Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy

"I should say it was queer," returned Jimmieboy, "but I can't help feeling that I'd like to know all about it. What is it called?"

"Totherwayville," returned the porter. "Hit's called like dat because everything in it's done the other way from how you'd do it. If you walked outside on de platform ob de station likely as not some little dog would come up and tie you to a chain an' go leadin' you round town; 'nd you, you couldn't say a woyd. You'd only bark like as though you only was a dog and dey'd give you bones to eat when dey didn't forget it – less dey thought you was a cat, an' den dey'd most likely forget to feed you on milk, de way you does with yo' cat."

"I haven't got any cat," said Jimmieboy.

"Dat's lucky fo' de cat," returned the porter. "Not dat I tinks yo' ain't as good an' kind a little boy as ebber lived, sah, but just because ebbery body dat owns cats sort of don't treat 'em as well as dey'd treat a baby for instance. De kindest heartedest little boy in de worl' would forget to gib his cat its dinner if he had a new toy to play wid, or a new suit o' party dress to put on to show his poppy when he come home."

The porter was called away for a minute by an old lady at the other end of the car who wanted to know what time the seven ten train generally started, and while he was gone Jimmieboy gazed wonderingly out of the window; and I can't say that I blame him for doing so, for Totherwayville was indeed a most singular place. There were very few men, women or children in the streets and those that were there appeared to live in a state of captivity. Small dogs led boys around by a string or a chain; some of the boys wore muzzles. Here and there were men tied to hitching posts, and all about were animals which Jimmieboy had always hitherto supposed were to be found only in the wild countries, or in circuses and zoological gardens.

Off in a field a hundred or more yards from the station were a lot of monkies playing baseball, and drollest of all, in front of the Totherwayville hotel, stood a huge lion smoking a cigar and talking with an elephant.

"Well I never!" said Jimmieboy. "This seems to be a regular wild animal place."

Just as he spoke a baby elephant came running down to the station holding a small envelope in his trunk. When he got to the platform he looked anxiously about him and then walking up to a funny looking baboon, who appeared to be depot master, engaged him in earnest conversation. The baboon took the envelope, read the address written upon it and said "he would see."

Then he walked to the end of Jimmieboy's car and called for the porter.

"Well, whad yo' want?" asked the porter.

"Here's an invitation from the mayor to a young man who is said to be on this car," said the baboon. "If he is, will you give it to him?"

"Certainly," said the porter, his face wreathing with smiles. "Certainly. He's hyah."

Jimmieboy watched all this with interest, little thinking that the invitation was for no less a person than himself. He soon discovered the fact, however, for the porter came to him instantly and handed him the envelope. It was addressed simply to:

MASTER JIMMIEBOY,Care of the Porter,Express Train, No. 6098Kindness ofThomas Baby Elephant

"For me?" cried Jimmieboy.

"Yassir," said the porter. "Hit's for you."

Hurriedly tearing the envelope open, Jimmieboy took from it a delicately scented card on which was engraved:

The Wild AnimalsRequest your presence at theirwonderful Exhibition ofTrained Hagenbecks,This Afternoon at TwoAbsolute Safety GuaranteedR. S. V. P

"Dear me!" cried Jimmieboy, excitedly, "I couldn't think of going. I should be afraid."

"Oh, you needn't be afraid," said the porter. "Dey'se promised you absolute safety, and I'll tell yo' just one thing. Animals soldom makes promises, but when dey does, dey keeps 'em. Dey's sort ob different from people in dat. Hit's twice as hard to get 'em to make promises but dey seems to be able to keep 'em twice as easy as people. I'd go if I were you. De conductor'll keep de train waitin' fo' you. Dere's on'y one man aboard dat's in a hurry an' he's travellin' on a free pass, so de road ain't liable fo' any delays to him. I'll go wid you."

"But how do you know it'll be safe," added Jimmieboy. "I want to go very much, but – "

"Howdiknow?" said the porter. "Ain't I took little folks to see de show befo? Oh co'se I has an' dey've had de best time in de worl', an' come back cryin' cause dey couldn't stay a week."

"Very well, then," said Jimmieboy, "you can tell the baboon that I'll be very glad to go."

The porter informed the baboon who in turn acquainted the baby elephant with the fact, whereupon the baby elephant took off his hat and bowing politely to Jimmieboy hastened back to the mayor's office with the little boy's reply.

Shortly after the porter returned and said that he had fixed it with the conductor and that the train would wait, and so Jimmieboy and his chestnut colored friend started off. On the way he was gazed at curiously by more wild animals than he had ever seen before, but they were all very respectful to him, many of them bowing politely. Indeed the only incivility he encountered at all was from a rude little boy who was being led around by a handsome St. Bernard dog. The little boy snapped at him as he passed, but he was promptly muzzled by his master, and deprived of the bone he was eating for his luncheon.

After walking along for about five minutes they came to a great circular building, upon the outside of which was a huge sign.

THE TRAINED HAGENBECKSMatinee To-DayAdmission:

Jimmieboy laughed. "That's funny. They charge less for grown animals than they do for baby animals."

"Not so funny as your plan, mister," said a gruff voice at Jimmieboy's side, very respectfully however.

Jimmieboy looked around to see who it was that spoke and was a little startled at first to see that it was a fine specimen of a tiger that had addressed him.

"Don't shrink," said the tiger, seeing that the little boy was somewhat frightened. "I won't hurt you. I'm wild, but I'm kind. Let me show you my smile – you'll see what a big smile it is, and some day you'll learn that an animal with a fine open countenance like mine is when I smile can't be a bad animal. But to come back to what you think is a funny scheme. We charge more for cubs than for grown animals because they are more trouble. We talked it all over when we started the show and we found that there was ten times as much mischief in a cub or a puppy as there is in a grown up bear or dog, so we charged more; only as we don't mind a little mischief we make the babies pay only eight times as much as the others. It's simple and very natural, I think."

"That's true," said Jimmieboy. "It isn't so odd after all."

And then they went inside, where Jimmieboy was received by the mayor, a very handsome lion, and his wife the lioness. All the other animals cheered and the little boy soon came to feel that he was surrounded by friends; strange friends perhaps, but faithful ones. He sat in the front of the mayor's box and watched the cage-enclosed ring in which the Hagenbecks were to perform. A monkey band played several popular tunes in the gallery, after which the performance began.

First a baboon came out and announced a performance by six trained clowns, who he said would crack jokes and turn somersaults and make funny grimaces just as they did in their native lair. The monkey band struck up a tune and in ran the clowns. To Jimmieboy's eyes they were merely plain everyday circus clowns, but the way the baboon made them prance around was wonderful. One of the clowns was a trifle sulky and didn't want to crack his joke, but the baboon kept flicking him with the end of his whip until finally he did crack it, although he might better not have done so for he did it so badly that he spoiled it.

After this a pelican walked out and announced with a proud air that he would now exhibit his flock of trained dudes, who would dance and sing, and wear beautiful clothes and put the heads of their canes in their mouths as intelligently as though they were pelicans and not dudes. Jimmieboy was delighted with them, for after all he was quite like other boys and was accustomed to lavish a great deal of admiration upon such things as chewing gum and dudes. The most interesting feature of the dude exhibition was their chrysanthemum drill. It must have taken the pelican a long time to teach those dudes to pick up their chrysanthemums and place them in their little button-holes with such military precision as they displayed. Everybody applauded this wildly and a great roar of laughter greeted the dudes' acknowledgment of the applause, for the magnificent way in which they took off their silk hats and bowed was truly droll.

"It's hard to believe they are merely human!" said the tiger to Jimmieboy. "Their intelligence is more that of the pelican than of the human kind."

"With a slight mixture of the monkey mind I should say, too," said the elephant. "I'm told these dudes are very imitative."

"The Jumping Billikins!" cried the manager of the exhibition.

"What on earth is a Jumping Billikins?" asked Jimmieboy, who had never heard of an animal of that kind before.

"Wait and see," said the tiger, with a laugh. "Most people call him a nerve centre, but you wouldn't understand that, so I say wait and see."

As Jimmieboy could do nothing else he waited and in a minute the jumping Billikins appeared, followed by six men. The jumping Billikins was nothing more than a pretty little boy, about five years of age, and what he did chiefly was to jump. The six men would put sofas about the ring and the jumping Billikins would jump from one to the other as easily as though he were a real chamois-skin goat. Then he gave a remarkable exhibition of his hopping powers. He hopped up and down on one leg for twenty-eight minutes, much to the wonderment of the elephant, who strong as he was couldn't hop on one leg at all.

"Now watch the men," whispered the tiger. "The jumping Billikins is going to have a romping match with them, and you'd hardly believe it but he'll have them worn out in less than five minutes and yet he'll be as fresh as a rose when he gets through."

Jimmieboy watched, and such a romp as followed he never had seen before. The jumping Billikins was everywhere all the time. One second he'd be riding pickaback on one man, the next you'd find him sitting on another man's head trying to put his feet into the vest pockets of the third and fourth men, while with his hands he'd be playing tag with the others. There was no describing that romp, but as the tiger had said, before five minutes the men were exhausted and the jumping Billikins, fresh as ever, was bowing his thanks to the audience for their applause. Then he walked proudly from the ring and the worn-out men were carried off by the baboon's assistants.

The next thing on the programme was a talking contest between a parrot and a chatterbox, but this Jimmieboy never saw, for a sudden shriek from the engine waiting with the train at the station for his return called him away. The animals expressed their regret at his early departure and requested him to come again sometime, which the little fellow promised to do.

"I doan tink yo'll go again, mistah," said the porter, with a smile, as the train drew away from the station.

"Why not?" asked Jimmieboy.

"Because – " said the porter. "Be-cause – "

And then, strange to say, he faded out of sight and Jimmieboy, rubbing his eyes, was astonished to find that he wasn't on a railway train at all but in his papa's lap, where he had been all along.

AN ELECTRICAL ERROR

Jimmieboy's father and mother had occasion to go to the city for a couple of days recently, and inasmuch as Jimmieboy is such a very movey young person they did not deem it well to leave him at home in the care of the nurse, who had as much as she could do taking care of his brothers, and so they took him along with them. One evening, having to go out to dinner, they invited a young man in Jimmieboy's father's employ to come up to the hotel and stay about and keep the little fellow amused until his bedtime, and to look out for him as well after that time until their return, which Fred was very willing to do since he received $2 reward for his trouble. He said afterward that he earned the two dollars in the first ten minutes playing Waterloo with Jimmieboy, in which pleasing game Jimmieboy was Wellington and Fred was Napoleon, but once a year he didn't mind earning a dollar or two extra in that way.

After the game of Waterloo was over and the Napoleonic Fred had managed to collect the buttons which had been removed from his vest in the first half of the game, the Wellingtonian Jimmieboy decided that he was tired enough to go to bed, and inasmuch as Fred didn't oppose him very hard, to bed he went, and a half hour later both the boys, young and old, were snoring away as though their lives depended on it. It was quite evident that neither of them was as yet sufficiently strong to stand the game of Waterloo for more than an hour – and I don't really wonder at it, for my own experience has led me to believe that even Bonaparte and Wellington themselves would have been wearied beyond endurance by an hour's play at that diversion, however well they may have stood up under the anxieties of the original battle. In my first game with Jimmieboy I lost five pounds, eight buttons, a necktie, two handfuls of hair and a portion of my temper. So, as I say, I do not wonder that they were exhausted by their efforts and willing to rest after them, though how either of them could sleep with the other snoring as loud as a factory whistle I could never understand.

Fred must have been unusually weary, for, as you will see, he slept more than Jimmieboy did – in fact, it wasn't later than nine o'clock when the latter waked up.

"Say, Fred," he cried.

Fred answered with a deeper snore than ever.

"Fred!" cried Jimmieboy again. "I want a drink of water."

"Puggrrh," snored Fred.

"Stop your growling and ring the telephone for some ice water," said Jimmieboy, and again Fred answered with a snore, and in his sleep muttered something that sounded like "It'll cost you $10 next time," the meaning of which Jimmieboy didn't understand, but which I think had some reference to what it would cost his father to secure Fred as a companion for Jimmieboy on another occasion.

"Guess I'll have to ring it up myself," said Jimmieboy, and with that he jumped out of bed and rushed to that delightful machine which is now to be found in most of the modern hotels, by means of which you can ring up anything you may happen to want, by turning a needle about on a dial until it points to the printed description of the thing you desire and pushing a red button.

"Wonder how they spell ice water," said Jimmieboy. "E-y-e spells I, and s-e spells sss-e-y-e-s-e, ice." But he looked in vain for any such thing on the dial.

"O, well," he said, after searching and searching, "I'll ring up anything, and when the boy comes with it I'll order the ice water."

So he gave the needle an airy twist, pushed the button, and sat down to wait for the boy. Meanwhile he threw a pillow at Fred, who still lay snoring away on the sofa, only now he was puffing like a freight train engine when its wheels slip on an icy railway track.

"Lazybones," snickered Jimmieboy, as the pillow landed on Fred's curly head. But Fred answered never a word, which so exasperated Jimmieboy that he got up with the intention of throwing himself at his sleeping companion, when he heard a queer noise over by the fireplace.

"Hullo, down there, 521. Is that you?" cried somebody.

Jimmieboy stared at the chimney in blank amazement.

"Hurry up below there, 521. Is that you?" came the voice again.

"This room is 521," replied Jimmieboy, realizing all of a sudden that it was no doubt to him that these words were addressed.

"Well, then, look sharp, will you? Turn off the fire – put it out – do something with it. You can't expect me to come down there with the fire burning, can you? I'm not fireproof, you know," returned the voice.

"There isn't any fire here," said Jimmieboy.

"Nonsense," cried the voice. "What's that roaring I hear?"

"Oh – that," Jimmieboy answered. "That's Fred. He's snoring."

"Ah! Then I will come down," came the voice, and in an instant there was a small fall of soot, a rustling in the chimney, and a round-faced, fat-stomached, white-bearded little old gentleman with a twinkling eye, appeared, falling like a football into the grate and bounding like a tennis ball out into the middle of the floor.

"Santa Claus, at your service," he said, bowing low to Jimmieboy.

The boy looked at him breathless with astonishment for a moment.

"Well – well – " put in the old man impatiently. "What is it you want with me? I'm very busy, so pray don't detain me. Is it one of my new Conversational Brownies you are after? If so, say so. Fine things, these Conversational Brownies."

"I never heard of 'em," said Jimmieboy.

"Coz why?" laughed Santa Claus, twirling airily about on the toes of his left foot. "Coz why? Bee-coz there ain't never been any for you to hear about. I invented 'em all by myself. You have Brownies in books that don't move. Good. I like 'em, you like 'em, we all like 'em. You have Brownies out of books. Better – but they can't talk and all bee-coz they're stuffed with cotton. It isn't their fault. It's the cotton's fault. Take a man and stuff him with cotton and he wouldn't be able to say a word, but stuff him with wit and anecdotes and he'll talk. Wherefore I have invented a Conversational Brownie. He's made of calico, but he's stuffed with remarks, and he has a little metal hole in his mouth, and when you squeeze him remarks oozes out between his lips and there you are. Eh? Fine?"

"Bully," said Jimmieboy.

"Was that what you rang for? Quick, hurry up, I haven't any time to waste at this season of the year."

"Well, no," Jimmieboy answered. "Not having ever heard of 'em, of course."

"Oh, then you wanted one of my live wood doll babies," said Santa Claus. "Of course. They're rather better than the Conversational Brownies, perhaps, I guess; I don't know. Still, they last longer, as long as you water 'em. Was it one of those you wanted?"

"What is a live wood doll baby?" asked Jimmieboy.

"One o' my newest new, new things," replied Santa Claus. "'Stead o' making wooden dolls out of dead wood, I makes 'em out o' live wood. Keep some o' the roots alive, make your doll, plant it proper, water it, and it'll grow just like a man. My live oak dolls that I'm making this year, a hundred years from now will be great giants."

"Splendid idea," said Jimmieboy. "But how about the leaves. Don't they sprout out and hide the doll?"

"Of course they do, if you don't see that they're pulled off," retorted Santa Claus. "You don't expect me to give you toys and look after 'em all at the same time, do you?"

"No," said Jimmieboy.

"Well, it's good you don't," said Santa Claus, turning a somersault backward. "It's werry good you don't, for should you had have you'd have been disappointed. But, I say, was that what you wanted, or were you after one of my new patent typewriters that you wind up? Don't keep me waiting all night – "

"I never heard of your new patent typewriters that you wind up," Jimmieboy answered.

"That isn't the question," interrupted Santa Claus nervously, "though I suppose it's the answer, for if you had heard of my windable writer it would have been the thing you wanted. It's a grand invention, that machine. You take a key, wind the thing up, having first loaded it with paper, and what do you suppose it does?"

"Writes?" asked Jimmieboy.

"Exactly," replied Santa Claus. "It writes stories and poems and jokes. There are five keys goes with each machine – one poetry key, one joke key, one fairy tale key, a story of adventure key, and a solemn Sunday school story key that writes morals and makes you wonder whether you're as good as you ought to be."

"Well," said Jimmieboy, "now that I know about that, that's what I want, though as a matter of fact I rang you up for a glass of ice water."

"What!" cried Santa Claus, indignantly, bounding about the room like a tennis ball again. "Me? Do you mean to say you've summoned me away from my work at this season of the year just to bring you a glass of ice water?"

"I – I didn't mean for you to bring it," said Jimmieboy, meekly. "I – I must have made a mistake – "

"It's outrageous," said Santa Claus, stamping his foot, "You hadn't oughter make mistakes. I won't bring you anything on Christmas – no, not a thing. You – "

A knock at the door interrupted the little old man, and Jimmieboy, on going to see who was there, discovered the hall boy with the pitcher of water.

"What's that?" asked Santa, as Jimmieboy returned.

"It's the water," replied the little fellow. "So I couldn't have made a mistake after all."

"Hum!" said Santa, stroking his beard slowly and thoughtfully. "I guess – I guess the wires must be crossed – so it wasn't your fault – and I will bring you something, but the man who ought to have looked after those wires and didn't won't find anything in his stocking but a big hole in the toe on Christmas."

The old fellow then shook hands good-by with the boy, and walked to the chimney.

"Let's see – what shall I bring you?" he asked, pausing.

"The windable writer," said Jimmieboy.

"All right," returned Santa, starting up the chimney. "You can have one if I get it finished in time, but I am afraid this annoying delay will compel me to put off the distribution of those machines until some other year."

And with that he was gone.

Meanwhile Jimmieboy is anxiously waiting for Christmas to see if it will bring him the windable writer. I don't myself believe that it will, for the last I heard Santa had not returned to his workshop, but whether he got stuck in the hotel chimney or not nobody seems to know.

IN THE BROWNIES' HOUSE

Jimmieboy, like every other right-minded youth, was a great admirer of the Brownies. They never paid any attention to him, but went about their business in the books as solemnly as ever no matter what jokes he might crack at their expense. Nor did it seem to make any difference to them how much noise was being made in the nursery, they swam, threw snow-balls, climbed trees, floated over Niagara, and built houses as unconcernedly as ever. Nevertheless Jimmieboy liked them. He didn't need to have any attention paid to him by the little folk in pictures. He didn't expect it, and so it made no difference to him whatever whether they noticed him or not.

The other day, however, just before the Christmas vacation had come to an end Jimmieboy had a very queer experience with his little picture book acquaintances. He was feeling a trifle lonesome. His brothers had gone to a party which was given by one of the neighbors for the babies, and Jimmieboy at the last moment had decided that he would not go. He wasn't a baby any more, but a small man. He had pockets in his trousers and wore suspenders exactly like his father's, only smaller, and of course a proper regard for his own dignity would not permit him to take part in a mere baby party.

"I'll spend my afternoon reading," he said in a lordly way. "I don't feel like playing 'Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush' now that I wear suspenders."

So he went down into his father's library where his mother had put a book-case for him, on the shelves of which he kept his treasured books. They were the most beautiful fairy books you ever saw; Brownie books and true story books by the dozen; books of funny poetry illustrated by still funnier pictures, and, what I fancy he liked best of all, a half dozen or more big blank books that his father had given him, in which Jimmieboy wrote poems of his own in great capital letters, some of which stood on their heads and others on their sides, but all of which anybody who could read at all could make out at the rate of one letter every ten minutes. I never read much of Jimmieboy's poetry myself and so cannot say how good it was, but his father told me that the boy never had the slightest difficulty in making Massachusetts rhyme with Potato, or Jacksonville with Lemonade, so that I presume they were remarkable in their way.