Mollie and the Unwiseman Abroad

"Yes I could," said the Unwiseman with a frown, "but I won't – but you can go out on the street and breathe two dollars worth of fresh air any time you want to and have it charged to my account."

Mollie laughed merrily at the Unwiseman's retort, and Whistlebinkie for the time being had nothing to say, or whistle either for that matter.

"You missed a lot of interesting scenery on the way up, Mr. Me," said Mollie.

"No I didn't," said the Unwiseman. "I heard it all as it went by, and that's good enough for me. I'd just as lief hear a thing as see it any day. I saw some music once and it wasn't half as pretty to look at as it was when I heard it, and it's the same way about scenery if you only get your mind fixed up so that you can enjoy it that way. Somehow or other it didn't sound so very different from the scenery I've heard at home, and that's one thing that made me like it. I'm very fond of sitting quietly in my little room at home and listening to the landscape when the moon is up and the stars are out, and no end of times as we rattled along from Liverpool to London it sounded just like things do over in America, especially when we came to the switches at the railroad conjunctions. Don't they rattle beautifully!"

"They certainly do!" said Whistlebinkie, prompted largely by a desire to get back into the good graces of the Unwiseman. "I love it when we bump over them so hard they make-smee-wissle."

"You're all right when you whistle, Fizzledinkie," smiled the Unwiseman. "It's only when you try to talk that you are not all that you should be. Woyds and you get sort of tangled up and I haven't got time to ravel you out. But I say, Mollie, we're really in London are we?"

"Yes," said Mollie. "This is it."

"Well I guess I'll go out and see what there is about it that makes people want to come here," said the Unwiseman. "I've got a list of things I want to see, and the sooner I get to work the sooner I'll see 'em. First thing I want to get a sight of is a real London fog. Then of course I want to go down to the Aquarium and see the Prince of Whales, and call on the King and Queen, and meet a few Dukes, and Earls and things like that. Then there's the British Museum. I'm told there is a lot of very interesting things down there including some Egyptian mummies that are passing their declining years there. I've never talked to a mummy in my life and I'd rather like to meet a few of 'em. I wonder if Dick Whittington's cat is still living."

"O I don't believe so," said Mollie. "He must have died long years ago."

"The first time and maybe the second or third or even the fourth time," said the Unwiseman. "But cats have nine lives and if he lived fifty years for each of them that would be – let's see, four times nine is eighteen, three times two is ten, carry four and – "

"It would be 450 years," laughed Mollie.

"Pretty old cat," said Whistlebinkie.

"Well there's no harm in asking anyhow, and if he is alive I'm going to see him, and if he isn't the chances are they've had him stuffed and a stuffed cat is better to look at than no cat at all," said the Unwiseman, brushing off his hat preparatory to going out. "Come on, Mollie – are you ready?"

The little party trudged down the stairs and out upon the avenue upon which their hotel fronted.

"Guess we'd better take a hansom," said the Unwiseman as they emerged from the door. "We'll save time going that way if the driver knows his business. We'll just tell him to go where we want to go, and in that way we won't have to keep asking these Roberts the way round."

"Roberts?" asked Mollie, forgetting the little incident at Liverpool.

"Oh well – the Bobbies – the pleecemen," replied the Unwiseman. "I want to get used to 'em before I call them that."

So they all climbed into a hansom cab.

"Where to, sir?" asked the cabby, through the little hole in the roof.

"Well I suppose we ought to call on the King first," said the Unwiseman to Mollie. "Don't you?"

"I guess so," said Mollie timidly.

"To the King's," said the Unwiseman, through the little hole.

"Beg pardon!" replied the astonished cabby.

"Don't mention it," said the Unwiseman. "Drive to the King's house first and apologize afterwards."

"I only wanted to know where you wished to go, sir," said the cabby.

"The King's, stupid," roared the Unwiseman, "Mr. Edward S. King's – didn't you ever hear of him?"

"To the Palace, sir?" asked the driver.

"Of course unless his h. r. h. is living in a tent somewhere – and hurry up. We didn't engage you for the pleasures of conversation, but to drive us," said the Unwiseman severely.

The amazed cabman whipped up his horse and a short while afterwards reached Buckingham Palace, the home of the King and Queen in London. At either side of the gate was a tall sentry box, and a magnificent red-coated soldier with a high bear-skin shako on his head paced along the path.

"There he is now," said the Unwiseman, excitedly, pointing at the guard. "Isn't he a magnificent sight. Come along and I'll introduce you."

The Unwiseman leapt jauntily out of the hansom and Mollie and Whistlebinkie timidly followed.

"Howdido, Mr. King," said the Unwiseman stepping in front of the sentry and making a profound salaam and almost sweeping the walk with his hat. "We've just arrived in London and have called to pay our respects to you and Mrs. King. I hope the children are well. We're Americans, Mr. King, but for the time being we've decided to overlook all our little differences growing out of the Declaration of Independence and wish you a Merry Fourth of July."

The sentry was dumb with amazement at this unexpected greeting, and the cabby's eyes nearly dropped out of his head they bulged so.

"Mollie, dear," continued Mr. Me, "Come here, my child and let me introduce you to Mr. King. Mr. King, this is a little American girl named Mollie. She's a bit bashful in your h. r. h's presence because between you and me you are the first real King she's ever saw. We don't grow 'em in our country – that is not your kind. We have Cattle Kings and Steel Kings, and I'm expecting to become a Fresh Air King myself – but the kind that's born to the – er – to the purple like yourself, with a gilt crown on his head and the spectre of power in his hand we don't get even at the circus."

"Very glad to meet you," gasped Mollie, feasting her eyes upon the gorgeous red coat of the sentry.

The sentry not knowing what else to do and utterly upset by the Unwiseman's eloquence returned the gasp as politely as he could.

"She's a mighty nice little girl, Mr. King," said the Unwiseman with a fond glance of admiration at Mollie. "And if any of your little kings and queens feel like calling at the hotel some morning for a friendly Anglo-American romp, Mollie will be very glad to see them. This other young person, your h. r. h., is Whistlebinkie who belongs to one of the best Rubber families of the United States. He looks better than he talks. Whistlebinkie, Mr. King. Mr. King, Whistlebinkie."

Whistlebinkie, too overcome to speak, merely squeaked, a proceeding which seemed to please the sentry very much for he returned a truly royal smile and expressed himself as being very glad to meet Whistlebinkie.

"Been having pretty cold weather?" asked the Unwiseman genially.

"Been rawther 'ot," said the sentry.

"I only asked," said the Unwiseman with a glance at the guard's shako, "because I see you have your fur crown on. Our American Kings wear Panama crowns this weather," he added, "but then we're free over there and can do pretty much what we like. Did you get my letter?"

"Beg your pardon?" asked the sentry.

"Mercy!" ejaculated the Unwiseman under his breath. "What an apologetic people these English are – first the cabby and now the King." Then he repeated aloud, "My letter – I wrote to you yesterday about this H dropping habit of your people, and I was going to say that if after reading it you decided to make me a Duke I'd be very glad to accept if the clothes a Duke has to wear don't cost more than $8.50. I might even go as high as nine dollars if the suit was a real good one that I could wear ten or eleven years – but otherwise I couldn't afford it. It would be very kind of your h. r. h. to make me one, but I've always made it a rule not to spend more than a dollar a year on my clothes and even a Duke has got to wear socks and neckties in addition to his coats and trousers. Who is your Majesty's Tailor? That red coat fits you like wall-paper."

The sentry said something about buying his uniforms at the Army and Navy stores and the Unwiseman observed that he would most certainly have to go there and see what he could get for himself.

"I'll tell 'em your h. r. h. sent me," he said pleasantly, "and maybe they'll give you a commission on what I buy."

A long pause followed broken only by Whistlebinkie's heavy breathing for he had by no means recovered from his excitement over having met a real king at last. Finally the Unwiseman spoke again.

"We'd like very much to accept your kind invitation to stay to supper, Mr. King," he observed – although the sentry had said nothing at all about any such thing – "but we really can't to-night. You see we are paying pretty good rates at the hotel and we feel it a sort of duty to stay there and eat all we can so as to get our money's worth. And we'd like to meet the Queen too, but as you can see for yourself we're hardly dressed for that. We only came anyhow to let you know that we were here and to tell you that if you ever came to America we'd be mighty glad to have you call. I've got a rather nice house of my own with a kitchen-stove in it that I wouldn't sell for five dollars that you would enjoy seeing. It's rented this summer to one of the most successful burgulars in America and I think you'd enjoy meeting him, and don't hesitate to bring the children. America's a great place for children, your h. r. h. It's just chock full of back yards for 'em to play in, and banisters to slide down, and roller skating rinks and all sorts of things that children enjoy. I'll be very glad to let you use my umbrella too if the weather happens to be bad."

The sentry was very much impressed apparently by the cordiality of the Unwiseman's invitation for he bowed most graciously a half dozen times, and touched his bear-skin hat very respectfully, and smiled so royally that anybody could see he was delighted with the idea of some day visiting that far off land where the Unwiseman lived, and seeing that wonderful kitchen-stove of which, as we know, the old gentleman was so proud.

"By the way," said the Unwiseman, confidentially. "Before I go I'd like to say to you that if you are writing at any time to the Emperor of Germany you might send him my kind regards. I had hoped to be able to stop over at Kettledam, or wherever it is he lives – no, it's Pottsdam – I always do get pots and kettles mixed – I had hoped to be able, I say, to stop over there and pay my respects to him, but the chances are I won't be able to do so this trip. I'd hate to have him think that I'd been over here and hadn't paid any attention to him, and if you'll be so kind as to send him my regards he won't feel so badly about it. I'd write and tell him myself, but the fact is my German is a little rusty. I only know German by sight – and even then I don't know what it means except Gesundheit, – which is German for 'did you sneeze?' So you see a letter addressed to Mr. Hoch – "

"Beg pardon, but Mr. Who sir?" asked the Sentry.

"Mr. Hoch, der Kaiser," said the Unwiseman. "That's his name, isn't it?"

The sentry said he believed it was something like that.

"Well as I was saying even if I wrote he wouldn't understand what I was trying to say, so it would be a waste of time," said the Unwiseman.

The sentry nodded pleasantly, and his eyes twinkled under his great bear-skin hat like two sparkling bits of coal.

"Good bye, your h. r. h.," the Unwiseman continued, holding out his hand. "It has been a real pleasure to meet you, and between you and me if all kings were as good mannered and decent about every thing as you are we wouldn't mind 'em so much over in America. If the rest of 'em are like you they're all right."

And so the Unwiseman shook hands with the sentry and Mollie did likewise while Whistlebinkie repeated his squeak with a quaver that showed how excited he still was. The three travellers re-entered the hansom and inasmuch as it was growing late they decided not to do any more sight-seeing that day, and instructed the cabby to drive them back to the hotel.

"Wonderfully fine man, that King," said the Unwiseman as they drove along. "I had a sort of an idea he'd have a band playing music all the time, with ice cream and cake being served every five minutes in truly royal style."

"He was just as pleasant as a plain everyday policeman at home," said Mollie.

"Pleasanter," observed the Unwiseman. "A policeman at home would probably have told us to move on the minute we spoke to him, but the King was as polite as ginger-bread. I guess we were lucky to find him outside there because if he hadn't been I don't believe the head-butler would have let us in."

"How-dy'u-know he was the King?" asked Whistlebinkie.

"Oh I just felt it in my bones," said the Unwiseman. "He was so big and handsome, and then that red coat with the gold buttons – why it just simply couldn't be anybody else."

"He didn't say much, diddee," whistled Whistlebinkie.

"No," said the Unwiseman. "I guess maybe that's one of the reasons why he's a first class King. The fellow that goes around talking all the time might just as well be a – well a rubber-doll like you, Fizzledinkie. It takes a great man to hold his tongue."

The hansom drew up at the hotel door and the travellers alighted.

"Thank you very much," said the Unwiseman with a friendly nod at the cabby.

"Five shillin's, please, sir," said the driver.

"What's that?" demanded the Unwiseman.

"Five shillin's," repeated the cabby.

"What do you suppose he means?" asked the Unwiseman turning to Mollie.

"Why he wants to be paid five shillings," whispered Mollie. "Shillings is money."

"Oh – hm – well – I never thought of that," said the Unwiseman uneasily. "How much is that in dollars?"

"It's a dollar and a quarter," said Mollie.

"I don't want to buy the horse," protested the Unwiseman.

"Come now!" put in the driver rather impatiently. "Five shillin's, sir."

"Charge it," said the Unwiseman, shrinking back. "Just put it on the bill, driver, and I'll send you a cheque for it. I've only got ten dollars in real money with me, and I tell you right now I'm not going to pay out a dollar and a quarter right off the handle at one fell swoop."

"You'll pay now, or I'll – " the cabby began.

And just then, fortunately for all, Mollie's father, who had been looking all over London for his missing daughter, appeared, and in his joy over finding his little one, paid the cabby and saved the Unwiseman from what promised to be a most unpleasant row.

VI

THEY GET SOME FOG AND GO SHOPPING

The following day the Unwiseman was in high-feather. At last he was able to contemplate in all its gorgeousness a real London fog of which he had heard so much, for over the whole city hung one of those deep, dark, impenetrable mists which cause so much trouble at times to those who dwell in the British capital.

"Hurry up, Mollie, and come out," he cried enthusiastically rapping on the little girl's door. "There's one of the finest fogs outside you ever saw. I'm going to get a bottle full of it and take it home with me."

"Hoh!" jeered Whistlebinkie. "What a puffickly 'bsoyd thing to do – as if we never didn't have no fogs at home!"

"We don't have any London fogs in America, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie.

"No but we have very much finer ones," boasted the patriotic Whistlebinkie. "They're whiter and cleaner to begin with, and twice as deep."

"Well never mind, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie. "Don't go looking around for trouble with the Unwiseman. It's very nice to be able to enjoy everything as much as he does and you shouldn't never find fault with people because they enjoy themselves."

"Hi-there, Mollie," came the Unwiseman's voice at the door. "Just open the door a little and I'll give you a hatful of it."

"You can come in," said Mollie. "Whistlebinkie and I are all dressed."

And the little girl opened the door and the Unwiseman entered. He carried his beaver hat in both hands, as though it were a pail without a handle, and over the top of it he had spread a copy of the morning's paper.

"It's just the finest fog ever," he cried as he came in. "Real thick. I thought you'd like to have some, so I went out on the sidewalk and got a hat full of it for you."

Mollie and Whistlebinkie gathered about the old gentleman as he removed the newspaper from the top of his hat, and gazed into it.

"I do-see-anthing," whistled Whistlebinkie.

"You don't?" cried the Unwiseman. "Why it's chock full of fog. You can see it can't you Mollie?" he added anxiously, for to tell the truth the hat did seem to be pretty empty.

Mollie tried hard and was able to convince herself that she could see just a tiny bit of it and acted accordingly.

"Isn't it beautiful!" she ejaculated, as if filled with admiration for the contents of the Unwiseman's hat. "I don't think I ever saw any just like it before – did you, Mr. Me?"

"No," said the Unwiseman much pleased, "I don't think I ever did – it's so delicate and – er – steamy, eh? And there's miles of it outdoors and the Robert down on the corner says we're welcome to all we want of it. I didn't like to take it without asking, you know."

"Of course not," said Mollie, glancing into the hat again.

"So I just went up to the pleeceman and told him I was going to start a museum at home and that I wanted to have some real London fog on exhibition and would he mind if I took some. 'Go ahead, sir,' he said very politely. 'Go ahead and take all you want. We've got plenty of it and to spare. You can take it all if you want it.' Mighty kind of him I think," said the Unwiseman. "So I dipped out a hat full for you first. Where'll I put it?"

"O – ," said Mollie, "I – I don't know. I guess maybe you'd better pour it out into that vase up there on the mantel-piece – it isn't too thick to go in there, is it?"

"It don't seem to be," said the Unwiseman peering cautiously into the hat. "Somehow or other it don't seem quite as thick inside here as it did out there on the street. Tell you the truth I don't believe it'll keep unless we get it in a bottle and cork it up good and tight – do you?"

"I'm afraid not," agreed Mollie. "It's something like snow – kind of vaporates."

"I'm going to put mine in a bottle," said the Unwiseman, "and seal the cork with sealing wax – then I'll be sure of it. Then I thought I'd get an envelope full and send it home to my Burgular just to show him I haven't forgotten him – poor fellow, he must be awful lonesome up there in my house without any friends in the neighborhood and no other burgulars about to keep him company."

And the strange little man ran off to get his bottle filled with fog and to fill up an envelope with it as well as a souvenir of London for the lonesome Burglar at home. Later on Mollie encountered him leaving the hotel door with a small shovel and bucket in his hand such as children use on the beach in the summer-time.

"The pleeceman says it's thicker down by the river," he explained to Mollie, "and I'm going down there to shovel up a few pailsful – though I've got a fine big bottleful of it already corked up and labelled for my museum. And by the way, Mollie, you want to be careful about Whistlebinkie in this fog. When he whistles on a bright clear day it is hard enough to understand what he is saying, but if he gets his hat full of fog and tries to whistle with that it will be something awful. I don't think I could stand him if he began to talk any foggier than he does ordinarily."

Mollie promised to look out for this and kept Whistlebinkie indoors all the morning, much to the rubber-doll's disgust, for Whistlebinkie was quite as anxious to see how the fog would affect his squeak as the Unwiseman was to avoid having him do so. In the afternoon the fog lifted and the Unwiseman returned.

"I think I'll go out and see if I can find the King's tailor," he said. "I'm getting worried about that Duke's suit. I asked the Robert what he thought it would cost and he said he didn't believe you could get one complete for less than five pounds and the way I figure it out that's a good deal more than eight-fifty."

"It's twenty-five dollars," Mollie calculated.

"Mercy!" cried the Unwiseman. "It costs a lot to dress by the pound doesn't it – I guess I'd better write to Mr. King and tell him I've decided not to accept."

"Better see what it costs first," said Whistlebinkie.

"All right," agreed the Unwiseman. "I will – want to go with me Mollie?"

"Certainly," said Mollie.

And they started out. After walking up to Trafalgar Square and thence on to Piccadilly, the Unwiseman carefully scanning all the signs before the shops as they went, they came to a bake-shop that displayed in its window the royal coat of arms and announced that "Muffins by Special Appointment to H. R. H. the King," could be had there.

"We're getting close," said the Unwiseman. "Let's go in and have a royal cream-cake."

Mollie as usual was willing and entering the shop the Unwiseman planted himself before the counter and addressed the sales-girl.

"I'm a friend of Mr. King, Madame," he observed with a polite bow, "just over from America and we had a sort of an idea that we should like to eat a really regal piece of cake. What have you in stock made by Special Appointment for the King?"

"We 'ave Hinglish Muffins," replied the girl.

"Let me see a few," said the Unwiseman.

The girl produced a trayful.

"Humph!" ejaculated the Unwiseman looking at them critically. "They ain't very different from common people's muffins are they? What I want is some of the stuff that goes to the Palace. I may look green, young lady, but I guess I've got sense enough to see that those things are not royal."

"These are the kind his majesty prefers," said the girl.

"Come along, Mollie," said the Unwiseman turning away. "I don't want to get into trouble and I'm sure this young lady is trying to fool us. I am very much obliged to you, Madame," he added turning to the girl at the counter. "We'd have been very glad to purchase some of your wares if you hadn't tried to deceive us. Those muffins are very pretty indeed but when you try to make us believe that they are muffins by special appointment to his h. r. h., Mr. Edward S. King, plain and simple Americans though we be, we know better. Even my rubber friend, Whistlebinkie here recognizes a bean when he sees it. I shall report this matter to the King and beg to wish you a very good afternoon."

And drawing himself up to his full height, the Unwiseman with a great show of dignity marched out of the shop followed meekly by Mollie and Whistlebinkie.

"I-didn-tsee-an-thing th-matter-withem," whistled Whistlebinkie. "They looked to me like firs-class-smuffins."

"No doubt," said the Unwiseman. "That's because you don't know much. But they couldn't fool me. If I'd wanted plain muffins I could have asked for them, but when I ask for a muffin by special appointment to his h. r. h. the King I want them to give me what I ask for. Perhaps you didn't observe that not one of those muffins she brought out was set with diamonds and rubies."

"Now that you mention it," said Mollie, "I remember they weren't."

"Prezactly," said the Unwiseman. "They weren't even gold mounted, or silver plated, or anything to make 'em different from the plain every day muffins that you can buy in a baker's shop at home. I don't believe they were by special appointment to anybody – not even a nearl, much less the King. I guess they think we Americans don't know anything over here – but they're barking up the wrong tree if they think they can fool me."

"We-mightuv-tastedum!" whistled Whistlebinkie much disappointed, because he always did love the things at the baker's. "You can't tell just by lookin' at a muffin whether it's good or not."

"Well go back and taste them," retorted the Unwiseman. "It's your taste – only if I had as little taste as you have I wouldn't waste it on that stuff. Ah – this is the place I've been looking for."