Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy Part 13

"Yes; but I don't think it's very funny," said Jimmieboy. "I like to laugh, you know, and I couldn't laugh at that."

"Oh!" said the silvery voice, with a slight tinge of disappointment in it. "You want fun do you? Well, how do you like this? I think it is the funniest thing ever written, except others by the same author:

"There was an old man in New York Who thought he'd been changed to a stork; He stood on one limb 'Til his eyesight grew dim, And used his left foot for a fork."

"That's the kind," said Jimmieboy, enthusiastically. "I could listen to a million of that sort of poems."

"I'd be very glad to tell you a million of them," returned the voice, "but I don't believe there's electricity enough for me to do it under twenty-five minutes, and as we only have five left, I'm going to recite my lines on 'A Sulphur Match.'

"The flame you make, O Sulphur Match!

When your big head I chance to scratch,

"Appears so small most people deem You lilliputian, as you seem.

"And yet the force that in you lies Can light with brilliance all the skies.

"There's strength enough in you to send Great cities burning to their end;

"So that we have a hint in you Of what the smallest thing can do.

"Don't you like that?" queried the voice, anxiously. "I do hope you do, because I am especially proud of that. The word lilliputian is a tremendous word for a poet of my size, and to think that I was able, alone and una.s.sisted, to lift it bodily out of the vocabulary into the poem makes me feel very, very proud of myself, and agree with my mother that I am the greatest poet that ever lived."

"Well, if you want me to, I'll like it," said Jimmieboy, who was in an accommodating mood. "I'll take your word for it that it is a tremendous poem, but if you think of repeating it over again to me, don't do it.

Let me have another comic poem."

"All right," said Pixyweevil--for it was he that spoke through the book.

"You are very kind to like my poem just to please me. Tell me anything in the world you want a poem about, and I'll let you have the poem."

"Really?" cried Jimmieboy, delighted to meet with so talented a person as Pixyweevil. "Well--let me see--I'd like a poem about my garden rake."

"Certainly. Here it is:

"I had a little garden rake With seven handsome teeth, It followed me o'er fern and brake, O'er meadow-land and heath.

"And though at it I'd often scowl, And treat it far from right, My garden rake would never growl, Nor use its teeth to bite."

"Elegant!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jimmieboy. "Say it again."

"Oh no! we haven't time for that. Besides, I've forgotten it. What else shall I recite about?" queried Pixyweevil.

"I don't know; I can't make up my mind," said Jimmieboy.

"Oh dear me! that's awful easy," returned Pixyweevil. "I can do that with my eyes shut. Here she goes:

"Shall I become a lawyer great, A captain of a yacht, A man who deals in real estate, A doctor, or a what?

Ah me! Oh ho!

I do not know.

I can't make up my mind.

"I have a penny. Shall I buy An apple or a tart?

A bit of toffee or a pie, A cat-boat or a cart?

Ah me! Oh ho!

I do not know.

I can't make up my mind."

"Splendid!" cried Jimmieboy.

"That's harder--much harder," said Pixyweevil, "but I'll try. How is this:

"I bought one day, in Winnipeg, A truly wondrous heavy egg; And when my homeward course was run I showed it to my little son.

'Dear me!' said he, When he did see, 'I think that hen did Splen-did-ly!'

"I saw a bird--'twas reddish-brown-- One day while in a country town, Which sang, 'Oh, Johnny, Get Your Gun;'

And when I told my little son, In tones of glee Said he, 'Dear me!

I think that wren did Splen-did-ly!"

"That's the best I can do with splendid," said Pixyweevil.

"Well, it's all you can do now, anyhow," came a voice from the doorway, which Jimmieboy immediately recognized as the Imp's; "for Jimmieboy's mamma has just telephoned that she wants him to come home right away."

"It was very nice, Mr. Pixyweevil," said Jimmieboy, as he rose to depart. "And I am very much obliged."

"Thank you," returned Pixyweevil. "You are very polite, and exceedingly truthful. I believe myself that, as that 'Splendid' poem might say, if it had time,

"I've truly ended Splen-did-ly."

And then Jimmieboy and the Imp pa.s.sed out of the library back through the music and cookery room. The Imp unlocked the door, and, fixing the wires, sent Jimmieboy sliding gleefully down to the back hall, whence he had originally entered the little telephone closet.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HULLO!" SAID HIS PAPA. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"]

"Hullo!" said his papa. "Where have you been?"

"Having a good time," said Jimmieboy.

"And what have you done with the key of my cigar-box?"

"Oh, I forgot," said Jimmieboy. "I left it in the telephone door."

"What a queer place to leave it," said his papa. "Let me have it, please, for I want to smoke."

And Jimmieboy went to get it, and, sure enough, there it was in the little box, and it unlocked it, too; but when his father came to open the door and look inside, the Imp had disappeared.

CAUGHT IN TOYTOWN