Sambo and Snitch

I

It was boiling hot in the garden and the twelve o’clock bell had been ringing for a whole minute when Sambo, aged six, popped his head out of the cow-shed door and said, “Oh, bother!”

The bell meant that it was time for him to go indoors and rest till lunch. Topsy, his younger sister, had already heard it and gone in; he could see her fat, round figure waddling past the drawing-room windows in the distance. She liked going in to lie down, he remembered. That was because she was so round and fat probably; it was easier for her to lie down than stand up. Anyhow, he didn’t want to flop on a bed and rest. He wanted to stay and watch the calf, to stroke its head, give it hay, talk to it. He loved all animals. He understood what they felt and thought. And he was sure they understood him, too, when he talked to them.

The bell had stopped ringing now. Nannie’s voice was shouting for him instead.

Sambo sighed⁠—oh, such a deep sigh. Then he said good-bye to the young calf, who blinked back at him understandingly, and walked slowly down the path towards the house. He heard Nannie shouting and shouting, but he did not answer. He just mopped his face.

“Why ever does Nannie go on shouting like that?” he said to himself. “I heard the bell long ago!”

And at that instant a large brown lizard darted across the path in front of him, so close to his feet that he almost stepped on it. There were pretty black spots on its back. Sambo loved these lizards, but he could never catch one. They went such an awful pace.

He stood still with excitement.

“Oh, I say!” he cried. “Here’s a lizard! Look at it, just!”

Now, as a rule, these lizards flickered down a crack in the stones as quick as light and vanished. But this one didn’t. It stopped. It might have been made of stone. It made no movement. Its brown back shimmered in the heat. One brilliant eye peeped up at him. He had never seen such behaviour before. There was something unusual about this lizard.

“If only I could catch it!” thought Sambo, and began to bend down very cautiously⁠—then stopped in amazement and stared. For at this moment the lizard spoke.

“Something’s pricked my tail,” said the squeaky voice like a slate-pencil.

Sambo felt such a thrill run over his body that, in spite of the hot sun, he shivered. He didn’t know what to do or say. He kept perfectly still and waited.

“A hawk dropped on me,” continued the tiny thin voice. “I was down a crack in a twinkle, but I didn’t twinkle fast enough.” The voice became indignant. “Its beak pricked my tail!”

Sambo just stared and stared. Nannie and bells were all forgotten. His whole life was centred on the lizard. He felt an enormous surprise, yet at the same time it seemed quite natural that a lizard should talk⁠—talk to him, at least.

“Well, why don’t you say something?” squeaked the lizard. “I opened the conversation. It’s your turn now.”

But Sambo’s tongue refused to move. The only things he could think of to say were? “How do you do?” or “Did it hurt?” and neither of these seemed quite right, he felt. Besides, the lizard sounded a bit angry now, and that rather frightened him. Lizards couldn’t bite, could they? He wasn’t quite sure.

“Pricked my tail, I told you,” repeated the lizard, its body still motionless, its bright eyes still peeping up at him. “The hawk did.”

Then suddenly he found his voice. His surprise left him.

“It didn’t,” he said, rather bluntly.

“It did,” said the lizard fiercely.

“It didn’t,” repeated the boy, and straightened up to his full height.

“How do you know?” squeaked the other. “You can’t see up there anyhow!”

“It didn’t,” Sambo said again, trying not to be rude.

“Prove it,” the lizard snapped in a voice of keen annoyance.

“Because you haven’t got one!” said Sambo flatly.

This seemed to upset the lizard dreadfully. Its voice rose to a still shriller note.

“What d’you mean?” it screamed.

“It’s gone!” was the answer.

At this the lizard moved for the first time. An extraordinary expression came into its pointed face. It turned its head to see. As its head turned, its body turned too, and of course the tail turned with the rest of it. It went faster and faster, till it looked like a brown wheel whirling. But it couldn’t catch up. It couldn’t see its own tail.

“I can’t see my own tail,” it panted presently, pausing a moment in its whirl. Its voice sounded rather disappointed, almost sad.

“Because it isn’t there,” explained Sambo sympathetically. “I told you once.” He was getting cross with it. “You’ve only got a stump left.”

Now, hardly had Sambo said this when he realized he had said an awful thing. He had. But it was too late to change it now.

“That’s rude,” said the lizard quietly. It was not angry, only hurt. “Worse than rude, it’s unkind. It’s like telling your mother she’s lost her looks, or her hair, or that she squints⁠—something unpleasant that she knows, but doesn’t want to be told about.”

Sambo felt unhappy. Already he liked this lizard immensely. “I’m awfully, awfully sorry,” he said, mopping his perspiring forehead.

“Thanks!” squeaked the other instantly. “Now we’re friends again.”

It was the way his own mother forgave him always. He liked it.

“Are you a mother then?” he asked politely.

“Of course. I’m a female. All females with us are mothers.”

“Oh,” he exclaimed, remembering his Natural History lessons. “And you’re a reptile, aren’t you, too?”

“That’s our family, yes,” replied the lizard proudly. “I belong to the great reptile family, like the snakes and crocodiles. Oh, rather! I’m glad you know that at least.”

“⁠—You lay eggs, don’t you?”

“⁠—I should think I do. Little beauties!”

“⁠—And may I have one, please, for my collection?”

“When I’ve got any,” was the reply, “you certainly may.”

The lizard kept silent then for a bit. It didn’t move. The boy kept silent too. He just watched it. It was still panting from its violent whirling after its own tail. He could see its little sides puffing in and out like tiny bellows. The brown skin rose and fell, the black spots with it. How amazingly still it kept! It might have been a stuffed one, except for its heaving sides.

Sambo waited for it to speak again, but as it said nothing, he presently made a remark himself.

“The hawk took it,” he explained kindly, referring to the lost tail.

“I didn’t twinkle fast enough down the crack, I suppose,” came the reply in a gentle voice.

“That part of you didn’t,” Sambo suggested. “The rest of you was like lightning. It always is.”

He heard the lizard laugh. It was like the queer sounds Father got on the wireless machine and called “Berlin” or “Madrid.”

“Oh, I know,” it said, when it had finished laughing. “You’ve often tried to catch me, haven’t you? But you can’t. I can always twinkle fast enough to get away from you. A hawk’s different. You don’t hear it coming, for one thing. It drops like a cannon ball, for another. Hawks like us very much, you see.”

“I see,” agreed Sambo politely.

The lizard thought for a moment.

“Now, will you please show me where I end?” it asked.

“There,” said Sambo, pointing. He was delighted to be of use to his new friend.

“Oh, you may touch me. Pointing’s no good. Touch the end of my body, please.”

It was exactly what Sambo had been longing to do. He bent down and put his hand out cautiously. He touched the dry little body on the stump of the tail. It felt like the ginger he got from dessert sometimes, only smoother and more slippery.

“Thank you,” said the lizard, with evident pleasure. “Now I know exactly where I end. Where I begin is easy, of course, but where I end is more important. My head may be safe down a crack, but my tail still in danger outside. Now I can twinkle again properly.”

“I’m awfully sorry it happened,” remarked Sambo, who now began really to love the little creature, “for you look all wrong without a tail.”

The same instant he felt he had said something rude again, but the lizard wasn’t angry.

“I look what I am,” it said cheerily. “And I feel all right. Besides, I can grow another. Only it takes time, and I haven’t been very well lately. You can see that for yourself, can’t you?”

Sambo couldn’t see, but he didn’t say so. He asked instead what was the matter with it.

“I’ve felt cold,” announced the lizard in a weaker voice, as though that proved it.

Sambo, who was perspiring in the blazing heat, gave a gasp. Was it pretending, he wondered?

“Cold!” he exclaimed. “Why, it’s simply hotter than anything. I’m boiling. I’m all wet!”

“Snitch!” said the lizard. “Snitch! Snitch!” it repeated, keeping one bright eye fixed upon the boy’s face.

He jumped. It was a most peculiar sound. It startled him.

“What does ‘snitch’ mean?” he asked politely.

“⁠—It means nothing,” was the reply. “Just nothing at all.”

“Then why did you say it?” the boy insisted pluckily.

“I didn’t,” observed the lizard with a touch of impatience.

This was really too much. He wasn’t going to be humbugged like that. “But⁠—I heard you!” he exclaimed with vigour.

“Look out!” squeaked the little reptile. “I’m going to do it again in a second!” It lifted its sharp head a quarter of an inch into the air, paused, shut both its eyes tight, and then suddenly repeated the peculiar sound twice over very rapidly: “Snitch! Snitch!” it went.

It gave a little laugh and looked up into his face. “That’s a sneeze,” it explained. “I told you I was cold.”

What Sambo might have said, will never be known, for at this moment his attention was distracted. Something fell with a click on to the path between them. The lizard remained motionless as a bit of stone, but Sambo lowered his head to find out what it was that had fallen from the sky. At first he thought it might have been a drop of perspiration from his face, but he soon saw his mistake. It was a little brown pointed thing. He stooped and picked it up.

II

“I say,” cried Sambo in amazement. “It’s your tail, I do believe!” He looked up quickly into the sky. “And there’s the hawk that dropped it!” The added. “Well, I never did!”

A big hawk, sure enough, was circling slowly in the air far above his head as if nothing had happened.

“Didn’t like the taste, I suppose,” he went on, his head still turned upwards.

“It’s the best part of me really,” said the lizard down at his feet. Its voice sounded rather faint and muffled. But Sambo was too excited to look down. He was a wee bit frightened too. What if the hawk suddenly dropped like a cannon ball on his head? He could never twinkle as fast as the lizard did! He watched it for a minute or two, holding the tail in his perspiring hand, and thinking of the sharp claws and dreadful beak far up in the blue sky. But the great fierce bird showed no signs of dropping on him. It just circled round and round lazily, hardly moving its big wings at all.

“Can’t you do something to frighten it away?” inquired the muffled little voice below.

Sambo bravely clapped his hands.

“Has it gone?” squeaked the faint voice.

“It’s going,” Sambo said, encouragingly.

“One of us must go, you see,” came the rather nervous comment.

“Yes,” agreed Sambo, “but please not you! There, it’s gone now⁠—gone away over the woods by the Church. You’re quite safe again!”

He looked down to give the tail back to its owner. But the path was empty. He looked everywhere. The lizard was gone!

Oh, dear! This was very disappointing. Wherever had it gone? He looked and looked, but there was no sign of it. He missed it dreadfully. Already he was tremendously fond of this strange, friendly little lizard. He really loved it. He could have cried⁠—when suddenly he caught its little voice again close beside him somewhere. It was faint and muffled.

Where on earth was it?

“Is that you, Snitch?” he called out. The name came naturally.

“Of course. I’m down here. Why don’t you use your eyes?”

It sounded offended rather, he fancied. The squeak seemed between his feet.

“Bend down,” it went on, “and you’ll see. I told you one of us had to go.”

Sambo knelt down and put his face close to the flat stones that paved the middle of the path. Something in the crack glittered, reflecting the sunlight like a tiny mirror. It was the lizard’s brilliant peeping eye.

“⁠—Hooray!” he cried. “Hooray! I was afraid I’d lost you!”

“That’s what the hawk would say if he could see me. But he can’t.”

“The hawk’s quite gone now,” whispered Sambo. “There are only a few swallows about. You can come up again. Anyhow,” he added proudly, “with me here, it would never dare to drop!”

“I thank you,” squeaked the faint voice. “It’s cold as a cellar down here, anyhow.”

Sambo bent lower, formed his hands into a cup, and put them against the crack. “Crawl in here,” he whispered. “Please do.”

“I wish you wouldn’t whisper,” mentioned the reptile. “It sounds like running water. And I don’t like water.”

“Crawl in,” repeated Sambo in his ordinary voice. “It’s quite safe. Warm too.” He put his hands in the easiest position he could, leaving a tiny opening between his thumbs. “I’ve got the tail in my pocket all right,” he added.

Would the lizard trust him?

He waited a few moments. Nothing happened.

“Oh, but I say, do squiggle in, dear Snitch,” he urged. “My back’s aching so!”

“All right,” came the squeak. “You needn’t cry about it. I’m coming. I thought I was going to sneeze, that’s all. Now⁠—one⁠—two⁠—three⁠—Go!”

Sambo felt a warm, tickly sensation on his palms. Four tiny feet clutched his hot skin.

“I’m in. Thank you!” piped the little voice happily⁠ ⁠…

And at that minute the bell began again. It was ringing furiously. It rang as though the house was on fire.

“My gracious!” exclaimed Sambo. “I forgot all about it! Oh, what a row there’ll be!” He straightened up as though he had been shot up by a spring. “I’m awfully late,” he explained. “I’ve got to go indoors and rest, you see. Topsy went ages ago. I must run. Ill take you to my room.” And he ran as hard as ever he could towards the back door, keeping his hands tightly closed in front of him. “Hold tight!” he whispered as he ran. “Hold on. I won’t drop you.”

The lizard laughed inside his hands. “That’s nothing,” it squeaked. “I can hold on to anything! The faster the better! But I’d like a little more air, please. I’m suffocating. Besides, I’m going to sneeze in a second!”

Sambo opened his fingers a tiny bit.

“Snitch! Snitch!” went the lizard, as the boy kicked open the back door and ran panting up the back stairs into his bedroom.

Now, at first, Sambo had meant to tell all about the lizard. He meant to tell everybody that a lizard could talk. It was such a very wonderful thing to happen. It was far too marvellous to keep to himself. Nannie and Topsy must hear all about it at once.

But when he entered the room, he changed his mind. He was hot and breathless. The green blinds were drawn. It was rather dark. Topsy, he saw, lay on her bed in the corner, looking like a boiled pudding in its cloth. She was asleep. There was an unpleasant silence. He heard nothing but a fly buzzing up and down the windowpane behind the green blind. And⁠—he saw Nannie!

Nannie stood in the middle of the room, staring at him. Her arms were akimbo, and he knew what that meant. She was going to scold. She was waiting for him with what he called “a string of words.” And Sambo, knowing quite well he had been disobedient, felt afraid. He decided to say nothing. He would keep it all a secret. He held his hands in front of him as naturally is he could. If only the lizard wouldn’t sneeze!

Would Nannie ask him for an explanation? Would she want to know why he was so late? What in the world should he say? He never told lies.

“Didn’t you hear the bell, Master Sambo?” Nannie began at once. “It rang loud enough. Where were you? What have you been doing all this time?”

He just stood and gazed at her. He said nothing. He kept his hands pressed against his “tummy,” hoping it looked natural. The lizard never moved foot.

“The cow-shed,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, Nannie.” But he knew by Nannie’s tone that she did not really expect an answer to her questions. She was just scolding. He was really very fond of her. She was talking in a whisper too, and that meant she wasn’t frightfully cross. He felt tremendously relieved.

“Well, another time you must come quicker⁠—the moment you hear the bell,” her whisper continued across the still room. “It’s very naughty of you. Your sister came in long ago. Now, be quiet. Don’t wake her. And lie down at once and get your rest. You naughty little boy, you!”

She hadn’t noticed his hands then after all! The perspiration was trickling down his nose, but he couldn’t wipe it away. It trickled cold against his back as well, but he couldn’t scratch there either. Oh, dear! If only Nannie would go out of the room for a moment. He couldn’t possibly lie down with his hands held like that in front of him. Nannie would discover everything. He stood without moving, waiting for an inspiration.

Then a terrible thing happened.

The lizard sneezed.

“Snitch! Snitch! Snitch!” it went inside his hot hands. Sambo remained stock still. He thought the end of the world would come. But the next instant he saw that Nannie hadn’t heard. His heart had stopped beating; it now began to bang against his ribs. And with the sneeze came a brilliant inspiration!

“Nannie,” he whispered, “I wonder⁠—if I’ve got a cold. Can I have some of that sweet medicine, please? I’m shivery. I feel shivery.”

It was quite true. He did feel shivery.

“A cold!” exclaimed Nannie, still whispering. “However can you have a cold on a broiling hot day like this?”

“I believe I have,” repeated Sambo. He sniffled as well as he could. Nannie stared at him. He sniffled louder. Oh, if only he could have sneezed! But he didn’t know how to. He knew anyhow what a fuss Nannie made when there was any sign of a cold, or even when there wasn’t. He also knew that the sweet medicine was kept on a shelf in the bathroom⁠—across the passage!

He sat down on the edge of his bed. There was a moment or two of terrible uncertainty. To his immense relief, then, Nannie moved slowly towards the door.

She was going to fetch the medicine!

“Oh, you’d better have a dose, perhaps,” she whispered impatiently. “It can’t do you any harm, I suppose. But mind I find you in bed when I get back.”

And she went out.

Quick as a flash Sambo whispered to his four-legged friend: “I’ll slip you into my tumbler, Snitch,” and he was across the room in a jiffy, opened his hands, and saw the lizard dart into the empty tumbler on the washhand-stand.

“Put my tail in with me,” it squeaked nervously.

And Sambo just had time to find the little fragment in his pocket and obey, when he heard Nannie’s footstep outside the door again. He gave an enormous sigh of relief⁠—but for an instant only. A new horror seized him. Nannie might want his tumbler for the medicine! Oh, it was awful! He stood hesitating for a second. If Nannie found him still out of bed, she would scold. But if she found the lizard⁠—she would throw it away⁠ ⁠… !

What was he to do? Oh, how difficult life was when you had secrets!

“Take me with you⁠—quick!” he heard a faint, hurried squeak. And a second later he was lying on his bed, with the tumbler just below the edge of his pillow, and well out of sight.

Snitch had saved the situation just in the nick of time. Oh, he loved his lizard more than ever now. Faithful, clever little reptile!

Then Nannie came in. She brought another tumbler with her after all! He drank the sweet medicine, nearly choking in his excitement, so that some of it ran down his neck and on to the pillow. But Nannie didn’t notice this. The room was too dark.

“⁠—Now go to sleep at once,” she ordered, and tiptoed out of the room.

III

Sambo pretended to sleep. The only sound for some minutes was that tiresome fly buzzing up and down the windowpane.⁠ ⁠…

The room lay dark and warm, for the green blinds only let in a narrow line of sunlight round the edges. Topsy lay sound asleep, more like a boiled pudding, he thought, than ever. The fly buzzed on and on. From the garden, sizzling in the midday heat, came the murmur of bees. The leaves were still. The whole house lay silent.

Sambo presently sat up on his bed and listened. Nannie’s footsteps had now died away down the passage. There was no sound. The servants had strict orders to keep quiet in this part of the old house while the children slept. Sambo gave a sigh of relief.

He glanced over at Topsy. He always told her everything; they shared all their adventures; and he had meant to tell her this. But now he hesitated. At any rate, he couldn’t wake her at the moment. She’d make such an awful noise, for one thing. Yet, if she didn’t see the lizard herself, and hear it talk, she never would believe him. What should he do?

The familiar squeak interrupted his thoughts:

“More air, please, Mithter!”

It sounded rather thick. He lifted the pillow’s edge and took out the tumbler. The lizard, he saw, held the bit of broken tail in its mouth. That explained the indistinctness.

“Thank you,” it said, dropping the tail and running swiftly along the edge of the sheet to where the sweet medicine had been spilled. Its tiny tongue shot out and licked it.

“What’s good for your cold is good for mine,” it said, evidently enjoying the taste.

Sambo watched it. “You are a funny lizard,” he said in a low voice.

“⁠—And you are a funny boy,” remarked the lizard.

The same instant it picked up the tail and wriggled with great swiftness over the bolster and dropped on to the floor. “I mutht be off,” it squeaked.

“Oh, oh!” cried Sambo, bitterly disappointed, “you’re not going, are you? Please don’t go!”

“Yeth, Mithter, I mutht,” it said thickly. “Thank you all the thame!”

“But I was going to stick the tail on,” pleaded the boy. “I’ve got secotine, you know.”

The lizard evidently dropped the tail from its mouth, for its next words were clear again.

“I’ve got something better still. I can grow a new one. And I want the broken bit as a model.”

Sambo leaned over and tried to see it, but against the dark carpet it was invisible. He only knew by its voice whereabouts it was. The disappointment was more than he could bear. He simply couldn’t let his wonderful little new friend go out of his life like that. It would be too dreadful!

“But you’re not going for good, are you?” he asked, and there were almost tears in his voice.

“Do you like me as much as all that?” inquired the voice from the carpet.

“I like you more than that. I love you,” Sambo implored. “I do really.”

“Oh, all right,” piped the lizard, with a happy little laugh. “I like you too. So I’ll come back.”

Sambo felt happier. Only he still had so many questions he wanted to ask that he didn’t know which to begin with.

“⁠—Where are you going to?” he began quickly.

“Out,” was the short reply. The voice was farther away now.

“The door’s shut⁠—” said the boy.

“The window isn’t,” came the answer. And the squeak was still farther away this time, quite near the window in fact, where the fly went on buzzing up and down still. “I can run down any wall that was ever built. Up it too, for that matter.”

“Then you’ll come back that way. I’ll always keep it open for you,” Sambo said quickly. The time was short, he felt.

“Can’t promise,” came the answer from a new position now. It was climbing up to the windowsill already. “Down the chimney’s just as good a way⁠—in summer. In winter, of course, I hardly come out at all.”

“How shall I know, please?” the boy asked next.

“Oh, I’ll make a sign. And I shall call you Mister. I’m carrying my tail in my paw now,” it added. “That’s why I’m going so slowly.”

Sambo felt dreadfully sorry it was going, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. It had promised to come back. He liked the name of “Mister” too.

“Well, dear Snitch, good-bye,” he said in rather a sad voice. “I’m awfully glad I saved your”⁠—he nearly said “life,” but changed it in the nick of time to “tail,” It was true anyhow. He had saved its tail.

“Though am I,” piped the tiny voice, much farther away now. “I thall never forget that.” Ah, it had picked up its tail again.

Sambo had been just going to ask for something in return, but was too proud. The next thing the lizard said made him glad he hadn’t shown that he expected a reward.

“And I’ll do thomething for you thome day,” it added gratefully. “Good-bye, Mithter!”

Sambo just had time to call quickly, “What sign will you give?” and to hear its answer “Snitch!” when he caught a flash of shimmering brown across the narrow line of dazzling sunlight beneath the blind⁠—and the lizard was gone.

Now Sambo was a very observant little boy. As the lizard twinkled out, he noticed two things. First, that it had pronounced the S in its name distinctly, and therefore had opened its mouth; and, secondly, that the buzzing fly no longer buzzed!

That meant, he felt sure, that the buzzing fly had gone out with it⁠—but inside it⁠—gobbled up with a lightning thrust of the pointed little mouth.

The broken bit of tail, therefore, might be now lying on the windowsill. He crawled off his bed to look. Yes, there it lay. He picked it up and put it carefully away in an empty box of tooth-powder. Then he put the box away in a drawer where he kept his treasures. Then he crept back on tiptoe to bed. Then, in due course, he fell asleep.

Sambo woke up next morning expecting to see Snitch looking at him from the windowsill. Not a bit of it. There was no sign of the dear little lizard. It was probably having its breakfast somewhere, he decided. What did it eat for breakfast? He didn’t know. Not porridge and eggs and marmalade anyhow. It drank water and ate a fly most likely. Sambo kept his eyes and ears wide open all that morning, but Snitch did not appear. In his pocket was the little box with the tip of its tail. He often took it out and looked at it when nobody was about. Sometimes he rattled it, thinking it might hear and answer. But nothing happened. The whole day passed without a sign of it.

But Snitch had promised to come back. Sambo knew it would keep its promise. “It’s gone hunting perhaps,” he decided. But female lizards didn’t hunt. “Or having some babies,” he changed his explanation. Anyhow it was busy. Meanwhile, he kept his secret to himself. He told no one, not even Topsy. “Females divulge,” he once heard a man saying to his father. He didn’t know quite what it meant, but it had something to do with telling. Topsy, being a female, might divulge. It meant telling secrets anyhow.

The next day it rained, and lizards stayed at home when it rained, Nannie told him. She also answered lots of other questions he asked, though she had to look at a big book first. Lizards, she read out, were reptiles; they belonged to the great family of crocodiles, snakes and that sort of creature, and snakes were simply lizards that had lost their legs. A slow-worm, which they sometimes found on the road, was a legless lizard. They laid eggs, lived on insects, and slept through the winter in some little hole or crack, because in the winter there were no insects for them to eat. There were only two kinds of lizards in England, one called the Sand Lizard, because it lived in sandpits; the other called⁠—but Nannie couldn’t pronounce the name, so she stopped reading out a minute from the big book. “It’s about seven inches long,” she went on presently⁠ ⁠…

“⁠hat’s mine!” he exclaimed excitedly.

Sambo seized his opportunity at once. “Thank you very much, Nannie,” he added. “I’ve heard enough.” And he was out of the room like a flash, for the rain had stopped, the sun was blazing, and he had a feeling that Snitch might be about.