Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy Part 10

"Full of despair threw herself down at the foot of that very oak and cried like a baby," continued Jimmieboy, ecstatically, for this was one of his favorite stories.

"Yes, that's all there; and then you remember how it winds up? How the tree shuddered as her tears fell to the ground, and how she thought it was the breeze blowing through the branches that made it shudder?" said the Imp.

"And how the brook laughed at her thinking such a thing!" put in Jimmieboy.

"And how she cried some more, until finally every root of the tree was wet with her tears, and how the tree then gave a fearful shake, and--"

"Turned into Pixyweevil!" roared Jimmieboy. "Yes, I remember that; but I never really understood whether Pixyweevil ever became King? My book says, 'And so they were married, and were happy ever afterwards;' but doesn't say that he finally became a great potteringtate, and ruled over the people forever."

"I guess you mean potentate, don't you?" said the Imp, with a laugh--potteringtate seemed such a funny word.

"I guess so," said Jimmieboy. "Did he ever become one of those?"

"No, he didn't," said the Imp. "He couldn't, and live happy ever afterwards, for Kings don't get much happiness in this world, you know."

"Why, I thought they did," returned Jimmieboy, surprised to hear what the Imp had said. "My idea of a King was that he was a man who could eat between meals, and go to the circus whenever he wanted to, and always had plenty of money to spend, and a beautiful Queen."

"Oh no," returned the Imp. "It isn't so at all. Kings really have a very hard time. They have to be dressed up all the time in their best clothes, and never get a chance, as you do, for instance, to play in the snow, or in summer in the sand at the seash.o.r.e. They can eat between meals if they want to, but they can't have the nice things you have. It would never do for a King to like ginger-snaps and cookies, because the people would murmur and say, 'Here--he is not of royal birth, for even we, the common people, eat ginger-snaps and cookies between meals; were he the true King he would call for green peas in wintertime, and boned turkey, and other rich stuffs that cost much money, and are hard to get; he is an impostor; come, let us overthrow him.' That's the hard part of it, you see. He has to eat things that make him ill just to keep the people thinking he is royal and not like them."

"Then what did Pixyweevil become?" asked Jimmieboy.

"A poet," said the Imp. "He became the poet of everyday things, and of course that made him a great poet. He'd write about plain and ordinary good-natured puppy-dogs, and snow-shovels, and other things like that, instead of trying to get the whole moon into a four-line poem, or to describe some mysterious thing that he didn't know much about in a ten-page poem that made it more mysterious than ever, and showed how little he really did know about it."

"I wish I could have heard some of Pixyweevil's poems," said Jimmieboy.

"I liked him, and sometimes I like poems."

"Well, sit down there before the fire, and I'll see if we can't find a b.u.t.ton to press that will enable you to hear them. They're most of 'em nonsense poems, but as they are perfect nonsense they're good nonsense.

"It is some time since I've used the library," the Imp continued, gazing about him as if in search of some particular object. "For that reason I have forgotten where everything is. However, we can hunt for what we want until we find it. Perhaps this is it," he added, grasping a wire and fastening it to the battery. "I'll turn on the current and let her go."

The crank was turned, and the two little fellows listened very intently, but there came no sound whatever.

"That's very strange," said the Imp. "I don't hear a thing."

"Neither do I," observed Jimmieboy, in a tone of disappointment.

"Perhaps the library is out of order, or the battery may be."

"I'll have to take the wire and follow it along until I come to the book it is attached to," said the Imp, stopping the current and loosening the wire. "If the library is out of order it's going to be a very serious matter getting it all right again, because we have all the books in the world here, and that's a good many, you know--more'n a hundred by several millions. Ah! Here is the book this wire worked. Now let's see what was the matter."

In a moment the whole room rang with the Imp's laughter.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "NO WONDER IT WOULDN'T SAY ANYTHING," HE CRIED.]

"No wonder it wouldn't say anything," he cried. "What do you suppose the book was?"

"I don't know," said Jimmieboy. "What?"

"An old copy-book with nothing in it. That's pretty good!"

At this moment the telephone bell rang, and the Imp had to go see what was wanted.

"Excuse me for a moment, Jimmieboy," he said, as he started to leave the room. "I've got to send a message for somebody. I'll turn on one of the picture-books, so that while I am gone you will have something to look at."

The Imp then fastened a wire to the battery, turned on the current, and directing Jimmieboy's attention to the sheet of white canvas at the end of the library, left the room.

V

_THE CIRCUS_

The pictures that now followed one another across the canvas were better than any circus Jimmieboy ever went to, for the reason that they showed a water circus in which were the finest imaginable sea-monsters doing all sorts of marvellous things; and then, too, the book the Imp had turned on evidently had some reading matter in it, for as the pictures pa.s.sed before the little fellow's eyes he could hear verses describing what was going on, repeating themselves from a shelf directly back of him.

First of all in the circus was the grand parade. A great big gilded band-wagon drawn by gayly caparisoned Sea-Horses went first, and then Jimmieboy could judge how much better electric circus books were than those he had in his nursery, for this book was able to do what his had never done--it furnished music to go with the band--and such music as it was! It had all the pleasant features of the hand-organ; was as soft and sweet in parts as the music-box in the white-and-gold parlor, and once in a while would play deliciously out of tune like a real circus band.

After the band-wagon there followed the most amusing things that Jimmieboy ever saw, the Trick Oysters, twelve in number, and all on foot. Next came the mounted Scallops, riding ten abreast on superbly groomed Turtles, holding the bridle of each of which walked Lobsters dressed as Clowns. Then came the menagerie, with great Sea-Lions swimming in tanks on wheels; marine Giraffes standing up to their necks in water forty feet deep; four-legged Whales, like the Oysters, on foot, and hundreds of other queer fish, all doing things Jimmieboy had never supposed they could do.

When the parade was over a great circus ring showed itself upon the canvas, and as strains of lovely music came from the left of the tent the book on the shelf began to recite:

"The Codfish walks around, The Ba.s.s begins to sing; The Whitebait 'round the Terrapin's cage Would better get out of the ring.

The Gudgeon is the fish That goes to all the shows, He swims up to the Teredos And tweaks him by the nose."

"That Gudgeon must have been a sort of Van Amberg," thought Jimmieboy.

"He did brave things like that."

Then the book went on again:

"The Oyster now will please come forth And show the people here Just how he stands upon his head And then doth disappear."

This interested Jimmieboy very much, and he watched the canvas intently as one of the Trick Oysters walked out into the ring, and after kissing his hand to Jimmieboy and bowing to the rest of the audience--if there were any to bow to, and Jimmieboy supposed there must be, for the Oyster certainly bowed--he stood upon his head, and then without a word vanished from sight.

"Hooray!" shouted Jimmieboy, whereupon the book resumed:

"Now watch the ring intently, for The Sea-Giraffe now comes, And without any effort turns A plum-cake into crumbs."

"Huh!" cried Jimmieboy, as he watched the Sea-Giraffe turn the plum-cake into crumbs. "That isn't anything to do. I could do that myself, and make the plum-cake and the crumbs disappear too."

The book, of course, could not reply to this criticism, and so went right on.

"The Lobster and the Shark will now Amuse the little folks By making here, before their eyes, Some rhymes and funny jokes."

When the book had said this there appeared on the canvas a really handsome Shark clad in a dress suit and a tall hat on his head, followed closely by a Lobster wearing a jester's coat and cap and bells, and bearing in his hand a little stick with Punch's head on the end of it.

"How do you do?" the Lobster seemed to say, as he reached out his claw and grabbed the Shark by his right fin.

"Sir," returned the Shark,

"If you would really like to know, I'm very glad to say That I am feeling pretty fine, And think 'twill snow to-day."