Snap dragons. Mister and Missus Scratch. Once upon a time there lived a
certain family of the name of Scratch. It has a Russian or Polish look,
and yet they most certainly lived in England. They were remarkable for the
following peculiarity. They seldom seriously quarreled, but they never agreed about anything.
It is hard to say whether it were more painful for their friends to hear
them constantly contradicting each other, or gratifying to discover that it meant nothing and
was only their way. It began with the father and mother. They were
a worthy couple and really attached to each other, but they had a habit
of contradicting each other's statements and opposing each other's opinions, which, though mutually
understood and allowed for in private, was most trying to the bystanders. In
public. If one related an anecdote, the other would break in with half
a dozen corrections of trivial details of no interest or importance to anyone the speakers
included. For instance, suppose the two dining in a strange house, a
Missus Scratch seated by the host and contributing to the small talk of the dinner
table. Thus, Oh, yes, very changeable weather. Indeed, it
looked quite promising yesterday morning in the town. But it began to rain at
noon a quarter past eleven, My dear, mister Scratch's voice would be heard
to say from several chairs down, in the corrective tones of a husband and
father. And really, my dear, so far from being a promising morning,
I must say, it looked about as threatening as it well could.
Good. Your memory is not always accurate in small matters, my love,
But missus Scratch had not been a wife a mother for fifteen years to be
snuffed out at one snap of the marital snuffers. As mister Scratch leaned forward
in his chair, she leaned forward in hers and defended herself across the intervening
couples. Why, my dear, mister Scratch, you said yourself the weather
had not been so promising for a week. What I said, my dear,
pardon me, was that the barometer was higher than it had been for
a week. But as you might have observed if these details were in your
line, my love, which they are not, the rise was extraordinarily rapid,
and there is no surer sign of unsettled weather. But miss Miss Scratch
is apt to forget these unimportant trifles, he added, with a comprehensive smile
round the dinner table. Her thoughts are very properly absorbed by the more important
domestic questions of the nursery. Now, I think that's rather unfair on mister
Scratch's part. Missus Scratchwood chirp with a smile, quite as affable and general
as her husband's. I'm sure he's quite as forgetful and inaccurate as I am.
And I don't think my memory is at all a bad one. You
forgot the dinner hour when we were going out to dine last week, nevertheless,
said mister Scratch. And you couldn't help me when I asked you,
was the sprightly retort. And I'm sure it's not like you to forget anything
about dinner, my dear. The letter was addressed to you, said mister
Scrat. I sent it to you by Jemima, said missus Scratch. I
didn't read it, said mister Scratch. Well you burnt it, said missus
Scratch. And as I always say, there's nothing more foolish than burning a
letter of invitation before the day, for when it's certain to forget. I've
no doubt you always do say it, mister Scratch remarked with a smile,
But I certainly never remember to have heard the observation from your lips, my
love, whose memories in fault? There? Asked Missus Scratch triumphantly, And
as at this point the ladies rose, Missus Scratch had the last word.
Indeed, as may be gathered from this conversation, Missus Scratch was quite able
to defend herself. When she was yet a bride and young and timid,
she used to collapse where mister Scratch contradicted her statements and set her stories straight
in public. Then she hardly ever opened her lips without disappearing under the domestic
extinguisher. But in the course of fifteen years she had learned that mister Scratch's
bark was a great deal worse than his bite, if indeed he had a
bite at all. Thus, snubs that made other people's ears tingle had no
effect whatever on the lady to whom they were addressed, for she knew exactly
what they were worth, and had by this time become fairly adept at snapping
in return. In the days when she succumbed, she was occasionally unhappy,
but now she and her husband understood each other, and having agreed to differ,
they unfortunately agreed also to differ in public. Indeed, it was the
bystanders who had the worst of it on these occasions. To the worthy couple
themselves. The habit had become second nature and in no way affected the friendly
tenor of their domestic relations. They would interfere with each other's conversation, contradicting
assertions and disputing conclusions for a whole evening. And then, when all the
world and his wife thought that these ceaseless sparks of bickering must blaze up into
a flaming quarrel, as soon as they were alone, they would bowl amiably
home in a cab, criticizing the friends who were commenting upon them, and
as little agreed about the events of the evening as about the details of any
other events whatsoever. Yes, the bystanders certainly had the worst of it.
Those who were near wished themselves anywhere else, especially when appealed to Those who
were at a distance did not mind so much. A domestic squabble at a
certain distance is interesting, like an engagement viewed from a point beyond the range
of guns. In such a position one may some day be placed oneself.
Moreover, it gives a touch of excitement to a dull evening to be able
to say, sought a vote, chay to one's neighbor. Do listen,
The scratches are at it again. Their unmarried friends thought a terrible abyss of
tyranny and aggravation must lie beneath it all, and bless their stars that they
were still single and able to tell a tale their own way. The married
ones had more idea of how it really was, and wished, in the
name of common sense and good taste, that Scratch and his wife would not
make fools of themselves. So it went on, however, and so I
suppose it goes on still, for not many habits are cured in middle Age.
On certain questions of comparatives speaking, their views were never identical, such
as the temperature being hot or cold, things being light or dark, the
apple tarts being sweet or sour. So one day mister Scratch came into the
room, rubbing his hands and planting himself at the fire with bitterly cold it
is to day to be sure, why my dear William said missus scratch,
I'm sure you must have got a cold. I feel a fire quite oppressive
myself. You were wishing you to seal skin jacket yesterday when it wasn't half
as cold as it is to day, said mister Scratch. My dear William,
Why the children were shivering the whole day and the wind was in the
north due east, missus Scratch, I know by the moke, said missus
Scratch, softly, but decidedly. I fancy I can tell an east wind
when I feel it, said mister Scratch, jocosely to the company. I
told jermy matter, look at the weathercock, murmured missus Scratch. I don't
care a fig for Jemima, said her husband. On another occasion, Missus
Scratch and the lady friend were conversing. We met him at the smith's.
A gentleman like, agreeable man, about forty, said missus Scratch, in
reference to some matter interesting to both ladies. Not a day over thirty five,
said mister Scratch from behind his newspaper. Why, my dear William,
his hair's gray, said missus Scratch. Plenty of men are gray at thirty,
said mister Scratch. I knew a man who was gray at twenty five,
well, forty or thirty five. It doesn't much matter, said missus
Scratch, about to resume her narration. Five years matter a good deal to
most people at thirty five, said mister Scratch, as he walked towards the
door. They would make a remarkable difference to me, I know, And
with a jocular air, mister Scratch departed, and Missus Scratch had the rest
of the anecdote her own way. The little scratches. The spirit of contradiction
finds a place in most nurseries, though to a varying degree in different ones.
Children snap and snile by nature like young puppies, and most of us
can remember taking part in some such spirited dialogs as the following, I will
you dn't you can't. I dare you shall? I shall tell them,
Ah, you won't. I don't care if you do. It is the
part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers of juvenile contention, and
to enforce that slowly learned lesson that in this world one must often pass over
and put up with things in other people. Being oneself by no means perfect.
Also that it is a kindness and almost a duty to let people think
and say and do things in their own way occasionally. But even if mister
and missus Scratch had ever thought of teaching all this to their children, it
must be confessed that the lesson would not have come with a good grace from
either of them, since they snapped and snarled between themselves as much or more
than their children. In the nursery. The two eldest were the leaders in
the nursery squabble. Between these, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless
war of words was waged from morning to night. And as neither of them
lacked ready wit, and both were in constant practice, the art of snapping
was cultivated by them to the highest pitch. It began at breakfast, if
not sooner. You've taken my chair. It's not your chair, you know,
it's the one I like, And it was in my place. How
do you know it was in your place? Never mind? I do know,
No, you don't. Yes, I do. Suppose I say it
was in my place. You can't, for it wasn't. I can if
I like, well, was it? Shan't tell you? Ah? That
shows it wasn't. No, it doesn't, Yes, it does. Et
cetera, et cetera, et cetera. The direction of their daily walks was
a fruitful of deference of opinion. Let's go on the common today, nurse.
Oh, don't let's go there. We're always going on the Common.
I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long. Oh
what a story we were there on Wednesday. Let's go down Gypsy Lane.
We never go down Gypsy Lane. Why we're always going down Gypsy Lane and
there's nothing to see there. I don't care. I won't go on the
Common, and I shall go and get Papa and say we're to go down
gypsy lane. I can run faster than you. That's very sneaking, But
I don't care, Papa, Papa. Polly's called me a sneak. No
I didn't, Papa, you did, No, I didn't. I only
said it was sneaking of you to say you'd run faster than me and get
Papa to say we were to go down gypsy Lane. Then you did call
him sneaking, said mister scratch. And you're a very naughty, ill manner
little girl. You're getting very troublesome, Polly, and I shall have to
send you to school where you'll be kept in order go where your brother wishes
at once. For Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was
convenient, if possible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly.
In families where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm, there comes a
stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall because they will stand snubbing
and the boys will not. Domestic authority, like some other powers, is
apt to be magnified on the weaker class. But mister Scratch would not always
listen, even to Harry. If you don't give it me back directly,
I'll tell about your eating the two magnum bonums in the kitchen garden, and
on Sunday, said Master Harry, on one occasion, tell tale, tit.
Your tongue shall be slit, and every dog in the town shall have
a little bit quoited. His sister. Ah, you've called me a tell
tale. Now I'll go and tell Papa you got into a fine scrape for
calling me names the other day. Go then, I don't care. You
wouldn't like me to go. I know you dn't. That's what it is.
I dare, then, why don't you? Oh, I am going,
but you'll see what will be the end of it. Polly, however,
had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harry started, but when
he reached the landing, he paused. Mister Scratch had especially announced that morning
that he did not wish to be disturbed, and though he was a favorite,
Harry had no desire to invade the dining room at this crisis. So
he returned to the nursery and said, with a magnanimous air, I don't
want to get you into a scrape, Polly. If you'll beg my pardon,
I won't go. I'm sure I shan't, said Polly, who was
equally well informed as to the position of affairs at headquarters. Go if you
dare. I won't if you want me not, said Harry, discreetly,
waving the question of apologies. But I'd rather you went, said the obdurate
Polly. You're always telling tales. Go and till now if you're not afraid.
So Harry went, but at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again
and was meditating how to return with most credit to his dignity, when Polly's
face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tongue goaded him on. Ah,
I see you, you're stopping. You daren't go, I dare,
said Harry, And at last he went. As he turned the handle of
the door, mister scratch turned round. Please Papa, Harry began. Get
away with you, cried mister scratch. Didn't I tell you I was not
to be disturbed this morning? What an extraw? But Harry had shut the
door and withdrawn precipitately. Once outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified
steps and an air of apparent satisfaction, saying, you're to give me the
bricks? Please? Who says so? Why? Who should say so?
Where have I been, pray? I don't know, and I don't care.
I've been to Papa there. Did he say I was to give up
the bricks? I've told you, No, you've not. I shan't tell
you any more. Then I'll go to Papa and ask. Go by all
means, I won't if you tell me, truly, I sh aun't tell
you anything. Go and ask if you dare, said Harry, only too
glad to have the tables turned. Polly's expedition met with the same fate,
and she attempted to cover her retreat in a similar manner. Ah, you
didn't tell I don't believe you, asked Papa, don't you very well?
Well? Did you never mind? Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Meanwhile, mister Scratch scolded Missus Scratch for not keeping the children in better
order, and Missus Scratch said it was quite impossible to do so when mister
Scratch spoiled Harry as he did and weakened her Missus Scratch's authority by constant interference.
Differences of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as it
so often does to domestic broils. Boys will never do what they're asked,
Polly would complain, girls are such unreasonable things. Was Harry's retort, not
half so unreasonable as the things you ask Ah, that's a different thing.
Women have got to do what men tell them, whether it's reasonable or not.
No, they've not, said Polly. At least that's only husbands and
wives. All women are inferior animals, said Harry. Try ordering mamma to
do what you want and see, said Polly. Men have got to give
orders and women have to obey, said Harry, falling back on the general
principle. And when I get a wife, I'll take care, I make
her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey your husband.
When you get one. I won't have a husband. Then I can do
as I like. Oh won't you? You'll try to get one. I
know girls always want to be married. I'm sure. I don't know why,
said Polly. They must have had enough of men if they have brothers.
And so they went on add in for nitum, with ceaseless arguments that
proved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream of contradiction that just fell
short of downright quarreling. Indeed, there was a kind of snapping even less
near to a dispute than in the cases just mentioned. The little Scratches,
like some other children, were under the unfortunate delusion that it sounds clever to
hear little boys and girls snap each other up with smart sayings and old and
rather vulgar plays upon words as these. I'll give you a Christmas box,
which ear will you have it on? I won't stand it, pray,
take a chair. You shall have it to morrow? To morrow, never
comes, and so if a visitor kindly began to talked to one of the
children, another was sure to draw near and take up all the first child's
answers with smart comments and catches that sounded as silly as they were. Tiresome
and impertinent and ill mannered as this was, Mister and Missus Scratch never put
a stop to it. Indeed, it was only a caricature of what they
did themselves. But they often said, we can't think how it is that
children are always squabbling, the Scratch's dog and the hot tempered gentleman. It
is wonderful how the state of mind of a whole household is influenced by the
heads of it. Mister Scratch was a very kind master, and Missus Scratch
was a very kind mistress, And yet their servants lived in a perpetual fever
of irritability that just fell short of discontent. They jostled each other on the
back stairs, said sharp things in the pantry, and kept up a perennial
warfare on the subject of the duty of the sexes. With the general manservant.
They gave warning on the slightest provocation. The very dog was infected by
the snapping mania. He was not a brave dog, he was not a
vicious dog, and no high breeding sanctioned his pretensions to arrogance. But like
his owners, he had contracted a bad habit, a trick which made him
the pest of all timid visitors, and indeed of all visitors whatsoever. The
moment anyone approached the house. On certain occasions, when he was spoken to,
and often in no traceable connection with any cause at all, Snap the
mongrel would rush out and bark in his sharp little voice, Yap, yap
yap. If the visitor made a stand, he would bound away sideways on
his four little legs. But the moment the visitor went on his way again,
Snap was at his heels. Yap, yap, yap. He barked
at the milkman, the butcher's boy, and the baker, though he saw
them every day. He never got used to the washerwoman, and she never
got used to him. She said, he put her in mind of that
there black dog in the pilgrim's progress. He sat at the gate in summer
and yapped at every vehicle and every pedestrian who ventured to pass on the high
road. He never but once had the chance of barking at burglars, and
then though he barked long and loud, nobody got up, for they said
it's only Snap's way. The Scratches lost a silver teapot, a Stilton cheese,
and two electro christening mugs on this occasion, and mister and Missus Scratch
dispute who it was who discouraged reliance on Snap's warning to the present day.
One Christmas time, a certain hot tempered gentleman came to visit the Scratches,
a tall, sandy, energetic young man who carried his own bag from the
railway. The bag had been crammed rather than packed after the wont of bachelor's
and you could see where the heel of a boot distended the leather, and
where the bottle of shaving cream lay. As he came up to the house,
out came Snap, as usual, Yap, Yap, yap. Now
the gentleman was very fond of dogs, and he had borne this greeting some
dozen of times from Snap, who, for his part, knew the visitor
quite as well as the washerwoman, and rather better than the butcher's boy.
The gentleman had good, sensible, well behaved dogs, of his own,
and was greatly discussed with Snap's conduct. Nevertheless, he spoke friendly to him,
and Snap, who had had many a bit from his plate, could
not help stopping for a minute to lick his hand. But no sooner did
the gentleman proceed on his way than Snap flew at his heels in the usual
fashion yup, yup, yup, on which the gentleman, being hot tempered,
and one of those people with whom it is as they say, a
word and a blow, and the blow first made a dash at Snap,
and Snap, taking to his heels, the gentleman flung his carpet bag after
him. The bottle of shaving cream hit upon a stone and was smashed.
The heel of the boot caught Snap on the back and sent him squealing to
the kitchen. And he never barked at that gentleman again. If the gentleman
disapproved of Snap's conduct, he still like less the continual snapping of the Scratch
family themselves. He was an old friend of mister and missus Scratch, however,
and knew that they were really happy together, and it was only a
bad habit which made them constantly contradict each other. It was in allusion to
their real affection for each other and their perpetual disputing that he called them the
snapping turtles. When the war of words waxed hottest at the dinner table between
his host and hostess, he would drive his hands through his shock of sandy
hair and say, with a comical glance out of his umber eyes, don't
flirt, my friends. It makes a bachelor feel awkward, and neither mister
nor missus scratch could help laughing with the little scratches. His measures were more
vigorous. He was very fond of children and a good friend to them.
He grudged no time or trouble to help them in their games and projects,
but he would not tolerate their snapping up each other's words in his presence.
He was much more truly kind than many visitors, who think it polite to
smile at the sauciness and forwardness which ignorant vanity leads children so often to show
off before strangers. The civil acquaintances only abuse both children and parents behind their
backs for the very bad habits which they helped to encourage. The hot tempered
gentleman's treatment of his young friends was very different. One day, he was
talking to Polly and making some kind inquiries about her lessons, to which she
was replying in a quiet and sensible fashion, when up came Master Harry and
began to display his wit by comments on the conversation and by snapping at and
contradicting his sister's remarks, to which she retorted, and the usual snap dialog
went on as usual. Then you like music, said the hot tempered gentleman.
Yes, I like it very much, said Polly. Oh, do
you Harry broke In? Then what are you always crying over it? For
I'm not always crying over it? Yes you are, No, I'm not.
I only cry sometimes when I stick fast. Your music must be very
sticky, for you're always stuck fast. Hold your tongue, said the hot
tempered gentleman, with what he imagined to be a very waggish air. Harry
put out his tongue and held it with his finger and thumb. It was
unfortunate that he had not time to draw it in again before the hot tempered
gentleman gave him a stinging box on the ear, which brought his teeth rather
sharply together on the tip of his tongue, which was in consequence. It's
no use speaking, said the hot temper gentleman, driving his hand through his
hair. Children are like dogs, They are very good judges of their real
friends. Harry did not like the hot temper gentleman a bit the less,
because he was obliged to respect and obey him, and all the children welcomed
him boisterously when he arrived that Christmas, which we have spoken of in connection
with his attack on Snap. It was on the morning of Christmas Eve that
the China punch bowl was broken. Mister Scratch had a warm dispute with Missus
Scratch as to whether it had been kept in a safe place, after which
both had a brisk encounter with the housemaid, who did not know how it
happened, and she, flouncing down the back passage, kicked Snap, who
forthwith flew at the gardener as he wasinging in the horseradish for the beef,
who stepped backwards trod upon the cat, who spat and swore and went up
the pump with her tail as big as a fox's brush. To avoid this
domestic scene, the hot tempered gentleman withdrew to the breakfast room and took up
a newspaper. By and by, Harry and Polly came in, and they
were soon snapping comfortably over their own affairs in a corner. The hot tempered
gentleman's umber eyes had been looking over the top of his newspaper at them for
some time before he called Harry, my boy, and Harry came up to
him. Show me your tongue. Harry said he what for? Said Harry,
You're not a doctor. Do as I tell you, said the hot
tempered gentleman, and as Harry saw his hand moving, he put his tongue
out with all possible haste. The hot temper gentleman sighed, ah, he
said, in depressed tones, I thought, so, Polly, come and
let me look at yours. Polly, who had crept up during this process,
now put out hers. But the hot tempered gentleman looked gloomier still and
shook his head. What is it? Cried both the children, what do
you mean? And they seized the tips of their tongues in their fingers to
feel for themselves. But the hot tempered gentleman went slowly out of the room
without answering, passing his hands through his hair and saying ah hum, and
nodding with an air of grave foreboding. Just as he crossed the threshold,
he turned back and put his head into the room. Have you ever noticed
that your tongues are growing pointed? He asked? No, cried the children
in alarm. Are they if ever you find them becoming forked? Said the
gentleman in solemn tones, let me know, with which he departed, gravely,
shaking his head. In the afternoon, the children attacked him again.
Do tell us what's the matter with our tongues. You were snapping and squabbling
just as usual this morning, said the hot tempered gentleman. Well we forgot,
said Polly. We don't mean anything, you know, But never mind
that. Now, please tell us about our tongues. What is going to
happen to them? I am very much afraid, said the hot tempered gentleman,
in solemn, measured tones. That you are both of you fast going
to the dogs, suggested Harry, who was learned in cant expressions. Dogs,
said the hot temper gentleman, driving his hands through his hair. Bless
your life. No nursing half so pleasant, that is, unless all dogs
were like snap, which mercifully they are not. No my sad fear is
that you are both of you rapidly going to the snap dragons. And not
another word would the hot tempered gentleman say on the subject. Christmas Eve,
in the course of a few hours, mister and missus Scratch recovered their equanimity.
The punch was brewed in a jug and tasted quite as good as usual.
The evening was very lively. There were a Christmas tree, Yule cakes,
log and candles, firmity and snap dragon. After supper, when the
company was tired of the tree and had gained an appetite by the hard exercise
of stretching to high branches, blowing out dangerous tapers, and cutting ribbon and
pack thread in all directions, supper came with its welcome cakes and firmity in
punch. And when firmity somewhat palled upon the taste, it must be admitted
to boast more sentiment than flavor. As a Christmas dish, the Yule candles
were blown out, and both the spirits and the paletts of the party were
stimulated by the mysterious and pungent pleasures of snap dragon. Then, as the
hot temper gentleman warmed his coat tails at the eulog A grim smile stole over
his features as he listened to the sounds in the room. In the darkness,
the blue flames leaped and danced. The raisins were snapped and snatched from
hand to hand, scattering fragments of flame hither and thither. The children shouted
as the fiery sweetmeats burnt away the mawkish taste of the firmity. Mister Scratch
cried that they were spoiling the carpet. Missus Scratch complained that he had spilt
some brandy on her dress. Mister Scratch retorted that she should not wear dresses
so susceptible of damage. In the family circle, Missus Scratch recalled an old
speech of mister Scratch on the subject of wearing one's nice things for the benefit
of one's family, and not reserving them for visitors. Miss Scratch remembered that
Missus Scratch's excuse for buying that particular dress when she did not need it was
her intention of keeping it for the next year. The children disputed as to
the credit for courage and the amount of raisins due to each snap barked furiously
at the flames, and the maids hustled each other for good places in the
doorway, and would not have allowed the manservant to see at all. But
he looked over their heads. Stu stu at it at it chuckled the hot
tempered gentleman in undertones. When he said this, it seemed as if the
voices of mister and missus scratch rose higher in matrimonial repartee, and the children's
squabbles became louder, and the dog yelped as if he were mad, and
the maid's contest was sharper, while the snap dragon flames leaped up and up,
and blue fire flew about the room like foam. At last, the
raisins were finished, and the flames were all but out, and the company
withdrew to the drawing room. Only Harry lingered. Come along, Harry,
said the hot temper gentleman. Wait a minute, said Harry. You had
better come, said the gentleman. Why, said Harry. There's nothing to
stop for The raisins are eaten, the brandy is burnt out. No it's
not, said Harry. Well almost, it would be better if it were
quite out. Now come, it's dangerous for a boy like you to be
alone. With the snap dragons to night Fiddlesticks, said Harry, go your
own way. Then said the hot temper gentleman, and he bounced out of
the room, and Harry was left alone. He crept up to the table
where one little pale blue flame flickered in the snap dragon dish. What a
pity it should go out, said Harry. At this moment the brandy bottle
on the sideboard caught his eye. Just a little war murmured Harry to himself,
and he uncorked the bottle and poured a little brandy onto the flame.
Now, of course, as soon as the brandy touched the fire, all
the brandy and the bottle blazed up at once, and the bottle split to
pieces. And it was very fortunate for Harry that he did not get seriously
hurt. A little of the hot brandy did get into his eyes and made
them smart, so that he had to shut them for a few seconds.
But when he opened them again, what a sight he saw. All over
the room the blue flames leaped and danced as they had leaped and danced in
the soup plate with the raisins, and Harry saw that each successive flame was
the fold in the long body of a bright blue dragon, which moved like
the body of a snake. And the room was full of these dragons.
In the face, they were like the dragons one seas, made of very
old blue and white china, and they had forked tongues like the tongues of
serpents. They were most beautiful in color, being sky blue. Lobsters who
have just changed their coats are very handsome, But the violet and indigo of
a lobster's coat is nothing to the brilliant sky blue of a snap dragon.
How they leaped about, they were forever leaping over each other, like seals
in play. But if it was play at all with them, it was
of a very rough kind. For as they jumped, they snapped and barked
at each other, and their barking was like that of the barking canoe in
the zoological gardens. And from time to time they tore the hair out of
each other's heads with their claws and scattered it about the floor, and as
it dropped it was like the flecks of flame people shake from their fingers when
they are eating snap dragon raisins. Harry stood aghast, What fun, said
a voice close by him, and he saw that one of the dragons was
lying near not joining in the game. He had lost one of the forks
of his tongue by accident and could not bark for a while. I'm glad
you think it funny, said Harry. I don't, that's right, snap
away, sneered the dragon. You're a perfect treasure. They'll take you in
with them the third round. Not those creatures, cried Harry. Yes,
those creatures, And if I hadn't lost my bark, i'd be the first
to lead you off, said the dragon. Oh, the game will exactly
suit you. What is it, please, Harry asked. You better not
say please to the others, said the dragon, if you don't want to
have all your hair pulled out. The game is this. You have always
to be jumping over somebody else, and you must either talk or bark.
If anybody speaks to you, you must snap in return. I need not
explain what snapping is. You know, if any one, by accident gives
a civil answer, a claw full of hair is torn out of his head
to stimulate his brain. Nothing can be funnier. I daresay it suits you
capitally, said Harry. But I'm sure, we shouldn't like it. I
mean, men and women and children. It wouldn't do for us at all,
wouldn't it, said the dragon. You don't know how many human beings
dance with dragons on Christmas Eve. If we are kept going in a house
till after midnight, we can pull people out of their beds and take them
to dance in Vesuvius, vesuvious, cried Harry, Yes, Vesuvius. We
came from Italy originally. You know. Our skins are the color of the
Bay of Naples. We live on dried grapes and ardent spirits. We have
glorious fun in the mountains sometimes, oh what snapping and scratching and tearing delicious.
There are times when the scrobbling becomes too great. A mother mountain won't
stand it and spits us all out and throws cinders after us. But this
is only at times. We had a charming meeting last year, So many
human beings and how they can snap. It was a choice party, so
very select. We always have plenty of saucy children and servants, husbands and
wives too, and quite as many of the former as the latter, if
not more. But besides these, we had two vestrymen, a country postmaster
who devoted his time talents to insulting the public instead of learning the postal regulations.
Three cabmen and two fairs. Two young shop girls from a Berlin wool
shop in a town where there was no competition, four commercial travelers, six
landladies, six old bailey lawyers, several widows from almshouses, seven single gentlemen,
and nine cats who swore at everything. A dozen sulfur colored screaming cockatoos,
a lot of street children from a town, a pack of mongrel curs
from the colonies who snapped at the human being's heels. And five elderly ladies
in their Sunday bonnets with prayer books who have been fighting for good seats in
church. Dear me, said Harry. If you can find nothing sharper to
say than dear me said the dragon, you will fare badly. I can
tell you why. I thought you'd a sharp tongue, but it's not forked
yet. I see here. They are, however, off with you,
and if you value your curls, snap, And before Harry could reply,
the snap dragons came on with their third round, and as they passed,
they swept Harry with them. He shuddered as he looked at his companions.
They were as transparent as shrimps, but of this lovely ceruleum blue. And
as they leaped they barked half half, like barking gnoos. And when they
leaped, Harry had to leap with them. Besides barking, they snapped and
wrangled with each other, and in this Harry must join. Also pleasant,
isn't it? Said one of the blue dragons. Not at all, snapped
Harry. At your bad taste, snapped the blue No, it's not snapped
Harry. Then it's pride and perverseness. You want your hair combing? Oh
please don't, shrieked Harry forgetting himself on which the dragon clawed a handful of
hair out of his head, and Harry screamed, and the blue dragons barked
and danced. That major hair curled, isn't it, asked another dragon,
leaping over Harry. That's no business of yours. Harry snapped as well as
he could for crying. It's more my pleasure than business, retorted the dragon.
Keep it to yourself, then snapped Harry, I mean to share it
with you when I get hold of your hair, snapped the dragon. Wait
till you get the chance, Harry snapped, with desperate presence of mind.
Do you know whom you're talking to? Roared the dragon, and he opened
his mouth from ear to ear and shot out his forked tongue in Harry's face.
And the boy was so frightened that he forgot to snap, and cried,
piteously, Oh, I beg your pardon, please don't, On which
the blue dragon clawed another handful of hair out of his head, and all
the dragons barked as before. How long the dreadful game went on. Harry
never exactly knew well practiced as he was in snapping in the nursery. He
often failed to think of a retort, and paid for his unreadiness by the
loss of his hair. Oh, how foolish and wearisome. All this rudeness
and snapping now seemed to him. But on he had to go, wondering
all the time how near it was to twelve o'clock, and whether the snap
dragons would stay till midnight and take him with them to Vesuvius. At last,
to his joy, it became evident that the brandy was coming to an
end. The dragons moved slower, they could not leap so high, and
at last, one after another they began to go out. Oh if they
only all of them get away before twelve, thought poor Harry. At last
there was only one. He and Harry jumped about and snapped and barked,
and Harry was thinking with joy that he was the last, when the clock
in the hall gave that whirring sound which some clocks do before they strike,
as if it was clearing its throat. Oh please go, screamed Harry in
despair. The blue dragon leaped up and took such a claw full of hair
out of the boy's head that it seemed as if part of the skin went
too. But that leap was his last. He went out at once,
vanishing before the first of twelve, and Harry was left on his face on
the floor in the darkness conclusion. When his friends found him, there was
blood on his forehead. Harry thought it was where the dragon applawed him,
but they said it was a cut from a fragment of the broken brandy bottle.
The dragons had disappeared as completely as the brandy. Harry was cured of
snapping. He had had quite enough of it for a lifetime, and the
catch contradictions of the household now made him shudder. Polly had not had the
benefit of his experiences, yet she improved also. In the first place,
snapping, like other kinds of quarreling, requires two parties to it, and
Harry would never be a party to snapping any more. And when he gave
civil and kind answers to Polly's smart speeches, she felt ashamed of herself and
did not repeat them. In the second place, she heard about the snap
dragons. Harry told her all about it, and to the hot tempered gentleman.
Now do you think it's true, Polly asked the hot tempered gentleman.
Umh said, he driving his hands through his hair. You know I warned
you you were going to the snap dragons. Harry and Polly snubbed the little
ones when they snapped, and utterly discountenanced snapping in the nursery. The example
and admonitions of elder children are a powerful instrument of nursery discipline, and before
long there was not a sharp tongue amongst all the little scratches. But I
doubt of the parents were ever cured. I don't know if they heard the
story. Besides, old habits are not easily cured when one is old.
I fear mister and Missus Scratch have yet got to dance with the dragons.
End of Snap Dragons by J. H. Ewing