Mollie and the Unwiseman Abroad, Page 3

  I.

  MOLLIE, WHISTLEBINKIE, AND THE UNWISEMAN

  Mollie was very much excited, and for an excellent reason. Her Papa hadat last decided that it was about time that she and her Rubber-Doll,Whistlebinkie, saw something of this great big beautiful world, and hadannounced that in a few weeks they would all pack their trunks and setsail for Europe. Mollie had always wanted to see Europe, where she hadbeen told Kings and Queens still wore lovely golden crowns instead ofhats, like the fairies in her story-book, and the people spoke all sortsof funny languages, like French, and Spanish, and real live Greek. Asfor Whistlebinkie, he did not care much where he went as long as he waswith Mollie, of whom like the rest of the family he was very fond.

  "But," said he, when he was told of the coming voyage, "how about Mr.Me?"

  Now Mr. Me was a funny old gentleman who lived in a little red house notfar away from Mollie's home in the country. He claimed that his lastname was Me, but Mollie had always called him the Unwiseman becausethere was so much he did not know, and so little that he was willing tolearn. The little girl loved him none the less for he was a very goodnatured old fellow, and had for a long time been a play-mate of the twoinseparable companions, Mollie and Whistlebinkie. The latter by the waywas called Whistlebinkie because whenever he became excited he blew hiswords through the small whistle in the top of his hat, instead ofspeaking them gently with his mouth, as you and I would do.

  "Why, we'll have to invite him to go along, too, if he can afford it,"said Mollie. "Perhaps we'd better run down to his house now, and tellhim all about it."

  "Guess-sweed-better," Whistlebinkie agreed through the top of hisbeaver, as usual.

  And so the little couple set off down the hill, and were fortunateenough to find the old gentleman at home.

  "Break it to him gently," whispered Whistlebinkie.

  "I will," answered Mollie, under her breath, and then entering theUnwiseman's house she greeted him cheerily. "Good Morning, Mr. Me," shesaid.

  "Is it?" asked the old gentleman, looking up from his newspaper which hewas reading upside-down. "I haven't tasted it yet. I never judge a daytill it's been cooked."

  "Tasted it?" laughed Mollie. "Can't you tell whether a morning is goodor not without tasting it?"

  "O I suppose you can if you want to," replied the Unwiseman. "If youmake up your mind to believe everything you see, why you can believe amorning's good just by looking at it, but I prefer to taste mine beforeI commit myself as to whether they are good or bad."

  "Perfly-'bsoyd!" chortled Whistlebinkie through the top of his hat.

  "What's that?" cried Mollie.

  "Still talks through his hat, doesn't he," said the Unwiseman. "Mustthink it's one of these follytones."

  "Never-erd-o-sutcha-thing!" whistled Whistlebinkie. "What's afollytone?"

  "You _are_ a niggeramus," jeered the Unwiseman. "Ho! Never heard of afollytone. Ain't he silly, Mollie?"

  "I don't think I ever heard of one either, Mr. Unwiseman," said Mollie.

  "Well-well-well," ejaculated the Unwiseman in great surprise. "Why afollytone is one of those little boxes you have in the house with anumber like 7-2-3-J-Hokoben that you talk business into to some felleroff in Chicago or up in Boston. You just pour your words into the boxand they fall across a wire and go scooting along like lightning to thisperson you're talkin' to."

  "Oh," laughed Mollie. "You mean a telephone."

  "I call 'em follytones," said the Unwiseman coolly. "Your voice soundsso foolish over 'em. I never tried 'em but once"--here the old man beganto chuckle. "Somebody told me Philadelphia wanted me, and of course Iknew right away they were putting up a joke on me because I ain't nevermet Philadelphia and Philadelphia ain't never met me, so I just got alittle squirt gun and filled it up with water and squirted it into thebox. I guess whoever was trying to make me believe he was Philadelphiagot a good soaking that time."

  "I guess-smaybe-he-didn't," whistled Whistlebinkie.

  "Well he didn't get me anyhow," snapped the Unwiseman. "You don't catchme sending my voice to Philadelphia when the chances are I may need itany minute around here to frighten burgulars away with. The idea of aman's being so foolish as to send his voice way out to Chicago on a wirewith nobody to look after it, stumps me. But that ain't what we weretalking about."

  "No," said Mollie gravely. "We were talking about tasting days. You saidyou cooked them, I believe."

  "That's what I said," said the Unwiseman.

  "I never knew anybody else to do it," said Mollie. "What do you do itfor?"

  "Because I find raw days very uncomfortable," explained the Unwiseman."I prefer fried-days."

  "Everyday'll be Friday by and by," carolled Whistlebinkie.

  "It will with me," said the old man. "I was born on a Friday, I wasnever married on a Friday, and I dyed on Friday."

  "You never died, did you?" asked Mollie.

  "Of course I did," said the Unwiseman. "I used to have perfectly redhair and I dyed it gray so that young people like old Squeaky-hat herewould have more respect for me."

  "Do-choo-call-me-squeekyat!" cried Whistlebinkie angrily.

  "All right, Yawpy-tile, I won't--only----" the Unwiseman began.

  "Nor-yawpy-tile-neither," whistled Whistlebinkie, beginning to cry.

  "Here, here!" cried the Unwiseman. "Stop your crying. Just becauseyou're made of rubber and are waterproof ain't any reason for throwingtears on my floor. I won't have it. What do you want me to call you,Wheezikid?"

  "No," sobbed Whistlebinkie. "My name's--Whizzlebinkie."

  "Very well then," said the Unwiseman. "Let it be Fizzledinkie----onlyyou must show proper respect for my gray hairs. If you don't I'll havehad all my trouble dyeing for nothing."

  Whistlebinkie was about to retort, but Mollie perceiving only troublebetween her two little friends if they went on at this rate tried tochange the subject by going back to the original point of discussion."How do you taste a day to see if it's all right?" she asked.

  "I stick my tongue out the window," said the Unwiseman, "and it's a goodthing to do. I remember once down at the sea-shore a young lady asked meif I didn't think it was just a sweet day, and I stuck my tongue out ofthe window and it was just as salt as it could be. Tasted like a pickle.'No, ma'am, it ain't,' says I. 'Quite the opposite, it's quite briny,'says I. If I'd said it was sweet she'd have thought I was as much of aniggeramus as old Fizz----"

  "Do you always read your newspaper upside-down?" Mollie put in hastilyto keep the Unwiseman from again hurting Whistlebinkie's feelings.

  "Always," he replied. "I find it saves me a lot of money. You see thepaper lasts a great deal longer when you read it upside-down than whenyou read it upside-up. Reading it upside-up you can go through anewspaper in about a week, but when you read it upside-down it lastspretty nearly two months. I've been at work on that copy of the_Gazette_ six weeks now and I've only got as far as the third column ofthe second page from the end. I don't suppose I'll reach the news on thefirst column of page one much before three weeks from next Tuesday. Ithink it's very wasteful to buy a fresh paper every day when by readingit upside-down backwards you can make the old one last two months."

  "Do-bleeve-youkn-reada-tall," growled Whistlebinkie.

  "What's that?" cried the old man.

  "I-don't-be-lieve-you-can-read-at-all!" said Whistlebinkie.

  "O as for that," laughed the old man, "I never said I could. I don'ttake a newspaper to read anyhow. What's the use? Fill your head up witha lot of stuff it's a trouble to forget."

  "What _do_ you take it for?" asked Mollie, amazed at this confession.

  "I'm collecting commas and Qs," said the Unwiseman. "I always was fondof pollywogs and pug-dogs, and the commas are the living image ofpollywogs, and the letter Q always reminds me of a good natured pug-dogsitting down with his back turned toward me. I've made a tally sheet ofthis copy of the _Gazette_ and so far I've found nine thousand andfifty-three commas, and thirty-nine pugs."

  Whistlebinkie forg
ot his wrath in an explosion of mirth at this reply.He fairly rolled on the floor with laughter.

  "Don't be foolish, Fizzledinkie," said the Unwiseman severely. "A good Qis just as good as a pug-dog. He's just as fat, has a fine curly tailand he doesn't bite or keep you awake nights by barking at the moon ormake a nuisance of himself whining for chicken-bones while you areeating dinner; and as far as the commas are concerned they're bettereven than pollywogs, because they don't wiggle around so much or turninto bull-frogs and splash water all over the place."

  "There-raintenny-fleeson-cues-sneether," whistled Whistlebinkie.

  "I didn't catch that," said the Unwiseman. "Talk through your nose justonce and maybe I'll be able to guess what you're trying to say."

  "He says there are not any fleas on Qs," said Mollie with a reprovingglance at Whistlebinkie.

  "As to that I can't say," said the Unwiseman. "I never saw any--butanyhow I don't object to fleas on pug-dogs."

  "You don't?" cried Mollie. "Why they're horrid, Mr. Unwiseman. They biteyou all up."

  "Perfly-awful," whistled Whistlebinkie.

  "You're wrong about that," said the Unwiseman. "They don't bite you atall while they're on the pug-dog. It's only when they get on you thatthey bite you. That's why I say I don't mind 'em on the pug-dogs. Aslong as they stay there they don't hurt me."

  Here the Unwiseman rose from his chair and walking across the roomopened a cupboard and taking out an old clay pipe laid it on one of theandirons where a log was smouldering in the fire-place.

  "I always feel happier when I'm smoking my pipe," he said resuming hisseat and smiling pleasantly at Mollie.

  "Put it in the fire-place to warm it?" asked Whistlebinkie.

  "Of course not, Stupid," replied the Unwiseman scornfully. "I put it inthe fire-place to smoke it. That's the cheapest and healthiest way tosmoke a pipe. I don't have to buy any tobacco to keep it filled, and aslong as I leave it over there on the andiron I don't get any of thesmoke up my nose or down my throat. I tried it the other way once andthere wasn't any fun in it that I could see. The smoke got in all myflues and I didn't stop sneezing for a week. It was dreadful, and onceor twice I got scared and sent for the fire-engines to put me out. I wasso full of smoke it seemed to me I must be on fire. It wasn't so bad thefirst time because the firemen just laughed and went away, but thesecond time they came they got mad at what they called a second falsealarm and turned the hose on me. I tell you I was very much put out whenthey did that, and since that time I've given up smoking that way. Inever wanted to be a chimney anyhow. What's the use? If you're going tobe anything of that sort it's a great deal better to be an oven so thatsome kind cook-lady will keep filling you up with hot-biscuits, andsponge-cake, and roast turkey."

  "I should think so," said Mollie. "That's one of the nice things aboutbeing a little girl----you're not expected to smoke."

  "Well I don't know about that," said the Unwiseman. "Far as I canremember I never was a little girl so I don't know what was expected ofme as such, but as far as I'm concerned I'm perfectly willing to let thepipe get smoked in the fire-place, and keep my mouth for expressingthoughts and eating bananas and eclairs with, and my throat for givingthree cheers on the Fourth of July, and swallowing apple pie. That'swhat they were made for and hereafter that's what I'm going to use 'emfor. Where's Miss Flaxilocks?"

  Miss Flaxilocks was Mollie's little friend and almost constantcompanion, the French doll with the deepest of blue eyes and the richestof golden hair from which she got her name.

  "She couldn't come to-day," explained Mollie.

  "Stoo-wexited," whistled Whistlebinkie.

  "What's that?" asked the Unwiseman. "Sounds like a clogged-upradiator."

  "He means to say that she is too excited to come," said Mollie. "Thefact is, Mr. Unwiseman, we're all going abroad----"

  "Abroad?" demanded the Unwiseman. "Where's that?"

  "Hoh!" jeered Whistlebinkie. "Doesn't know where abroad is!"

  "How should I know where abroad is?" retorted the Unwiseman. "I neverhad any. What is it anyhow? A new kind of pie?"

  "No," laughed Mollie. "Abroad is Europe, and England and----"

  "And Swizz-izzer-land," put in Whistlebinkie.

  "Swizz-what?" cried the Unwiseman.

  "Switzerland," said Mollie. "It's Switzerland, Whistlebinkie."

  "Thass-watised, Swizz-izzerland," said Whistlebinkie.

  "What's the good of them?" asked the Unwiseman.

  "O they're nice places to visit," said Mollie.

  "Do you walk there?" asked the Unwiseman.

  "No--of course not," said Mollie with a smile. "They're thousands ofmiles away, across the ocean."

  "Across the ocean?" ejaculated the Unwiseman. "Mercy! Ain't the oceanthat wet place down around New Jersey somewhere?"

  "Yes," said Mollie. "The Atlantic Ocean."

  "Humph!" said the Unwiseman. "How you going to get across? There ain'tany bridges over it, are there?"

  "No indeed," said Mollie.

  "Nor no trolleys?" demanded the Unwiseman.

  Mollie's reply was a loud laugh, and Whistlebinkie whistled with glee.

  "Going in a balloon, I suppose," sneered the Unwiseman. "That is all ofyou but old Sizzerinktum here. I suppose he's going to try and jumpacross. Smart feller, old Sizzerinktum."

  "I ain't neither!" retorted Whistlebinkie.

  "Ain't neither what--smart?" said the Unwiseman.

  "No--ain't goin' to jump," said Whistlebinkie.

  "Good thing too," observed the Unwiseman approvingly. "If you did you'dbounce so high when you landed that _I_ don't believe you'd ever comedown."

  "We're going in a boat," said Mollie. "Not a row boat nor a sail boat,"she hastened to explain, "but a great big ocean steamer, large enough tocarry over a thousand people, and fast enough to cross in six days."

  "Silly sort of business," said the Unwiseman. "What's the good of goingto Europe and Swazzoozalum--or whatever the place is--when you haven'tseen Albany or Troy, or New Rochelle and Yonkers, or Michigan andPatterson?"

  "O well," said Mollie, "Papa's tired and he's going to take a vacationand we're all going along to help him rest, and Flaxilocks is so excitedabout going back to Paris where she was born that I have had to keep herin her crib all the time to keep her from getting nervousprocrastination."

  "I see," said the Unwiseman. "But I don't see why if people are tiredthey don't stay home and go to bed. That's the way to rest. Just lie inbed a couple of days without moving."

  "Yes," said Mollie. "But Papa needs the salt air to brace him up."

  "What of it?" demanded the Unwiseman. "Can't you get salt air withoutgoing across the ocean? Seems to me if you just fill up a pillow withsalt and sleep on that, the way you do on one of those pine-needlepillows from the Dadirondacks, you'd get all the salt air you wanted, orbuild a salt cellar under your house and run pipes from it up to yourbedroom to carry the air through."

  "It wouldn't be the same, at all," said Mollie. "Besides we're going tosee the Alps."

  "Oh--that's different. Of course if you're going to see the Alps that'svery different," said the Unwiseman. "I wouldn't mind seeing an Alp ortwo myself. I always was interested in animals. I've often wondered whythey never had any Alps at the Zoo."

  "I guess they're too big to bring over," said Mollie gravely.

  "Maybe so, but even then if they catch 'em young I don't see," began theUnwiseman.

  Whistlebinkie's behavior at this point was such that Mollie, fearing arenewal of the usual quarrel between her friends ran hastily on to theobject of their call and told the Unwiseman that they had come to bidhim good-bye.

  "I wish you were going with us," she said as she shook the oldgentleman's hand.

  "Thank you very much," he replied. "I suppose it would be nice, but Ihave too many other things to attend to and I don't see how I couldspare the time. In the first place I've got all those commas and Qs tolook after, and then if I went away there'd be nobody around to see thatmy pipe
was smoked every day, or to finish up my newspaper. Likewisealso too in addition the burgulars might get into my house some nightwhile I was away and take the wrong things because I haven't been ableyet to let 'em know just what I'm willing to have 'em run off with, soyou see how badly things would get mixed if I went away."

  "I suppose they would," sighed Mollie.

  "There'd be nobody here to exercise my umbrella on wet days, either,"continued the old gentleman, "or to see that the roof leaked just right,or to cook my meals and eat 'em. No--I don't just see how I _could_manage it." And so the old gentleman bade his visitors good-bye.

  "TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, FIZZLEDINKIE, AND DON'T BLOW TOOMUCH THROUGH THE TOP OF YOUR HAT"]

  "Take care of yourself, Fizzledinkie," he observed to Whistlebinkie,"and don't blow too much through the top of your hat. I've heard ofboats being upset by sudden squalls, and you might get the whole partyin trouble by the careless use of that hat of yours."

  Mollie and her companion with many waves of their hands back at theUnwiseman made off up the road homeward. The old gentleman gazed afterthem thoughtfully for awhile, and then returned to his work on hisnewspaper.

  "Queer people--some of 'em," he muttered as he cut out his ninety-ninthQ and noted the ten-thousand-six-hundred-and-thirty-eighth comma on hispollywog tally sheet. "Mighty queer. With a country of their own rightoutside their front door so big that they couldn't walk around it inless than forty-eight hours, they've got to go abroad just to see an oldAlp cavorting around in Whizzizalum or whatever else that placeWhistlebinkie was trying to talk about is named. I'd like to see an Alpmyself, but after all as long as there's plenty of elephants andrhinoceroses up at the Zoo what's the good of chasing around after otherqueer looking beasts getting your feet wet on the ocean, and having yourair served up with salt in it?"

  And as there was nobody about to enlighten the old gentleman on thesepoints he went to bed that night with his question unanswered.