Davy and The Goblin Part 11

Here the Goat, who apparently had been carefully thinking the matter over, said in a low, quavering voice, "Must all the halves be of the same size?"

"Certainly not," said Robinson, promptly; then, nudging Davy with his elbow, he whispered, "He's bringing his mind to bear on it. He's prodigious when he gets started!"

"Who taught him arithmetic?" said Davy, who was beginning to think Robinson didn't know much about it himself.

"Well, the fact is," said Robinson, confidentially, "he picked it up from an old Adder, that he met in the woods."

Here the Goat, who evidently was not yet quite started, inquired, "Must all the halves be of the same shape?"

"Not at all," said Robinson, cheerfully. "Have 'em any shape you like."

"Then I give it up," said the Goat.

"So do I," said the Dog.

"And I," said the Cat.

"Me, too," said the Parrot.

"Well!" exclaimed Davy, quite out of patience. "You are certainly the stupidest lot of creatures I ever saw."

At this the animals stared mournfully at him for a moment, and then rose up and walked gravely away.

"Now you've spoiled the exercises," said Robinson, peevishly. "I'm sorry I gave 'em such a staggerer to begin with."

"Pooh!" said Davy, contemptuously. "If they couldn't do that sum they couldn't do anything."

Robinson gazed at him admiringly for a moment, and then, looking cautiously about him, to make sure that the procession was out of hearing, said coaxingly:--

"What's the right answer? Tell us, like a good fellow."

"Two, of course," said Davy.

"Is that all?" exclaimed Robinson, in a tone of great astonishment.

"Certainly," said Davy, who began to feel very proud of his learning.

"Don't you know that when they divide a whole into four parts they call them fourths, and when they divide it into two parts they call them halves?"

"Why don't they call them tooths?" said Robinson, obstinately. "The fact is, they ought to call 'em teeth. That's what puzzled the Goat. Next time I'll say, 'How many teeth in a whole?'"

"Then the Cat will ask if it's a rat-hole," said Davy, laughing at the idea.

"You positively convulse me, you're so very humorous," said Robinson, without a vestige of a smile. "You're almost as droll as Friday was. He used to call the Goat 'Pat,' because he said he was a little b.u.t.ter. I told him that was altogether too funny for a lonely place like this, and he went away and joined the minstrels."

Here Robinson suddenly turned pale, and, hastily reaching out for his gun, sprang to his feet.

Davy looked out to sea, and saw that the clock, with the Goblin standing in the stern, had come in sight again, and was heading directly for the sh.o.r.e with tremendous speed. The poor Goblin, who had turned sea-green in color, was frantically waving his hands to and fro, as if motioning for the beach to get out of the way; and Davy watched his approach with the greatest anxiety. Meanwhile the animals had mounted on four sand-hills, and were solemnly looking on, while Robinson, who seemed to have run out of tooth-powder, was hurriedly loading his gun with sand.

The next moment the clock struck the beach with great force, and, turning completely over on the sand, buried the Goblin beneath it.

Robinson was just making a convulsive effort to fire off his gun, when the clock began striking loudly, and he and the animals fled in all directions in the wildest dismay.

CHAPTER XII.

A WHALE IN A WAISTCOAT.

Davy rushed up to the clock, and, pulling open the little door in the front of it, looked inside. To his great disappointment the Goblin had again disappeared, and there was a smooth, round hole running down into the sand, as though he had gone directly through the beach. He was listening at this hole, in the hope of hearing from the Goblin, when a voice said, "I suppose that's what they call going into the interior of the country;" and, looking up, he saw the Hole-keeper sitting on a little mound in the sand, with his great book in his lap.

The little man had evidently been having a hard time since Davy had seen him. His complexion had quite lost its beautiful transparency, and his jaunty little paper tunic was sadly rumpled, and, moreover, he had lost his c.o.c.ked hat. All this, however, had not at all disturbed his complacent conceit; he was, if anything, more pompous than ever.

"How did _you_ get here?" asked Davy, in astonishment.

"I'm banished," said the Hole-keeper, cheerfully. "That's better than being boiled, any day. Did you give Robinson my letter?"

"Yes, I did," said Davy, as they walked along the beach together; "but I got it very wet coming here."

"That was quite right," said the Hole-keeper. "There's nothing so tiresome as a dry letter. Well, I suppose Robinson is expecting me by this time, isn't he?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," said Davy. "He didn't say that he was expecting you."

"He _must_ be," said the Hole-keeper, positively. "I never even mentioned it in my letter; so, of course, he'll know I'm coming. By the way," he added, hurriedly opening his book, and staring anxiously at one of the blank pages, "there isn't a word in here about Billyweazles. This place must be full of 'em."

"What are they?" said Davy.

"They're great pink birds, without any feathers on 'em," replied the Hole-keeper, solemnly. "And they're particularly fond of sugar. That's the worst thing about 'em."

"I don't think there's anything very wicked in that," said Davy.

"Oh! of course _you_ don't," said the Hole-keeper, fretfully. "But you see I haven't any trowsers on, and I don't fancy having a lot of strange Billyweazles nibbling at my legs. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like to run away from here."

"Very well," said Davy, who was himself beginning to feel rather nervous about the Billyweazles, and accordingly he and the Hole-keeper started off along the beach as fast as they could run.

Presently the Hole-keeper stopped short and said, faintly, "It strikes me the sun is very hot here."

The sun certainly was very hot, and Davy, looking at the Hole-keeper as he said this, saw that his face was gradually and very curiously losing its expression, and that his nose had almost entirely disappeared.

"What's the matter?" inquired Davy, anxiously.

"The matter is that I'm going back into the raw material," said the Hole-keeper, dropping his book, and sitting down helplessly in the sand.

"See here, Frinkles," he continued, beginning to speak very thickly; "wrap me up in my s.h.i.+rt and mark the packish distingly. Take off s.h.i.+r quigly!" and Davy had just time to pull the poor creature's s.h.i.+rt over his head and spread it quickly on the beach, when the Hole-keeper fell down, rolled over upon the garment, and, bubbling once or twice, as if he were boiling, melted away into a compact lump of brown sugar.

Davy was deeply affected by this sad incident, and, though he had never really liked the Hole-keeper, he could hardly keep back his tears as he wrapped up the lump in the paper s.h.i.+rt and laid it carefully on the big book. In fact, he was so disturbed in his mind that he was on the point of going away without marking the package, when, looking over his shoulder, he suddenly caught sight of the c.o.c.kalorum standing close beside him, carefully holding an inkstand, with a pen in it, in one of his claws.

"Oh! thank you very much," said Davy, taking the pen and dipping it in the ink. "And will you please tell me his name?"

The c.o.c.kalorum, who still had his head done up in flannel, and was looking rather ill, paused for a moment to reflect, and then murmured, "Mark him '_Confectionery._'"