other in its late Autumn—were gazing on each other.
‘No, you’ve never seen him,’ the old man was saying: ‘you couldn’t, you know, he’s been away so long—traveling from land to land, and seeking for health, more years than you’ve been alive, little Sylvie!’
Here Bruno climbed upon his other knee, and a good deal of kissing, on a rather complicated system, was the result.
‘He only came back last night,’ said the Warden, when the kissing was over: ‘he’s been traveling post-haste, for the last thousand miles or so, in order to be here on Sylvie’s birthday. But he’s a very early riser, and I dare say he’s in the Library already. Come with me and see him. He’s always kind to children. You’ll be sure to like him.’
‘Has the Other Professor come too?’ Bruno asked in an awe-struck voice.
‘Yes, they arrived together. The Other Professor is—well, you wo’n’t like him quite so much, perhaps. He’s a little more dreamy, you know.’
‘I wiss Sylvie was a little more dreamy,’ said Bruno.
‘What do you mean, Bruno?’ said Sylvie.
Bruno went on addressing his father. ‘She says she ca’n’t, oo know. But I thinks it isn’t ca’n’t, it’s wo’n’t.’
‘Says she ca’n’t dream!’ the puzzled Warden repeated.
‘She do say it,’ Bruno persisted. ‘When I says to her “Let’s stop lessons!”, she says “Oh, I ca’n’t dream of letting oo stop yet!”’
‘He always wants to stop lessons,’ Sylvie explained, ‘five minutes after we begin!’
‘Five minutes’ lessons a day!’ said the Warden. ‘You wo’n’t learn much at that rate, little man!’
‘That’s just what Sylvie says,’ Bruno rejoined. ‘She says I wo’n’t learn my lessons. And I tells her, over and over, I ca’n’t learn ’em. And what doos oo think she says? She says “It isn’t ca’n’t, it’s wo’n’t!”’
‘Let’s go and see the Professor,’ the Warden said, wisely avoiding further discussion. The children got down off his knees, each secured a hand, and the happy trio set off for the Library—followed by me. I had come to the conclusion by this time that none of the party (except, for a few moments, the Lord Chancellor) was in the least able to see me.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Sylvie asked, walking with a little extra sedateness, by way of example to Bruno at the other side, who never ceased jumping up and down.
‘What was the matter—but I hope he’s all right now—was lumbago, and rheumatism, and that kind of thing. He’s been curing himself, you know: he’s a very learned doctor. Why, he’s actually invented three new diseases, besides a new way of breaking your collar-bone!’
‘Is it a nice way?’ said Bruno.
‘Well, hum, not very,’ the Warden said, as we entered the Library. ‘And here is the Professor. Good morning, Professor! Hope you’re quite rested after your journey!’
A jolly-looking, fat little man, in a flowery dressing-gown, with a large book under each arm, came trotting in at the other end of the room, and was going straight across without taking any notice of the children. ‘I’m looking for Vol. Three,’ he said. ‘Do you happen to have seen it?’
‘You don’t see my children, Professor!’ the Warden exclaimed, taking him by the shoulders and turning him round to face them.
The Professor laughed violently: then he gazed at them through his great spectacles, for a minute or two, without speaking.
At last he addressed Bruno. ‘I hope you have had a good night, my child?’
Bruno looked puzzled. ‘I’s had the same night oo’ve had,’ he replied. ‘There’s only been one night since yesterday!’
It was the Professor’s turn to look puzzled now. He took off his spectacles, and rubbed them with his handkerchief. Then he gazed at them again. Then he turned to the Warden. ‘Are they bound?’ he enquired.
‘No, we aren’t,’ said Bruno, who thought himself quite able to answer this question.
The Professor shook his head sadly. ‘Not even half-bound?’
‘Why would we be half-bound?’ said Bruno. ‘We’re not prisoners!’
But the Professor had forgotten all about them by this time, and was speaking to the Warden again. ‘You’ll be glad to hear,’ he was saying, ‘that the Barometer’s beginning to move—’
‘Well, which way?’ said the Warden—adding, to the children, ‘Not that I care, you know. Only he thinks it affects the weather. He’s a wonderfully clever man, you know. Sometimes he says things that only the Other Professor can understand. Sometimes he says things that nobody can understand! Which way is it, Professor? Up or down?’
‘Neither!’ said the Professor, gently clapping his hands. ‘It’s going sideways—if I may so express myself.’
‘And what kind of weather does that produce?’ said the Warden. ‘Listen, children! Now you’ll hear something worth knowing!’
‘Horizontal weather,’ said the Professor, and made straight for the door, very nearly trampling on Bruno, who had only just time to get out of his way.
‘Isn’t he learned?’ the Warden said, looking after him with admiring eyes. ‘Positively he runs over with learning!’
‘But he needn’t run over me!’ said Bruno.
The Professor was back in a moment: he had changed his dressing-gown for a frock-coat, and had put on a pair of very strange-looking boots, the tops of which were open umbrellas. ‘I thought you’d like to see them,’ he said. ‘These are the boots for horizontal weather!’
‘But what’s the use of wearing umbrellas round one’s knees?’
‘In ordinary rain,’ the Professor admitted, ‘they would not be of much use. But if ever it rained horizontally, you know, they would be invaluable—simply invaluable!’
‘Take the Professor to the breakfast-saloon, children,’ said the Warden. ‘And tell them not to wait for me. I had breakfast early, as I’ve some business to attend to.’ The children seized the Professor’s hands, as familiarly as if they had known him for years, and hurried him away. I followed respectfully behind.
Chapter 2
