Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy

"What comes next?" queried Jimmieboy, as the Clam bowed himself out of the ring.

"Listen, and the Book will tell," returned the Imp.

The Book resumed:

"We now shall have the privilegeOf witnessing the WhaleCome forth, and set our teeth on edgeBy standing on his tail."When this is done, he'll open wideThat wondrous mouth of his,And let us see how the insideOf such great creatures is;"And those who wish to take a trip —Like Jonah took one time —Can through his mammoth larynx slipFor one small silver dime."For dollars ten, he'll take you toThe coast of Labrador,The Arctic Ocean he'll go throughFor dollars twenty-four;"And should you wish to see the Pole,He'll take you safely there,If you will pay the usual toll —Ten thousand is the fare."

"I'd like to go to the North Pole," said Jimmieboy.

"Got ten thousand dollars in your pocket?" queried the Imp, with a snicker.

"No; but I've got a dollar in my iron bank," said Jimmieboy; "perhaps he'd take me for that."

"Very likely he would," said the Imp. "These circus fellows will do almost anything for money; but when he got you there he would tell you you could stay there until you paid the other $9999; and think how awful that would be. Why, your ears would be frozen solid inside of four weeks."

"Is it as cold as that at the Pole?" said Jimmieboy.

"Colder!" ejaculated the Imp. "Why, when I was there once I felt chilly in spite of my twenty-eight seal-skin sacques and sixty-seven mufflers, so I decided to build a fire. I got the fagots all ready, lit the match, and what do you suppose happened?"

"What?" queried Jimmieboy, in a whisper, for he was a little awed by the Imp's manner. "Wouldn't the match light?"

"Worse than that," replied the Imp. "It lit, but before I could touch it to the fagots the flame froze!"

Jimmieboy eyed the Imp closely. This seemed to him so like a fairy story, in which the first half is always untrue and the last half imaginary, that he did not exactly know whether the Imp meant him to believe all he said or not. It did him no particular good, though, to scrutinize the Imp's countenance, for that worthy gave not the slightest sign that there was any room for doubt as to the truth of this story; indeed, he continued:

"Why, the last time I went to the North Pole I took forty-seven thermometers to register the coolth of it, and the mercury not only went down to the very bottom of every one of them, but went down so quickly that it burst through the glass bulb that marked 4006 below zero, and fell eight miles more before it even began to slow up. It was so cold that some milk I carried in a bottle was frozen so hard that it didn't thaw out for sixteen months after I got back, although I kept it in boiling water all the time, and one of the Esquimaux who came up there in midsummer to shoot polar bears had to send for a plumber after his return home to thaw out his neck, which had frozen stiff."

"Maybe that is why the Whale charges so much to take people there," suggested Jimmieboy.

"It is, exactly. There is no risk about it for him, but he has to eat so much hot coal and other things to warm him up, that really it costs him nearly as much as he gets to make the trip. I don't believe that he clears more than half a dollar on the whole thing, even when he is crowded," said the Imp.

"Crowded?" echoed Jimmieboy. "What do you mean by that?"

"Crowded? Why, crowded is an English word meaning jamful and two more," said the Imp.

"But crowded with what?" queried Jimmieboy.

"Why, passengers, of course. What did you suppose? Ink bottles?"

"Then he takes more than one passenger at a time," said Jimmieboy.

"Certainly he does. He'll hold twenty-five boys of your size in comfort, thirty-five in discomfort, forty-five in an emergency, and fifty at a pinch," said the Imp. "But see here, we are losing a lot of circus. There goes the Educated Scallop out of the ring now. I'm sorry you missed him, for he is a tender."

"A what?"

"A tender. That is, he is ten times as marvellous as a wonder. Why that Scallop is the finest comic actor you ever saw. His imitation of a party of sharks off manning is simply the most laughable thing I ever saw," said the Imp, enthusiastically.

"I wish I could understand half of what you say," said Jimmieboy, looking wistfully at the Imp. "Because if I did, you know, I might guess the rest."

"What is it you don't understand now?" asked the Imp.

"What is a party of sharks off manning?" queried Jimmieboy.

"Did you ever see a man fishing?" questioned the Imp.

"Yes."

"Well, if a man can fish, why shouldn't a fish man? Sharks can catch men just as easily as men can catch sharks, and the Scallop shows how sharks behave when they catch men – that's all."

"I wish I'd seen it; can't you turn back to that page in the book, and have it done all over again?" asked the boy.

"No, I can't," said the Imp. "It's against the rules of the Library. It hurts a book to be turned back, just as much as it hurts your little finger to be turned back, and in nine cases out of ten turning back pages makes them dogeared; and dogs, or anything that even suggests dogs, are not allowed here. Why, if the other Imps who own this Library with me knew that I had even mentioned dogs they would suspend me for a week. But, my dear boy, we really must stop talking. This time we missed the Crab with the iron claw – why, that Crab can crack hickory nuts with that claw when he's half asleep; and when he's wide awake he can hold a cherry stone a hundred miles a minute, and that's holding mighty fast, I can tell you. Let's hear what the Book has to say now."

"Bang!" said the Book.

"Dear me!" cried the Imp. "Did you hear that!"

"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "What does it mean?"

"It means the circus is all over," said the Imp. "That was the shutting of the Book we heard. It's too bad; but there are other things quite as well worth seeing here. I'll tell you what we'll do – I'll find the Pixyweevil Poetry Book, and turn that on, and while you are listening, I'll see who that is ringing, for I am quite sure the bell rang a minute ago."

VII

THE POETRY BOOK, AND THE END

The Imp then arranged the wires so that the Poetry Book could recite itself to Jimmieboy, after which he went back to his office to see who it was that had been ringing the bell.

"My first poem," said a soft silvery voice from the top shelf, towards which Jimmieboy immediately directed his attention – "my first poem is a perfect gem. I have never seen anything anywhere that could by any possibility be finer than it is, unless it be in my new book, which contains millions of better ones. It is called, 'To a Street Lamp,' and goes this way:

"You seem quite plain, old Lamp, to men,Yet 'twould be hard to sayWhat we should do without you whenNight follows on the day;"And while your lumination seemsMuch less than that of sun,I truly think but for your beamsWe would be much undone."And who knows, Lamp, but to some wight,Too small for me to see,You are just such a wondrous sightAs old Sol is to me!

"Isn't that just terribly lovely?" said the soft silvery voice when the poem was completed.

"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 YorkWho 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 deemYou lilliputian, as you seem."And yet the force that in you liesCan light with brilliance all the skies."There's strength enough in you to sendGreat cities burning to their end;"So that we have a hint in youOf 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 unassisted, 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 rakeWith 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!" ejaculated 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 buyAn 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 runI showed it to my little son.'Dear me!' said he,When he did see,'I think that hen didSplen-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 gleeSaid he, 'Dear me!I think that wren didSplen-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 endedSplen-did-ly."

And then Jimmieboy and the Imp passed 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.

"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

It came about in this way. Jimmieboy had been just a wee bit naughty, and in consequence had to sit in the night nursery all alone by himself for a little while. Now, the night nursery was not an altogether attractive place for a small boy to sit in all by himself, because all the toys were kept in the day nursery, and beyond the bureau drawers there was absolutely nothing in the room which could keep a boy busy for more than five minutes. So it happened that at the end of ten minutes Jimmieboy was at his wits' ends to find out what he should do next. At the end of fifteen minutes he was about to announce to a waiting world outside that he'd make an effort to behave himself, and not tease his small brother any more, when his eye caught sight of a singular little crack in one corner of the room. It was the funniest looking crack he ever saw, as it went zigzagging on its way from floor to ceiling, and then, as he gazed at it it grew even queerer than ever, for it seemed to widen, and then what should appear at the bottom of it but a little iron gate!

"That's the curiousest thing I've seen yet!" said Jimmieboy, crawling on his hands and knees over to the gate and peering through it. Then he suddenly started back, somewhat frightened, for as he looked through the bars a great gruff voice cried out: —

"That's five dollars you owe. Pay up – now. Quick, or the 'bus will go without me."

And then a funny little old man that looked as if he had stepped out of a Brownie book came to the other side of the gate and thrust his hand through the bars in front of Jimmieboy.

"Hear what I said?" the little old man cried out. "Five dollars – hurry up, or the 'bus'll go without me, and it gets lost every time it does and then there's a fearful row and I'm discharged."

"I haven't got five dollars," said Jimmieboy. "And, besides, if I had I wouldn't give it to you, because I don't owe it to you."

"You don't owe me five dollars?" cried the little old man angrily. "Well, I like that. Then you mean to say you are a view stealer, do you?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Jimmieboy. "I never stole anything."

"Yes you did, too," shrieked the little old man. "You just took a look through these bars, and that look doesn't belong to you. This country belongs to us. You've used our view and now you say you won't pay for it."

"Oh, I see," said Jimmieboy, who began to understand. "You charge for the view – is that it?"

"Yes," said the little old man more quietly. "We have to make a small charge to keep the view in repair, you know. There was a man here last week who spoiled one of our most beautiful bits of scenery. He looked at it so hard that it was simply used up. And another fellow, with two very sharp eyes, bored a hole through another view further along only yesterday. He gave it a quick, piercing, careless glance, and pop! – his left eye went right through it; and that's the reason we have to make people pay. Sightseers do a deal of damage."

"Well, I'm very sorry," said Jimmieboy. "I didn't know there was any charge or I wouldn't have looked."

"Then we're square," said the little old man. "I have instructions to collect five dollars or an apology from every one who uses our views until our Wizard has invented some way of enabling people to put back the views they take without meaning to. Won't you come in and look about you and see what an interesting country we have? You can pay for all you see with apologies, since you have no money."

The little old man turned the key on his side of the gate and opened it.

"Thanks ever so much," said Jimmieboy. "I'd like to come in very much indeed," and in he walked.

"What is this place?" he asked, as he gazed about him and observed that all the houses were made of cake and candy, and that all the trees were fashioned like those that came with his toy farm.

"This," said the little old man, clanging the gate and locking it fast, "is Toyland, and you are my prisoner."

"Your what?" cried Jimmieboy, taking instant alarm.

"My prisoner is what I said," retorted the little old man. "I keep a toy shop in Toyland and I'm going to put you in my show window and sell you to the first big toy that wants to buy you for a Christmas present for his little toy at home."

"I d-don't understand," stammered Jimmieboy.

"Well, you will in a minute," said the little old man. "We citizens of Toyland keep Christmas just as much as you people do, only our toys are children just as your toys are toys. You sell us when you can catch us, and we sell you when we catch you – and, what is more, the boy who is kind to his toys in your country finds his toy master in Toyland kind to him. I am told that you are very good to your toys and keep them very carefully, so you needn't be afraid that you will be given to one of our rough toys, who will drag you around by one leg and leave you standing on your head in the closet all night."

"But I don't want to be sold," said Jimmieboy.

"Well, you'd better, then," retorted the little old man, "because if some one doesn't buy you we'll pack you up in a box and send you out to China to the missionaries. Step right in here, please."

Jimmieboy did not wish to obey in the least, but he didn't dare rebel against the commands of his captor, so, with an anxious glance down the street, he started to do as he was told, when a singular sight met his eye. In glancing down the street he had caught sight of the toy-shop window, and what should he see there but his friends Whitty and Billie and Johnnie and sweet little Bettie Perkins who lived across the way, and half a dozen others of his small friends.

"Fine display, eh?" said the little old man. "Great haul of children, eh?" he added. "Best window in town, and they'll sell like hot cakes."

"You've got all my friends except Tommy Hicks," said Jimmieboy.

"I know it," said the little old man. "We had Tommy this morning, too, but a plush rabbit living up on Main street came in and bought him to put in his little toy stocking. I don't envy Tommy much. He used to treat a plush rabbit he had very badly, and the one that bought him seemed to know it, for as he took Tommy out he kept punching him in the stomach and making him cry like a doll, calling 'mam-mah' and 'pah-pah' all the time. He gave me a dollar for Tommy, but I'll charge ten for you. They'll have to pay a good price for Whitty, too, because there's so much goes with him. He's got a collection of postage stamps in one pocket, a muffin ring and a picture book in another, and the front of his blouse is stuffed chock full of horse chestnuts and marbles. Whitty makes a singularly rich toy, and I think he'll sell as quickly as any of you."

"How did you capture him?" asked Jimmieboy, who felt better now that he saw that he was not alone in this strange land. "Did he come through that crack that I came by?"

"No, indeed," said the little old man. "He came in through the pantry door. He climbed into his mamma's pantry after some jam, and while he was there I just turned the pantry around, and when he'd filled up on jam he walked right through the door into the back of my shop, and before he knew it I had him priced and sitting in the window. There was a wax doll in here this afternoon who wanted to buy him for her daughter Flaxilocks, but she only had $8, and I'm not going to let Whitty go for less than $12, considering all the things he's brought with him."

Then Jimmieboy entered the shop, and it was indeed a curious place. Instead of there being toys on the shelves waiting to be bought, there were piles of children lying there, while the toys were to be seen walking up and down the floor, pricing first a boy and then a baby and then a little girl. The salesmen were all Brownies, and most obliging ones. It didn't seem to be a bit of trouble to them to show goods, and they were very kind to the little toys that had come in with their mothers, punching the children they had to sell in the stomach to make them say what they were made to say; and making them show how easily and gracefully they could walk, and, in short, showing off their wares to the very best advantage. Jimmieboy was too interested in what he saw to feel very anxious, and so, when the bazaar door had closed behind them, he asked the little old man very cheerfully what he should do.

"Step right into the window and sit down," said the little old man. "Smile cheerfully and once in a while get up and twirl around on your right leg. That will attract the attention of the toys passing on the street, and maybe one of 'em will come in and buy you. Do you sing?"

"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "Why?"

"Nothing. I only wanted to know so that I could describe you properly on the placard you are to wear," said the little old man. "How would you like to be called the Automatic-Musical-Jimmieboy?"

"That would be first rate," said Jimmieboy. "Only I couldn't begin to remember it, you know."

"You don't have to," said the little old man. "Nobody will ask you what you are, because the placard will tell that. Only whenever anybody wants to see you, and I take you out of the window, you must sing of your own accord. That's what I mean by calling you an Automatic-Musical-Jimmieboy. It means simply that you are a Jimmieboy that sings of its own accord."

So the placard was made, and Jimmieboy put it on, and got into the window, where, for hours, he was stared at by rag babies, tin soldiers, lead firemen, woolen monkeys and all sorts of other toys, who lived in this strange land, and who were walking in throngs on the sugared sidewalk without. One woolen monkey called in to price him, and Jimmieboy sang a German kindergarten song for him, but the monkey found him too expensive, for, as you may already know, it rarely happens that woolen monkeys have as much as $10 in their pockets.

A little later a wooden Noah, out of an ark across the street, came in, and purchased Whitty, and Jimmieboy began to feel tired and lonesome. The novelty of it all wore off after awhile, and some of the toys in the street bothered him a good deal by making faces at him, and a plaster lion said he thought he'd go in and take a bite of him, he looked so good, which Jimmieboy didn't like at all, though it was meant to be complimentary.

Finally he was sold to a rubber doll with a whistle in its head, and the first thing he knew he was wrapped up in a bundle and put in a pasteboard box to be sent by express to the rubber doll's cousin, who lived in the country. Jimmieboy didn't like this at all, and as the little old man tied the string that fastened him in the box he resisted and began to kick, and he kicked so hard that something fell over with a crash, and, freeing his arms from the twine and the box and the paper, he sprang up and began laying about him with his fists. The little old man fled in terror. The rubber doll changed his mind and said he didn't think he cared for so violent a toy as the Automatic-Musical-Jimmieboy after all, and started off. Jimmieboy, noting the terror that he inspired by his resistance, grabbed up three of the Brownies who were trying to hide in the fire extinguisher, and rushed shouting out of the shop and landed – where do you suppose?

Slap, bang in his own nursery!

How the nursery got there or what became of the Brownies he does not know to this day, but he remembers every detail of his experience very well and it is from him that I got the story. The queerest thing about it, though, is that Whitty has no recollection of the adventure at all, which is really very strange, for Whitty has a marvellous memory. I have known both Whitty and Jimmieboy to remember things that never happened at all, which makes Whitty's loss of memory on this occasion more wonderful than ever.

At any rate, this story tells you exactly what happened to Jimmieboy that day at the beginning of the Christmas vacation, and I am convinced that few of you have ever had anything at all like it happen to you, which is why I have told you all about it.

TOTHERWAYVILLE; THE ANIMAL TOWN

"What place is this?" said Jimmieboy, as the express train came to a full stop. "I didn't know fast trains stopped at funny little places like this – and do look! Why there is a horse sitting in a wagon driving a pair of men up hill."

"Better not try to know too much about diss yere place, mistah," said the colored porter of the car Jimmieboy was travelling in. "Hit's a powahful funny sort o' place, but hit's just as well fo' you to stay on de kyar an' not go foolin' outside less you's asked."