XI. The Unwiseman's New Business.In which the Old Gentleman and Mollie and Whistlebinkie start on theirtravels.
"I]
have at last found something to do," he said, as he locked the eclaireup in the drawer, "which will provide me in my old age with all theeclaires I need, with possibly one or two left over for my friends."
"Thassnice," whistled Whistlebinkie.
"Yes," said the Unwiseman. "It's very nice, particularly if you are oneof my friends, and come in for your share of the left-overeclaires--as, of course, you and Mollie will do. It all grew out of mypotery business, too. You see, I didn't find that people who wantedpotery ever bought it from a street-corner stand, but from regularpotery peddlers, who go around to the newspaper offices and magazineswith it, done up in a small hand-bag. So I gave up the stand and made asmall snatchel----"
"A small what?" demanded Mollie.
"A small snatchel," repeated the Unwiseman. "A snatchel is a bag with ahandle to it."
"Oh--I know. You mean a satchel," said Mollie.
"Maybe I do," observed the Unwiseman. "But I thought the word wassnatchel, because it was a thing you could snatch up hurriedly and runto catch a train with. Anyhow, I made one and put some four or fivepounds of potery in it, and started out to sell it. The first place Iwent to they said they liked my potery very much, but they couldn't useit because it didn't advertise anything. They wanted sonnets about thebest kind of soap that ever was; or what they called a hook-and-eyelyric; or perhaps a few quatrains about baking-powders, or tooth-wash,or some kind of silver-polish. People don't read poems about mysteriesand little red school-houses, and patriotism any more, they said; but ifa real poet should write about a new kind of a clothes-wringer or apatent pickle he'd make a fortune, because he'd get his work publishedon fences and in railroad cars, which everybody sees, instead of inmagazines that nobody reads."
"I've seen lots of those kinds of poems," said Mollie.
"They're mighty good reading, too," said Whistlebinkie. "And is thatwhat you are going to do?"
"They'd pay for it when they published it."]
"Not I!" retorted the Unwiseman, scornfully. "No, indeed, I'm not.Shakespeare never did such a thing, and I don't believe Milton dideither, and certainly I shall not try it. The next place I went to theysaid they liked my potery well enough to print it, but I'd have to payfor having it done, which was very hard, because I hadn't any money. Thenext place they took a sonnet and said they'd pay for it when theypublished it, and when I asked when that would be, they said in aboutthirty-seven years."
"Mercy!" cried Mollie.
"That's what I said," said the Unwiseman, ruefully. "So again I went onuntil I found an editor who was a lovely man. He read all my thingsthrough, and when he'd finished he said he judged from the quality of mypotery I must be a splendid writer of prose."
Whistlebinkie laughed softly.
"Yes," said the Unwiseman, "that's what he said. 'Mr. Unwiseman,' saidhe, 'after reading your poetry, it seems to me your _forte_ is prose.'And I told him perhaps he was right, though I didn't know what he meant.At any rate, he was very good to me, and asked me where I lived, and allthat. When I told him that I lived everywhere; how I just moved my housearound to suit myself, and lived one day here and another day inIllinois, and another in Kamschatka, he grew interested at once."
"I should think he might," put in Mollie. "I didn't know you could moveas far as Kamschatka."
"Certainly I can," said the Unwiseman; "and in a way that is what I amgoing to do. I have been engaged to travel in various parts of the worldjust by moving my house around at will, and what I see and do undersuch circumstances I am to write up for that editor's paper."
"Why it's perfectly splendid!" cried Mollie, clapping her hands togetherwith glee at the very idea. "I wish I could go with you."
"Me too!" whistled Whistlebinkie.
"Woof--woof!" barked Gyp, which the Unwiseman took to mean that Gypwished also to be included.
"All right," said the Unwiseman. "I've no objection."
"I don't know what they'd say at home," said Mollie, as she thought ofpossible objections to the trip.
"Why they won't say anything," said the Unwiseman. "I'll only travelafternoons. We'll be back every day by six o'clock, and I don't supposewe'll start much before three. This house is a rapid traveller once shegets started. Just wait a minute and I'll show you. Sit tight in yourchairs now. One--two--three--LET HER GO!"
"The house, whizzed rapidly through the air."]
The old gentleman touched a button in the wall. The house shookviolently for a second, apparently whizzed rapidly through the air, ifthe whistling of the wind outside meant anything, and then suddenly,with a thump and a bump, came to a standstill.
"Here we are," said the Unwiseman, opening the door. "Come outside."
The little party emerged, and Mollie was amazed to find herself standingon the top of a wonderful hill gazing out over the waters of abeautiful body of water of the most heavenly blue. At her feet a littleyellowish city nestled into the hillside, and across a strip of silverywater was a huge and frowning fortress.
"This, Miss Whistlebinkie, is the city of Havana," said the Unwiseman tothe astonished little maid. "You have come all the way from home to Cubain five seconds--a distance of 1200 miles. So you see we can do all ourtravelling in the afternoons, and without your being away from your homeany more than you naturally are during your play-time hours."
Mollie made no answer for a moment. She was too astonished to speak.Whistlebinkie was the first to recover, and he was not long inexpressing his sentiments.
"Imagoin'," he whistled.
Gyp barked a similar resolution, whereupon Mollie said she'd see.
"But let us hurry back home again," she added, somewhat anxiously. Shedid not quite like being so far away from home without her motherknowing it.
"Certainly," said the Unwiseman, touching the button again. The violentshaking and whizzing sounds were repeated, and again, with a thump and abump, the house came to a standstill. The Unwiseman opened the frontdoor, and there they were, safe and sound, in the back yard of Mollie'shome.
That night the little girl told the story of the day's adventure to herfather, and he said that, under the circumstances, he had not theslightest objection to her making the grand tour of the world.
"Only," he said, "you must remember, dear, to be home to supper. Even ifyou find yourself at the coronation of a king, remember that it is yourduty to be punctual at your meals. London, Paris, Pekin, or Kalamazooare always ready to be seen, night or day, no matter what the time, butbreakfast, dinner, and supper do not go on forever, and are served onlyat stated hours."
And so Mollie and Gyp and Whistlebinkie joined in the adventures of theUnwiseman Abroad, and, in point of fact, they started off that veryafternoon, though what they saw I do not know, for I have notencountered them since. I only know that their journey was safelyaccomplished, and that they all got home that night without harm, forMollie's papa told me so. He also told me, in confidence, that I mighthope soon to hear some remarkable tales on the subject of theiradventures; and if I do, I shall not fail to let you in turn hear whathappened to "MOLLIE AND THE UNWISEMAN ABROAD."
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