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    Minkie
    Minkie
    Minkie
    Ebook121 pages1 hour

    Minkie

    By Louis Tracy

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    About this ebook

    Louis Tracy (1863-1928) was a British journalist and writer of fiction. He also used the pseudonyms Gordon Holmes and Robert Fraser.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBooks on Demand
    Release dateJan 24, 2019
    ISBN9783748192053
    Minkie
    Author

    Louis Tracy

    Louis Tracy was a British journalist and prolific writer of fiction. He used the pseudonyms Gordon Holmes and Robert Fraser, which were at times shared with M. P. Shiel, a collaborator of Tracy’s throughout the twentieth century.  

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      Book preview

      Minkie - Louis Tracy

      Minkie

      Minkie

      CHAPTER I

      CHAPTER II

      CHAPTER III

      CHAPTER IV

      CHAPTER V

      Copyright

      Minkie

      CHAPTER I

      HOW A BOGEY-MAN CAME TO DALE END

      Told by Bobby, the Horse

      Minkie says I ought to begin this story, because I am the biggest and strongest. I don’t see that at all, but she thinks I can’t see much, anyhow, owing to my silly habit of wearing blinkers, which is just her irritating way of settling an argument—as if I made the harness. And she knows better, too. I have an eye stuck on each side of my head to enable me to look nearly all round the circle; but that clever individual, man, tries to improve on Providence by making me don the rogue’s badge. Well, it would make any horse laugh. You watch how the clever individual came to grief when Minkie and her gang tackled him. Yes, that is what they call us—her gang—although Dandy, the fox-terrier, won’t admit that Tibbie belongs to our crowd, and he gets furious if one even mentions the Parrot. Perhaps he is prejudiced against Tibbie—I have noticed that most dogs seldom have a good word for a cat—but I do agree with him about that green idiot, Polly. Of all the back-biting, screeching—Eh, what? Oh, don’t worry, as I tell Dan when he trots in to my place to look for a rat—you’ll be in the middle of a real up-to-date yarn in two buzzes of a gad-fly....

      The fun started last Christmas Eve, when a small blue boy on a big red bicycle came to our front door and tried to pull the bell out by the roots after playing tricks with the knocker. Everybody thought it was a parcel for herself. Dorothy sailed out of the drawing-room; Cookie and Evangeline, our housemaid (Mam wanted to call her Mary, but she threatened to give notice), rushed from the kitchen; even dearest Mam dropped her sewing and wondered what the Guv’nor had sent her; but Minkie tobogganed downstairs on a tray, and came in an easy first. Dan was close up, as he simply hates every sort of postman; so Minkie grabbed him with one hand and opened the door with the other.

      And it was only a telegram.

      When Mam opened it, she said Good gracious!

      What is it, mother? inquired Dorothy.

      But Minkie had read it over Mam’s shoulder and it was just this:

      Schwartz arrived unexpectedly to-day. Have invited him to spend Christmas and New Year with us. Send victoria meet 2.15. Tom.

      Tom is the Old Man. His other name is Grosvenor. He isn’t really old, but Jim calls him the Old Man, or the Guv’nor, and we are all pretty free and easy in the stable, you know.

      Good gracious! said Mam again, he will be here in half an hour. Evangeline, run and tell James to drive to the station at once. Mr. Grosvenor is bringing a friend home with him.

      Now, it is to be observed, in the first place, that ladies are always flustered by telegrams. The Old Man said nothing about bringing Schwartz by the 2.15, and Mam knew quite well that he expected to be detained at the office until the 5.30. Next, when two-legged people are in a hurry, they put the rush on to their four-legged helpers. I was just enjoying a nice wisp of hay when Jim banged in and rattled me into my harness, while Mole, the gardener, who also cleans the knives and boots, pulled the victoria out of the shed.

      I was going through the gate in fine style when Minkie came flying.

      Don’t stop, she said, and skipped inside.

      Jim thought Mam had sent her, but Jim is always wrong when he imagines anything about Minkie. The fact was, as she told me afterwards, she had heard a lot of talk about this Schwartz, and she felt that it would be good for all parties if she took his measure a few minutes ahead of the rest of the family; so she jammed on a pirate cap and Dorothy’s fur coat, and slid across the lawn without any one’s being the wiser, except Dan, and he was sore with her on account of the escape of the telegraph boy. He tried to take it out of Tibbie, but she nipped up a tree, and the parrot, who was watching him head downwards through the drawing-room window, yelled Yah! at him. That settled it. He came after me and jumped up at my bit.

      Race you to the station, he said, pretending he hadn’t seen Minkie.

      Right, said I; but, to make a match of it, you ought to get Mole to harness you to his little girl’s toy pram.

      This remark seemed to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know then about the rat-tatling messenger boy. Anyhow, he met the doctor’s poodle in the village, so he joined us at the station in a good temper.

      When the train arrived, it brought heaps of people. It always puzzles me that folk should gorge more at Christmas time than any other. Every man, woman, and child carried half-a-dozen parcels, and nearly every parcel held something to eat. Some of the men hugged long narrow boxes, which looked as if they contained wax candles, but which really held a bottle of whisky. I know, because Jim....

      Mr. Grosvenor hasn’t come, miss, said Jim, when the crowd thinned.

      Who said he was coming? asked Minkie.

      Well, Evangeline thought—

      Evangeline never thinks. The doctor has warned her against it. If ever she tries to do anything of the kind the excitement will kill her. No, Jim. Dad has told a Mr. Schwartz to come on by this train, and make himself at home until he joins him later. Schwartz is German for black. Most Germans are dumpy. But things often go by contraries. Our green-grocer is named Brown, so Mr. Schwartz should be a tall thin man, with straw hair and white eyebrows.

      Nail my shoes, she wasn’t far out of it. A humpbacked porter came along with a couple of portmanteaux, followed by a heavy swell who was up to specification except as to the color of his hair, which was chestnut.

      This is Mr. Grosvenor’s carriage, sir, said the porter.

      Oh, indeed. And you are Miss Millicent, I suppose? said the newcomer, grinning at Minkie. 

      Are you Mr. Schwartz? she asked, and Dan inspected his calf, because Minkie’s tone told us she had taken a violent dislike to the visitor at first sight.

      Yes, he smirked, being so busy looking at her that he paid no heed to the porter, who was waiting for his tip.

      Well, if you give the porter a shilling I’ll drive you to our place. Mother is expecting you.

      Are you particular as to the exact amount? he inquired, still grinning. In fact, he was one of those silly men who believe that you must laugh when you want to be amiable; so please imagine Mr. Schwartz always guffawing—at least, not always, because he could scowl very unpleasantly at times. Tickle my withers, we made him scowl all right before we were through with him.

      No, said Minkie, giving the porter just one little look. As it is Christmas time, you might make it half a crown.

      Schwartz got his hand down quick. Because he was a rich man, he thought tuppence would be ample. He produced a florin, but Minkie spotted it.

      If you haven’t another sixpence I can lend you one, she said sweetly, and I saw Dan licking his lips when he heard her speak in that way.

      Don’t trouble, said Schwartz, rather shortly, and he handed the porter three shillings. That was another of his queer ways. He liked to impress people, but cheaply. He wanted a girl of fourteen to realize what a grand person he was, yet he was afraid she would spring him up to a crown, or even half a sovereign, if he didn’t make haste.

      Then Minkie made room for him by her side, and Dan hopped in too.

      Is that dog yours? he inquired.

      Yes.

      And does your father permit a beast with muddy paws to sit in his carriage?

      Not often, said Minkie, looking at his boots. Dandy, you wicked imp, get out at once.

      Dan took a header into the roadway, and ran up alongside me, barking for all he was worth.

      Tell you what, Bob, he cried, nearly choking himself with joy, "this red-headed Jew is going to find trouble. He is sure to drop into the stable to-morrow. I’ll keep you posted in affairs inside the house, and, when I give you the office, you’ll let him

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