the

chimney, for it was a great deal too high for the roof.

 

“You’ll soon dry there, sir,” said Gluck, and sat down again to

turn the mutton. But the old gentleman did NOT dry there, but

went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire

fizzed and sputtered and began to look very black and

uncomfortable. Never was such a cloak; every fold in it ran like

a gutter.

 

“I beg pardon, sir,” said Gluck at length, after watching the

water spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor

for a quarter of an hour; “mayn’t I take your cloak?”

 

“No, thank you,” said the old gentleman.

 

“Your cap, sir?”

 

“I am all right, thank you,” said the old gentleman rather

gruffly.

 

“But—sir—I’m very sorry,” said Gluck hesitatingly, “but—

really, sir—you’re—putting the fire out.”

 

“It’ll take longer to do the mutton, then,” replied his visitor

dryly.

 

Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was

such a strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away

at the string meditatively for another five minutes.

 

“That mutton looks very nice,” said the old gentleman at length.

“Can’t you give me a little bit?”

 

“Impossible, sir,” said Gluck.

 

“I’m very hungry,” continued the old gentleman. “I’ve had

nothing to eat yesterday nor to-day. They surely couldn’t miss

a bit from the knuckle!”

 

He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted

Gluck’s heart. “They promised me one slice to-day, sir,” said

he; “I can give you that, but not a bit more.”

 

“That’s a good boy,” said the old gentleman again.

 

Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. “I don’t care

if I do get beaten for it,” thought he. Just as he had cut a

large slice out of the mutton there came a tremendous rap at the

door. The old gentleman jumped off the hob as if it had

suddenly become inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice into

the mutton again, with desperate efforts at exactitude, and ran

to open the door.

 

“What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?” said Schwartz, as

he walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck’s face.

 

“Aye! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?” said Hans,

administering an educational box on the ear as he followed his

brother into the kitchen.

 

“Bless my soul!” said Schwartz when he opened the door.

 

“Amen,” said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off and

was standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost

possible velocity.

 

“Who’s that?” said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin and

turning to Gluck with a fierce frown.

 

“I don’t know, indeed, brother,” said Gluck in great terror.

 

“How did he get in?” roared Schwartz.

 

“My dear brother,” said Gluck deprecatingly, “he was so VERY

wet!”

 

The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck’s head, but, at the

instant, the old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which

it crashed with a shock that shook the water out of it all over

the room. What was very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched

the cap than it flew out of Schwartz’s hand, spinning like a

straw in a high wind, and fell into the corner at the further end

of the room.

 

“Who are you, sir?” demanded Schwartz, turning upon him. “What’s

your business?” snarled Hans.

 

“I’m a poor old man, sir,” the little gentleman began very

modestly, “and I saw your fire through the window and begged

shelter for a quarter of an hour.”

 

“Have the goodness to walk out again, then,” said Schwartz.

“We’ve quite enough water in our kitchen without making it a

drying house.”

 

“It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray

hairs.” They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before.

 

“Aye!” said Hans; “there are enough of them to keep you warm.

Walk!”

 

“I’m very, very hungry, sir; couldn’t you spare me a bit of bread

before I go?”

 

“Bread, indeed!” said Schwartz; “do you suppose we’ve nothing to

do with our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as

you?”

 

“Why don’t you sell your feather?” said Hans sneeringly. “Out

with you!”

 

“A little bit,” said the old gentleman.

 

“Be off!” said Schwartz.

 

“Pray, gentlemen.”

 

“Off, and be hanged!” cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But

he had no sooner touched the old gentleman’s collar than away he

went after the rolling-pin, spinning round and round till he fell

into the corner on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry

and ran at the old gentleman to turn him out; but he also had

hardly touched him when away he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against the wall as he tumbled into the

corner. And so there they lay, all three.

 

Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the

opposite direction, continued to spin until his long cloak was

all wound neatly about him, clapped his cap on his head, very

much on one side (for it could not stand upright without going

through the ceiling), gave an additional twist to his corkscrew

mustaches, and replied with perfect coolness: “Gentlemen, I wish

you a very good morning. At twelve o’clock tonight I’ll call

again; after such a refusal of hospitality as I have just

experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last

I ever pay you.”

 

“If ever I catch you here again,” muttered Schwartz, coming, half

frightened, out of the corner—but before he could finish his

sentence the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him

with a great bang, and there drove past the window at the same

instant a wreath of ragged cloud that whirled and rolled away

down the valley in all manner of shapes, turning over and over in

the air and melting away at last in a gush of rain.

 

“A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!” said Schwartz. “Dish

the mutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again—

bless me, why, the mutton’s been cut!”

 

“You promised me one slice, brother, you know,” said Gluck.

 

“Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch

all the gravy. It’ll be long before I promise you such a thing

again. Leave the room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the

coal cellar till I call you.”

 

Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much

mutton as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and

proceeded to get very drunk after dinner.

 

Such a night as it was! Howling wind and rushing rain, without

intermission. The brothers had just sense enough left to put up

all the shutters and double-bar the door before they went to bed.

They usually slept in the same room. As the clock struck twelve

they were both awakened by a tremendous crash. Their door burst

open with a violence that shook the house from top to bottom.

 

“What’s that?” cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed.

 

“Only I,” said the little gentleman.

 

The two brothers sat up on their bolster and stared into the

darkness. The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam,

which found its way through a hole in the shutter, they could

see in the midst of it an enormous foam globe, spinning round and

bobbing up and down like a cork, on which, as on a most luxurious

cushion, reclined the little old gentleman, cap and all. There

was plenty of room for it now, for the roof was off.

 

“Sorry to incommode you,” said their