Boxen by C. S. Lewis

Author:C. S. Lewis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2008-10-06T04:00:00+00:00

END OF VOLUME ONE

THE SAILOR

VOLUME II

Chapter X

THE RETURN

At the back of the Alhambra at the quiet little town of Danphabel there stands a low and small but snug villa, separated from the music hall only by a high-walled yard used for storing scenery, and having two pondorous gates, the one opening into a narrow street by which one approaches the stalls entrance, and the other onto the railway line. Many people think that this house is part of the music hall, in which opinion, although it is not actually correct, there is a considerable tincture of truth, for it is the residence of the manager, Mr Vorling. Nevertheless Mr Vorling does not at present occupy it, but has surrendured it to Viscount Puddiphat The Owl, who, being the owner of this and fourteen other music halls, has come down from Murry to give his subordinate a holyday, and to inspect this out of the way house, of which he knows comparatively little.

Viscount Puddiphat had long held the enviable title of the best dressed gentleman in Boxen, and to mantain and confirm this reputation was the object of the owl’s life.

On a certain spring morning, the viscount’s valet had entered his master’s bed chamber with a cup of chocolate, and the ironed morning paper. No sooner had his step resounded on the floor than a mass of feathers stirred in the large bed, and the owl raised himself on his elbow, with blinking eyes. He was a well built bird of medium hieght, whose figure would have been of the finest, had it not been inclined to corpulence: his face was intellegent, and even handsome, and his curved beak shone like mahogany when the light caught: his expression was one of bland and unruffled benevolence, only occasionally to be fanned into temper or excitement, and his usual mode of expressing anger was by lending a scarcely audible tone of vexation to his mellow voice.

‘Your chocolate, My Lord,’ said the servant: the other took it, and, as he sipped it enquired what were the contents of the newspaper.

‘The chief thing, My Lord, is that a cruiser called the Greyhound has dropped anchor in the bay this morning.’

‘Ah,’ said Puddiphat, half to himself and half aloud, ‘I suppose my little friend James Bar will be onboard. Or was the Ariadne his boat? Anything else?’

‘A long review of the Alhambra bill last night.’

‘Favourable, I hope?’

‘Yes, My Lord.’

The Viscount finished his chocolate in silence, and when he had dressed breakfasted at the local inn, repaired to the harbour for a stroll and a cigar on the jetty. As he was thus pleasantly employed, he noticed a spotless steam pinnace puting off from a large cruiser which lay at anchor in the offing, and which, as the pinnace drew nearer, he saw contained a person with whom he was well acquainted – namely Mr James Bar, a small hock-brown bear. This worthy stepped out of the pinnace as soon as it was alongside, and approached the

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