“Golly,” said Freddy, “it seems almost like magic!”
Uncle Ulysses smiled orangely, and they all three stood entranced, listening to the beautiful full-bodied tones of a boogie-woogie symphony orchestra.
“It almost seems to hypmatize you!” Homer exclaimed as he listened to the music and watched the record spin and the lights shift slowly from one color to another.
Uncle Ulysses nodded proudly, and as the music ended on an odd minor boogie-woogie note, he watched tensely while some mysterious automatic fingers inside the jukebox silently slipped the record back into the stack.
“There,” he said, visibly relieved, “that works perfectly, and it stops perfectly! Here are a couple of nickels, boys, you can have some music while I’m gone.”
Homer and Freddy thanked Uncle Ulysses, and after he had gone off to the barbershop they sat silently for some moments, watching the colored lights inside the jukebox slowly change from one color to another.
“Hawh!” Freddy looked at Homer and smiled weakly. “You sure look funny, sitting over there in that green light!”
“Hawh yourself,” Homer answered. “You don’t look so hot either, specially when you’re turning blue all over! C’mon Freddy, have a doughnut, and let’s look at our library books.”
Homer and Freddy had finished their doughnuts and were trying to decide which books to read first and which to save until last when a stranger opened the door and stalked into the lunchroom.
“Good evening,” he said softly, brandishing a flat parcel and turning slowly from rosy pink to deep purple, along with the parcel and the lights in the jukebox.
“I have brought a recording to put in your jukebox,” he said, furiously fumbling with the strings and paper of his parcel. “It will be number one on the bit—” The stranger broke off suddenly and stood quietly in order to change colors and to compose himself.
Homer and Freddy changed colors, too, while they watched and waited silently.
Then the stranger, having calmed down to some extent, repeated, “It will be number one on the Hit Parade!” He finished undoing his package and produced a recording, which he carelessly tossed almost to the ceiling. Then he stood motionless, his arms dangling limp at his sides, watching it drop. The record landed with a crash! on the lunchroom floor. Homer and Freddy gasped, and the stranger laughed.
“Unbreakable!” he said, chuckling. He picked up the record and bent it almost double. “Absolutely, disgustingly unbreakable! I’ve tried to break it—goodness knows I’ve tried,” he said as though he were apologizing to Homer and Freddy. He then turned purposefully and unlocked the glass front of the jukebox. “I’ll put it right here between ‘Boogie Woogie Symphony’ and ‘Boogie Woogie Polka,’” he said, sliding the record into the stack. Then he quickly snapped the glass case shut and locked it with a flourish.
“There!” he said with great relief and a slight change of hue, “that’s that!”
The two boys felt relieved too. They had gotten over being startled by the sudden appearance of this odd stranger. Homer, remembering his job, put down the book he had been holding and went behind the counter.
“Would you care for a snack to eat, sir? A sandwich and a cup of coffee?” he asked. “Some nice fresh doughn—”
“Uht! Uht! Uht! Uht!” the stranger interrupted, wagging his finger violently, before Homer could finish saying “doughnuts.”
“I never, never eat them,” he confided. Then, leaning way over, he whispered, “They’re positively full of holes, you know! They’re simply full of whole holes!”
Homer thought about that for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. “How about a piece of pie, sir?” he asked pleasantly.
“Oh, me, oh, my!” the stranger gasped. “I never, never eat hip!” He hiccupped. “I never eat hip pie, because the very thought of hip pie makes me hip hiccup!”
Homer quickly filled a glass with water and handed it to the stranger. “Hold your breath and count to ten while you drink this!” he commanded. And the stranger meekly did as he was told. “That always cures my hiccups,” Homer explained.
“It cures my hiccups too,” said Freddy, “but I don’t get ’em from thinking about p—”
“Uht! Uht! Uht!” sputtered the stranger, waving an arm wildly and almost dropping the glass. He looked reproachfully at Freddy and then turned to Homer. “Thank you, young man, for curing my hiccups. I must go now, I really must be going,” he said, turning toward the door. He appeared anxious to be gone before something dreadful could happen.
“Hey, mister,” Freddy called, “you forgot to put a name for the new record here next to the selector buttons!”
“Oh,” said the stranger, pausing with his hand on the door, “it hasn’t any name. It’s—ah—just one of those things. And by the way,” he added, “don’t play it! I beg of you to never set needle to its black unbreakable surface, and never let its sounds escape from this beautiful, gaudy jukebox.” The stranger paused while Homer and Freddy nodded and gulped.
Suddenly, without the least trace of humor, the stranger laughed, “Hah, hah, hah!” and changed to a lovely shade of blue-green. “But you will,” he whispered, taking on an amethyst tinge. “Now, good night, my proud, parturient pair of panted Pandoras!”
Then the door closed ever so grass-green and softly.
“That character,” said Freddy after a long silence, “could make some little squirrel very happy. What did he mean, Homer, when he called us a ‘proud, parturient pair of panted Pandoras’? A Pandora is an animal, isn’t it? Why did that screwball call us a couple of proud animals with pants on?”
“You’re thinking of panda, Freddy,” said Homer. “But Pandora is a girl’s name.”
“He called us girls!” cried Freddy, doubling his fists in frustration. “Now, how’s that for a character! He calls you a girl with words over your word level!”
“He didn’t exactly call us girls, Freddy,” Homer said thoughtfully. “At least not just any old kind of girl. Pandora was somebody famous—like Pocahontas or Molly Pitcher. Seems as though I’ve read something about her doing something very special, but I can’t remember what. We have to find out exactly what this dame Pandora did before we’ll know exactly what he meant. It might be a sort of a clue, Freddy, and that word ‘parturient,’ mebbe we ought to find out what that means. I’ll match you, Freddy, to see who runs over to the library to look ’em up,” Homer suggested, producing a nickel from a pocket of his blue jeans and giving it an expert flip.
“Okay,” Freddy agreed, producing his nickel and flipping too.
“They’re both heads,” said Homer when they had uncovered their coins, “so you have to look ’em up, Freddy.”
“Well, all right, if you think it’s absolutely necessary, Homer, but I still think the guy was nuts. I’ll look up ‘parturient’ in the dictionary, but where will I look to find out about that Pandora dame?”
“She might be in the dictionary too,” Homer said, “but if she isn’t there, you’ll have to ask the librarian where to find her.”
“All that trouble to find out about some silly dame!” said Freddy disgustedly. Then he grumbled something about screwballs in general and went scuffling out of the door, muttering, “‘Proud, parturient pair of panted Pandoras!’ Cripes! The guy musta had ‘Ps’ for supper!”
* * *
“Did you get the dope, Freddy?” Homer asked expectantly when Freddy came scuffling back into the lunchroom.
“Yeah,” said Freddy, assuming the look of a martyr because of all the mental effort he had just put forth. “She was a dame, and she had a box that she wasn’t supposed to open the lid of, or let anything out of. And she did. And what came out was a lot of some kind of trouble things that must be extinct by now, because the whole thing happened such a long time ago. And ‘parturient,’” Freddy continued, “means ‘just about to let something out.’ So you see, Homer, first he tells us not to, then he tells us we will, then he tells us we shouldn’t, an
d then the screwball says we’re ‘parturient,’ and just about to! The guy was nuts, Homer. I’ll flip you to see who plays the record first.”
“Well,” said Homer doubtfully, “mebbe we better not—not until Uncle Ulysses comes back, anyway.”
“Shucks, Homer, what can happen from playing a record?” Freddy demanded. “All that can happen is it can sound awful, or something like that, and we can be ready to put our hands over our ears, just in case.”
Homer still looked doubtful, so Freddy said, “Grownups are always funny like that, anyway, Homer. You know that! They tell you not to listen to murders on the radio, and then give you a radio for Christmas. They tell you not to read comics, and they sell ’em like hotcakes. The sixth-grade teacher says, ‘No gentleman chews bubble gum,’ and her old man sells about a hundred sticks a day in his candy store. I don’t see why you should be afraid to play—”
“I’m not afraid to play it!” Homer interrupted hotly, because his pride had been hurt. He jammed his hand into his pocket and jerked out his nickel. Then he marched straight up to the jukebox, poked one of the buttons, the button, the one without a name, and jammed his nickel into the slot.
There was a loud cl-l-lick! and mysteriously and silently the disgustingly unbreakable record slid out of the stack and began to spin. Both Homer and Freddy watched out of the corners of their eyes, wondering what kind of a weird noise, or music, or even a scream might come blaring out of the jukebox. They stood poised, hands ready to clap over their ears, prepared to dash out of the door.
As the music began flowing out of the jukebox they sighed with relief and began to smile. It was only a gay little tune with a bouncing rhythm!
“That’s sure a surprise!” said Homer, happily changing colors and nodding his head in time with the music.
“There’s nothing wrong with that music!” said Freddy, beginning to tap his foot. “Golly, that’s a catchy tune!”
After a few more measures of the catchy rhythm, a song began coming out of the jukebox:
“Sing hi-diddle-diddle,
For a silly little vittle.
Sing get-gat-gittle,
Got a hole in the middle.
Sing dough-de-dough-dough,
There’s dough, you know.
There’s not no nuts
In you-know-whats.
In a whole doughnut
There’s a nice whole hole.
When you take a big bite,
Hold the whole hole tight.
If a little bit bitten,
Or a great bit bitten,
Any whole hole with a hole bitten in it,
Is a holey whole hole
And it JUST—PLAIN—ISN’T!”
After a few final measures of the catchy music the record stopped playing. Freddy cried, “That’s about the best tune I’ve ever heard, Homer, and the words are sort of good too. I’m gonna play that record again!”
Freddy deposited his nickel in the jukebox, and once more he and Homer nodded and tapped time to the tricky music and listened to the tricky words. Before the song was halfway through they were singing gaily along with the voice coming from the jukebox—
“In a whole doughnut
There’s a nice whole hole.
When you take a big bite,
Hold the whole hole tight.
If a little bit bitten,
Or a great bit bitten,
Any whole hole with a hole bitten in it,
Is a holey whole hole
And it JUST—PLAIN—ISN’T!”
“There just plain isn’t anything wrong with that record,” said Homer.
“Na-aw!” said Freddy. “The guy was nuts! Like you-know-whats!” Freddy giggled and hummed a few measures of the catchy tune.
“I could sit around,” said Homer, “for a holey whole day and not do a thing but listen to it play.”
“Say, Homer,” said Freddy, starting to laugh, “do you-know-whats? You’re talking a little vittle bit funny!”
“Hawh!” Homer grinned at Freddy. “You’re talking notes, just like music, and a little bit bitten funny too!”
“That’s not nut-nothing,” Freddy started to sing, “to get-gat-gittle excited about.”
“No, not a bit bitten,” Homer agreed.
“Not a little bit bitten,” Freddy sang.
“Or a great bit bitten,” Homer joined in.
“And any whole hole with a hole bitten in it, is a holey whole hole and it JUST PLAIN ISN’T!” They ended up singing as loud as they could sing and stamping time with their feet.
“That was just plain swell!” Freddy sang happily when they had finished.
“But, Freddy,” Homer sang sadly, “we’re a little bit bitten!”
“Or a great bit b—” Freddy stopped singing suddenly, and the smile faded slowly from his face. “Holey whole holy smoke!” he sang forte-forte.
“Yes, holey whole holy smoke,” Homer encored in a pathetic piano-piano.
* * *
The barber put down the cards he had been dealing to Uncle Ulysses, Posty Pratt, and the mayor. He answered the telephone, listened for a minute, and then called over his shoulder, “Pipe down for a minute, you guys. Got a bad connection or something. Oh, Homer, it’s you,” he said, finally recognizing Homer’s voice. “Yes, he’s here. I’ll call him to the phone.” He jerked his thumb at Ulysses. “Homer is on the line. Says you better get-gat-gittle back to the lunchroom. Funny thing,” the barber continued, “sounds just as though he were singing!”
“Hello, Homer,” said Uncle Ulysses. “What? What? What’s that you’re singin’?” He listened attentively for a while and then asked anxiously, “But the jukebox stops playin’ and singin’, doesn’t it? Oh, well,” said Uncle Ulysses soothingly as he regained his smile, “that’s nothing to worry a bit bitten about. For a minute I thought that the jukebox couldn’t stop! Say, Homer, that’s a good number you’re singin’,” Uncle Ulysses said. “Sing it just once more, please, from the beginning.”
Uncle Ulysses, with the receiver pressed tight to his ear, stood swaying and tapping time with one foot, then with two feet, and then he started singing:
“In a whole doughnut
There’s a nice whole hole.
When you take a big bite,
Hold the whole hole tight.
If a little bit bitten
Or a great bit bitten,
Any whole hole with a hole bitten in it,
Is a holey whole hole
And it JUST—PLAIN—ISN’T!”
“Thank you, Homer, that was just plain swell!” Uncle Ulysses complimented with a cadenza. Then he sang “Good-by!” and turned to the barber, the mayor, and Posty Pratt, singing, “Drop your cards and get all set, this song is swell for a male quartet!”
And it certainly was a swell song for a male quartet! After about three practice tries they rendered it in perfect four-part harmony. They sang it a little bit bitten better every time they sang it the holey whole hole way through. By the time that Uncle Ulysses and Posty Pratt discovered that they could not stop singing first and second tenor, and the mayor and the barber discovered that they could not stop singing alto and bass, they had already set a non-stop record for barbershop quarteting.
Finally four desperate men burst out of the barbershop, in the closest of close harmony, and went singing off in all directions.
When Uncle Ulysses came high-diddle-diddling through the door of the lunchroom he created a minor discord, until he started singing in the same key as Homer and Freddy and about two dozen or so after-the-movie customers. The customers, when they had first arrived in the lunchroom, had been very much taken by the charming little melody with the clever words that Homer and Freddy kept singing over and over again. One by one they too had joined in, and one by one they too had discovered that they could not stop singing the charming little melody with the clever words.
The soprano from the church choir was hitting A flat above high C and giving out with a get-gat-gittle
that made every piece of glassware in the lunchroom vibrate and tingle. She was being well supported with dough-de-dough-dough from a full mixed chorus of male and female voices of all ages, not to mention all colors, thanks to the jukebox and its tastefully contrived lights.
Never, no, never before had there been such a gay and carefree, downright enchanting song being sung by such a puzzled, downright unhappy gathering of people.
Homer was singing and singing, along with everybody else in the lunchroom. He was trying and trying, along with everybody else, to forget the clever words and the charming little melody. He tried singing another song, “Mary had a little vittle!” and couldn’t get-gat-gittle past the very first line before he was right back dough-de-dough-doughing at the very top of his lungs.
He looked anxiously around him at the faces of some of the more experienced singers, the soprano, the deacon, the dentist, and Uncle Ulysses, all people who had been singing for years and years and could be more or less depended upon to sing in the proper key. They could always be depended upon to stop when they came to the end of the song too. But not tonight! Tonight they couldn’t even slow down, let alone stop!
“What if we never stop!” Homer began to worry. “Somebody has to think of a cure,” he thought, so he began to think just as hard as his poor young song- and rhythm-racked mind could think. He remembered that something like this had happened to him once before. It was last September, when he had read a verse in a library book and couldn’t stop repeating it. He remembered that there was a cure in the story. Now if he could only recall the name of that book, or the name of that story! Several times during the past hour he had been ever so close to remembering, but then suddenly he was caught up again in the catchy rhythm of the jukebox song.