‘What’s up? ‘ the boy asked in surprise.
‘I am,’ replied Snitch. ‘ Just in time too!’
Before Sambo could say anything else, the door opened and his sister, Topsy, came in. But it wasn’t Topsy that had frightened the lizard. It was something else that came in with her — Mrs. Tompkyns, the yellow cat.
Snitch had heard the cat’s soft tread in the passage!
Topsy had come to fetch something. She blundered about the room a moment, upset a pile of books, knocked a chair over, banged against the fender and made the tongs fall down with a clatter, tripped over the carpet and fell down herself, found the pencil she was looking for under the table, picked herself up again and went out, slamming the door behind her.
‘That’s that! ‘ remarked the lizard from its perch, looking down sideways at the cat. For Mrs. Tompkyns had not gone out. It sat licking itself in front of the fire-place, one leg stuck in the air like a ship’s mast. Apparently it was interested in nothing except cleaning itself. But the lizard knew better.
‘And that’s you! ‘ added Snitch, keeping its keen eyes fixed on the great yellow Mrs. Tompkyns. ‘ I see you! And — you see me!’
‘You can’t fool a hawk or a cat,’ it went on, talking to Sambo in its slate-pencil little squeak. ‘ They see everything. Dogs are slower, and you human beings slowest of all. But hawks and cats—’ it gave a shiver,’ are almost as sharp as we are. So I take no chances. It can see me up here, but it can’t get at me — she, I mean — and she’ll never make a sign. She’ll just go on washing, and pretend she doesn’t see me. But the instant I come down — pop! she’ll make a dart and a pounce — and good-bye Snitch!’
At this moment Mrs. Tompkyns turned her head sideways. She had heard something. She left her leg sticking up in the air, but she was listening. She seemed to be admiring the wall-paper. ‘ You can hear me, and you can see me,’ piped Snitch, ‘ but you can’t get at me.’
Mrs. Tompkyns turned her head towards the door, her back to the curtain. Apparently it was the closed door she found so interesting.
‘That’s all humbug,’ piped the lizard from its safe place. ‘ You’re just pretending. I know your little game.’
The cat’s whiskers twitched, but she made no other sign.
‘Little tiger, that’s what you are,’ went on Snitch. ‘ I heard your step in the passage in spite of Topsy’s thumping feet. So I popped up here for a change of air. Now, I tell you what you’d better do — go and catch that mouse I hear nibbling in Nannie’s room across the landing. Because you’ll never catch me, you know.’
Sambo, who loved Mrs. Tompkyns, had crossed over to stroke her yellow back. She was purring. She looked as innocent as a baby.
‘Open the door and put her out,’ went on Snitch. ‘ You’ll see I’m right. I can hear the mouse.’
Sambo obeyed. He opened the door, lifted the big cat with an effort and put it in the passage. Mrs. Tompkyns, pretending this was just what she wanted, paused a moment, then walked majestically down the passage towards Nannie’s door which stood ajar. There she sat down and began to wash her cheeks with a wet paw, as though nothing else in the whole world concerned her.
‘Just pretending again,’ piped Snitch against the boy’s ear, for the lizard had darted across the floor and climbed up him. Sambo turned his head in amazement. ‘ Now, look again! ‘ whispered Snitch. And, sure enough, in that instant while he turned his head, Mrs. Tompkyns had vanished. Carrying the lizard safely on his shoulder, he peeped into Nannie’s room. There was the great yellow Mrs. Tompkyns crouched down over a tiny hole in the boards where a mouse had been nibbling, no doubt, a moment before!
‘Now we’ll go back, thank you,’ said Snitch,’ and don’t forget to shut the door, please.’
CHAPTER VI
SAMBO shut the door tight and then went back to the Nursery, Snitch still perched safely on his shoulder.
‘Well, I never...! ‘ he exclaimed, full of wonder and admiration, for the lizard’s skill amazed him.
‘What d’you mean? ‘ inquired Snitch. ‘ You never what? But shut the door first, please,’ Sambo banged it. ‘ Now you can tell me what you mean,’ Snitch added. It had climbed down his back, run across the carpet, shot up the leg of the table, and was curled round the inkpot on the brown tablecloth, so that he could hardly see it at all. It was quite motionless. ‘ What d’you mean by “ Well, I never! “? ‘ it asked.
Sambo fidgeted. He tried to collect his thoughts. ‘ I meant,’ he mumbled at length,’ that I never knew anything like it...’
‘Like what? ‘ snapped Snitch. It seemed annoyed.
‘The pace you go, and the way you keep so still, and the way you hear everything, and the way you hide, and—’
‘That’s enough,’ interrupted the little reptile, now mollified. ‘ But all that only surprises you because you can’t do it yourself. It’s natural to us. My life’s a danger from the moment I’m born. If I wasn’t quick and couldn’t hide, I’d be caught and eaten; but nothing wants to pounce and eat you. You’d taste horrid, anyhow.’
‘Lions and tigers would,’ objected Sambo, wondering a moment how he would really taste, but not referring to it. ‘ Only, of course, there aren’t any here.’
‘And they couldn’t get into houses if there were,’ the reptile said, shortly. ‘ You’re safe in houses. ‘ Besides, even outside, you’d hear them coming. They roar. But cats and owls and hawks and snakes don’t make much noise before they pounce. If I hadn’t such sharp hearing, I’d be caught before I was a week old.’
Sambo listened with keen attention, deeply interested. ‘ I see,’ he put in.
‘But I see better still,’ went on Snitch, rather annoyed at the interruption. ‘ Thousands of years ago we had a third eye, you know. It was on the top of our heads, so that we could see above us into the sky. It’s gone out of use now because there are very few hawks left — there used to be millions — and we don’t need it. Two eyes are all we want now. Besides, the things that pounce on us are pretty big, and we easily see them coming. Mrs. Tompkyns, remember, seems as huge to me as an elephant does to you.’
‘You pounce on things too,’ said Sambo suddenly. ‘ To a fly you must seem enormous —— —— — —’
He stopped dead. He had said something he oughtn’t to have said, evidently, for the lizard suddenly left the ink-pot and was behaving in an extraordinary way. He had been watching it with his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. Snitch now crawled over the cloth and stopped just beneath his face. It then rose slowly on its hind legs, balanced itself carefully with the help of its stumpy tail and began to swing sedately to and fro. Its head turned up, pointing the sharp muzzle into his face. It closed one eye. The tiny mouth opened. A faint sound came out like ‘ Madrid ‘ on the wireless. It was singing:
‘To mention size
Is very rude.
I pounce on flies
Because they’re food.’
There was no tune, but just a sort of queer little sing-song, and as it swayed to and fro it waved its front paws in the air, it sang the verse over and over again. It was very odd indeed, thought Sambo. It wasn’t really angry, he decided.
‘I’ll get you some flies, shall I, Snitch? ‘ he asked, hoping to make up for his mistake, and looking at the window where a blue-bottle was buzzing up and down the pane.
The lizard stopped singing. ‘ I wish you wouldn’t interrupt,’ it spat at him. ‘ I can get flies myself when I want them. I want one now. That’s why I sing. I always sing when I’m hungry and on the hunt. When you’re hungry, you cry. That’s the difference between us.’
It began its monotonous song again, swaying to and fro rather more violently now. The sight fascinated Sambo. He stared and stared. At the same time he noticed that the big fly had stopped buzzing on the glass.
How many times Snitch sang that verse over and over again, Sambo could not say. It may have been a hundred times. He only knew that it made him feel drowsy
as he listened. The queer, swaying dance had the effect of making him heavy in the head. His eyes began to close. Snitch swung and swung like the pendulum of a clock. It never stopped. The boy grew heavier and heavier, drowsier and drowsier. He vaguely realized that the same thing was happening to the fly.... The fly was getting drowsy.
Suddenly there came a pop, a bang, a splash! The sound stopped dead, the singing ended. There was silence in the room. For a second Sambo couldn’t make out what had happened. He rubbed his eyes. Then he felt that his nose and forehead were sore. His cheeks were wet too. He passed his hand quickly over his face — black! He had dropped asleep and his face had fallen forwards into the ink-pot. The ink was spilt all over the table, over his shirt and cheeks and nose and forehead. It was on his lips and in his mouth. He was a sight!
He wiped the ink out of his eyes and stared about him in a state of fright and bewilderment. The lizard, he noticed, had gone. The fly had also gone. The room was empty. He was quite alone. He was covered with ink. What could he do? To upset the ink-pot was an awful crime and Nannie would be very angry. He would be punished. He wanted to cry. But instead of crying he suddenly thought he would try and sing, as the lizard had done. So he stood in the middle of the floor and began to pipe up:
‘Dear little Snitch,
I wonder which
Way you have gone?
I’m all alone...!’
He sang the verse over and over again, but just as he was singing’ I’m all alone ‘ for the fifth time, he heard a noise behind him. The door had opened. The room seemed full of people. First of all he saw Topsy, standing against Nannie’s skirts and giggling. Then he saw his mother. Last of all, he saw Mrs. Tompkyns, rubbing against his mother’s dress. He wasn’t ‘ all alone ‘ after all!
Covered with ink, he stood in the middle of the room, while all these people stared at him in amazement with their mouths wide open. There was going to be an awful row. He knew that. He could think of nothing to say. He just stood there and stared back at them all. If only he knew how to hide as the lizard did! But he was too big. Also it was too late.
‘Sambo!’ said his mother in a solemn voice, ‘ What is the meaning of this? How did you get all over ink like that?’
At this moment, while Sambo was wondering what in the world he was going to say, a tiny voice piped in his ear:’ Don’t be frightened. Just tell the truth and you’ll make them all laugh. You needn’t mention me, of course.’
‘I fell asleep,’ mumbled Sambo, ‘and my head banged down against the ink-pot and upset it.’
There was a moment’s silence. Then Topsy’s giggle became audible. Nannie, too, was grinning, her handkerchief stuffed into her mouth. The next moment his mother began to smile. It was really impossible to be angry. Sambo looked too funny to be scolded. And so the laughter became general, and even Mrs. Tompkyns had a twinkle in her bright green eyes. Sambo laughed too.
‘Nannie,’ said his mother, ‘take this Black Sambo away and wash him white, and put the ink-pot out of reach for the future.’
But while Sambo was being scrubbed hard in the bathroom by Nannie, who puffed and blew like a grampus as she lathered his black face with soap, he heard a funny little squeaky voice over by the open window. It was the lizard at its tricks again. It had run round outside the house, climbed the wall, and was now perched on the window-sill, looking like a bit of dark wood:
‘When you want to cry,
The very best thing
Is to shut one eye
And begin to sing!’
‘Oh, Nannie, listen! ‘ cried Sambo, his mouth half full of soap. ‘That’s Snitch singing to me!’
He said it without thinking in his excitement. He had betrayed his friend. But Nannie, luckily, didn’t understand. Evidently she heard nothing of the tiny little voice.
‘Keep your head over the bath,’ she cried, laughing, ‘or I’ll never get you white. And don’t talk nonsense about snitches, or whatever you call ‘em!’
This made Sambo laugh so that he swallowed a good deal of soap and water, and nearly choked. He felt very happy anyhow. The lizard evidently felt happy, too, for he heard it piping away while Nannie dried his head:
‘She’ll get you white,
Don’t be afraid!
I’ll come to-night
When you’re in bed.
I had my fly,
You had your fun,
You didn’t cry:
Sambo — well done!’
And a couple of hours later when he lay between the sheets, the little box with the broken tail in it under his pillow, he kept his ears wide open for a sign of the voice he expected to hear in the darkness.
CHAPTER VII
To tell the truth, Sambo never understood quite what happened that night. The whole experience was too wonderful. He knew Snitch would come because it promised, but he couldn’t know exactly when it would come. It seemed ages before Nannie left the room, and still more ages before Topsy fell asleep. But at last the door was closed, Nannie was gone, and he was alone with Topsy and the night-light.
Now Topsy was full of questions. She would not go to sleep. She had somehow guessed that something was up. She noticed Sambo’s excitement, probably because he could not hide it altogether. She wanted to share it with him. ‘ What’s on, Sambo? You’re waiting for something, I know. Can’t I do it with you?’
Sambo was very fond of his fat little sister. They always played together. The lizard was the first thing he hadn’t shared with her. And to-night he suddenly wanted her to know it all. It would be twice as much fun if Topsy knew. Only Snitch, he felt, didn’t want her. She was a female, and females, Snitch had warned him, divulge. He did not dare to tell his sister without first asking permission. So he decided, the moment Snitch appeared, he would ask if Topsy could be in the secret too.
Meanwhile the minutes passed, the house grew stiller and stiller, the night darker and darker, the candle burned lower and lower, and Tospy got sleepier and sleepier. Nannie opened the door softly once and peeped in, but hearing no voices, thought the children were safely asleep. The door closed again. The footsteps died away.
‘Won’t you tell me, Sambo? ‘ came Topsy’s last drowsy whisper. And Sambo answered in another whisper,’ All right; I’ll try, Topsy. When you’re asleep, I’ll ask about it. Will that do?’
A very faint ‘ Yes ‘ was heard, and the next second Topsy was in the land of dreams. She always went to sleep like that — all of a sudden. The room became quite still now. Nothing stirred. The candle flickered, the shadows danced, the curtains hung motionless. There wasn’t a sound except Topsy’s breathing. She made a noise just like a kettle boiling.
Sambo watched and waited and listened. His eyes were all over the room, his ears were strained to their sharpest. He thought of nothing but the lizard, but as he waited he began to get very sleepy too. The minutes passed.
‘I wonder when it will come...? ‘ he said to himself for the hundredth time, in a very low voice. Then a faint noise startled him, so that he sat bolt upright in bed and stared about him.
‘I’m not IT. I’m SHE,’ he heard distinctly. ‘ Please be more respectful.’ It was Snitch. He knew the jolly little voice at once. But he couldn’t see the speaker, stare as he would.
‘Oh, hooray! You’ve come! But where are you, please? I’m very sorry for calling you IT. I won’t do it again. And, please, I want to talk about Topsy.’
Sambo said all this in one breath, speaking in a whisper. But before Snitch could answer, he saw her — lying along the dark iron rail at the foot of the bed.
‘I’ve been here all the time,’ piped the lizard. ‘ I saw you both say your prayers and get into bed. I look just like a bit of the iron rail, don’t I? ‘ she added proudly. ‘ Nannie almost touched me once.’
‘Exactly,’ said Sambo with admiration. ‘ You’re simply wonderful.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Snitch, and ran along the counterpane towards him. ‘ It was a bit risky, but I always
keep my promise. So here I am.’
There was a pause. Sambo glanced over at his sleeping sister. He longed to get her into the secret, but he was afraid Snitch would refuse. For a moment he said nothing, Snitch said nothing either. Topsy snored, more like a boiling kettle than ever.
‘Get on with it,’ remarked the lizard presently. ‘ I heard your conversation, remember.’
Sambo drew a deep breath, but still was a little afraid to ask. Then he made a great effort: ‘ Please, Mrs. Snitch, may I tell Topsy that I know you? We usually do everything together, you see. I feel such a pig, leaving her out.’ There! It was done.
Snitch hesitated and cocked an eye. ‘ I like you for asking,’ she observed. ‘Most little boys, of course, are pigs,’ she added.
‘Oh, I’d love it so if Topsy knew,’ put in Sambo quickly. He didn’t mind being called a little pig a bit, for he felt it was rather true.
‘She’s a female,’ objected Snitch, cautiously turning a sharp muzzle towards the other bed.
‘But so are you,’ said Sambo, sticking up for his sister. ‘ Aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but I can balance,’ came the odd reply, not a bit offended.
‘Balance! ‘ repeated Sambo. He didn’t understand.
‘You see, to-night I’m taking you on an adventure. We’re going out. And to go out safely, I’ve got to make you my size — as small as I am. I don’t often go out at night, of course, but this is an exception. I feel like an adventure. You do, too. Now, you see — your sister — is — rather round and fat. When I’ve made her small enough she’ll be nothing but a little ball on legs. We shall go in some funny places. She might lose her balance — and roll.’
This information excited Sambo to such a point that he felt he was going to burst. An adventure! Going out! Out into the night, out into funny places! And to be made small first! The same size as Snitch! It sounded all too wonderful to be true. For a moment he could think of nothing to say, though he really wanted to yell with delight and excitement. So many questions came rushing into his head that he asked none of them. All he could manage was: ‘ Oh, Snitch, dear, wonderful Mrs. Snitch!’
Collected Works of Algernon Blackwood Page 292