The Zankiwank and The Bletherwitch Part 11

Now came the third and last verse:--

His prophesies got all mixed and mulled, The Moon began to blink; And all his faculties were dulled When he saw the Dog Star wink!

And up on the steeple tall and black The Weather c.o.c.k he crew!

He crew and he crowed till he fell in the road, O c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!

And sure enough the Weather c.o.c.k did tumble into the road, and the Clerk of the Weather and the Zankiw.a.n.k tumbled helter skelter after him.

Immediately they got up again and rushed through the window, and catching hold of the children, they whirled them round and round, singing the final chorus all together:--

O c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!

The weather will be fine-- If lightning does not flash on high, Nor gloomy be the azure sky, And the sun peeps out to s.h.i.+ne.

After which they all disappeared except the Zankiw.a.n.k, and once again they found themselves in the street.

"They were both wrong," muttered the Zankiw.a.n.k to himself, "and yet one was right."

"How could they both be wrong then? One was right? Very well. Then only one was wrong," corrected Maude.

"No, they were both wrong--because I was the right one after all.

Besides, you can't always prove a negative, can you?"

"How tiresome of you! You only mentioned two and now say three. I do not believe you know what you do mean."

"Not often, sometimes, by accident, you know--only do not tell anybody else."

"You are certainly very extraordinary persons--that is all I can say,"

said Willie. "You do not do anything quite rationally or naturally."

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"Naturally. Why should we? We are the great Middle Cla.s.ses--neither alive nor dead. Betwixt and between. Half and half, you know, for now we are in the Spirit World only known to poets and children. But do come along, or the bicycles will start without us, and we have an appointment to keep."

Now, how could one even try to tell such an eccentric creature as the Zankiw.a.n.k that he was all wrong and talking fables and fibs and tarra-diddles? Neither of them attempted to correct these erroneous ideas, but wondering where they were going next, Maude and Willie mounted the bicycles that came as if by magic, and rode off at a terrific rate, though they had never ridden a machine before.

They were almost out of breath when the Zankiw.a.n.k called out "stop," and away went the bicycles, and they found themselves standing in front of an immense edifice with a sign-board swinging from the gambrel roof, on which was painted in large golden letters--

TIME WAS MEANT FOR SLAVES.

There was no opportunity to ascertain what the sign meant, for all at once there darted out of the shop Mr Swinglebinks with whom they had travelled from Charing Cross.

"Don't waste your time like that! Make haste, let me have five minutes.

I am in a hurry."

"Have you got five minutes to spare?" asked the Zankiw.a.n.k of Maude.

"Oh yes," she replied. "Why?"

"Let me have them at once then. A gentleman left twenty-five minutes behind him yesterday and I want to make up half-an-hour for a regular customer!" screamed Mr Swinglebinks to the bewildered children.

"But--but--O what do you mean? I have got five minutes to spare and I'll devote them to you if you like, but I _can't_ give them to you as though they were a piece of toffee," answered Maude with much perplexity, while Willie stood awe-struck, not comprehending Mr Swinglebinks in the least.

"Time is a tough customer, you know. He is here, he is there, he is gone! He is, he was, he will be. Yet you cannot trap Time, for he is like a sunbeam," muttered the Zankiw.a.n.k as though he never was short of Time.

"There, that five minutes is gone--wasted, pa.s.sed into the vast vacuum of eternity! With my friend Shakespeare of Stratford-on-Avon I can tell you all about time! 'Time travels in divers paces with divers persons.

I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal!' Oh, I know Father Time and all his tricks. I have counted the Sands of Time. I supply him with his Hour Gla.s.s. Don't you apprehend me?"

They certainly did not. Mr Swinglebinks was more mystifying than all the other persons they had encountered put together. So they made no reply.

"I am collecting Time. Time, so my copy books told me, was meant for Slaves. I always felt sorry for the Slaves. They have no Time, you know, because it is meant for them. Lots of things are meant for you, only you won't get them. Britons never will be Slaves, so they'll never want for Time. However, as Time was meant for Slaves, I mean to let them have as much as I can. So every spare minute or two I can get, I of course send them over to them."

"It is ridiculous. You cannot measure time and cut off a bit like that,"

ventured Willie.

"Oh yes, you can. A client of mine was laid up the other day--in fact he was in bed for a fortnight, so, as he had no use for the time he had on hand before him, he just went to sleep and sent ten days round to me!"

"Oh, Mr Zankiw.a.n.k, what is this gentleman saying?" said Maude.

"It's all perfectly true," answered the Zankiw.a.n.k. "You often hear of somebody who has half an hour to spare, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Very good. Sometimes you will hear, too, of somebody who has lost ten minutes."

"I see," said Willie.

"And somebody else will tell you they do not know what to do with their Time?"

"Go on," cried both children, more puzzled than ever.

"Well, instead of letting all the Time be wasted, Mr Swinglebinks has opened his exchange to receive all the spare time he can, and this he distributes amongst those who want an hour or a day or a week. But they have to pay for it----"

"Pay for it?"

"Time is money," called out Mr Swinglebinks.

"There you are. If Time is money you can exchange Time for money and money for Time. Is not that feasible?"

Did anybody ever hear of such queer notions? Maude and Willie were quite tired through trying to think the matter out.

Time was meant for slaves.--Time is money.--Time and Tide wait for no man.--Take Time when Time is.--Take Time by the forelock.--Procrastination is the thief of Time.--Killing Time is no murder.--Saving Time is no crime. As quick as thought Mr Swinglebinks exhibited these statements on his swinging sign, one after the other, and then he came to them once again.

"Are you convinced now? Let me have a quarter of an hour to send to the poor slaves. Time was meant for them, you know, and you are using their property without acknowledgment!"

The Zankiw.a.n.k looked on as wise as an owl, but said nothing.

"Dear me, how you are wasting your time sitting there doing nothing!"

said Mr Swinglebinks distractedly. "Time is money--Time is money. Give me some of the Time you are losing."

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