Lion and the Unicorn | Page 4

and the little round baskets of strawberries, and even the
peaches at three shillings each, which looked so tempting as they lay in
the window, wrapped up in cotton-wool, like jewels of great price.
Then Philip Carroll, the American gentleman, came, and they heard
Prentiss telling him that those rooms had always let for five guineas a
week, which they knew was not true; but they also knew that in the
economy of nations there must always be a higher price for the rich
American, or else why was he given that strange accent, except to
betray him into the hands of the London shopkeeper, and the London
cabby?

The American walked to the window toward the west, which was the
window nearest the Lion, and looked out into the graveyard of St.
James's Church, that stretched between their street and Piccadilly.
"You're lucky in having a bit of green to look out on," he said to
Prentiss. "I'll take these rooms--at five guineas. That's more than they're
worth, you know, but as I know it, too, your conscience needn't trouble
you."
Then his eyes fell on the Lion, and he nodded to him gravely. "How do
you do?" he said. "I'm coming to live with you for a little time. I have
read about you and your friends over there. It is a hazard of new
fortunes with me, your Majesty, so be kind to me, and if I win, I will
put a new coat of paint on your shield and gild you all over again."
Prentiss smiled obsequiously at the American's pleasantry, but the new
lodger only stared at him.
"He seemed a social gentleman," said the Unicorn, that night, when the
Lion and he were talking it over. "Now the Captain, the whole time he
was here, never gave us so much as a look. This one says he has read of
us."
"And why not?" growled the Lion. "I hope Prentiss heard what he said
of our needing a new layer of gilt. It's disgraceful. You can see that
Lion over Scarlett's, the butcher, as far as Regent Street, and Scarlett is
only one of Salisbury's creations. He received his Letters-Patent only
two years back. We date from Palmerston."
The lodger came up the street just at that moment, and stopped and
looked up at the Lion and the Unicorn from the sidewalk, before he
opened the door with his night-key. They heard him enter the room and
feel on the mantel for his pipe, and a moment later he appeared at the
Lion's window and leaned on the sill, looking down into the street
below and blowing whiffs of smoke up into the warm night-air.
It was a night in June, and the pavements were dry under foot and the
streets were filled with well-dressed people, going home from the play,

and with groups of men in black and white, making their way to supper
at the clubs. Hansoms of inky-black, with shining lamps inside and out,
dashed noiselessly past on mysterious errands, chasing close on each
other's heels on a mad race, each to its separate goal. From the cross
streets rose the noises of early night, the rumble of the 'buses, the
creaking of their brakes, as they unlocked, the cries of the "extras," and
the merging of thousands of human voices in a dull murmur. The great
world of London was closing its shutters for the night, and putting out
the lights; and the new lodger from across the sea listened to it with his
heart beating quickly, and laughed to stifle the touch of fear and
homesickness that rose in him.
"I have seen a great play to-night," he said to the Lion, "nobly played
by great players. What will they care for my poor wares? I see that I
have been over-bold. But we cannot go back now--not yet."
He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and nodded "good-night" to the
great world beyond his window. "What fortunes lie with ye, ye lights of
London town?" he quoted, smiling. And they heard him close the door
of his bedroom, and lock it for the night.
The next morning he bought many geraniums from Prentiss and placed
them along the broad cornice that stretched across the front of the
house over the shop window. The flowers made a band of scarlet on
either side of the Lion as brilliant as a Tommy's jacket.
"I am trying to propitiate the British Lion by placing flowers before his
altar," the American said that morning to a visitor.
"The British public you mean," said the visitor; "they are each likely to
tear you to pieces."
"Yes, I have heard that the pit on the first night of a bad play is
something awful," hazarded