Books: Half Past Seven Stories
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Robert Gordon Anderson >> Half Past Seven Stories
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"I'll take it all back," he yelled, "you're no ladies and gen'lemen
you're--you're just mean an' I won't ever ask you to my party again."
Of course, by this time, Mother and the Toyman and Father weren't just
standing still and looking and saying things--they were
running--and--saying things!--running straight for that party which
had turned out such a grand fight.
They tried to save what they could from the wreck. They spanked little
Wienerwurst until he let go of the tails of the Pretty Pink Pigeons,
and they got the Bunnies safe back in their hutch, and the White
Wyandottes in their yard, and Mr. Turkey in his.
But they couldn't save the poor little fish. It was very sad, but it
was too late. Tabby wasn't like Jonah's whale. What she had once
swallowed she wasn't apt to give up.
[Illustration: "'I'll take it all back,' Marmaduke yelled, 'you're no
ladies an' gen'lemen--an' I won't ever ask you to my party again'"]
Marmaduke felt very much hurt and very indignant about the way he had
been treated. As Father said, "it was a grave slight to his
hospitality."
However, he forgot all about it when he saw the new skates which
Mother and Father had waiting for him, and the grand Noah's Ark which
the Toyman had made with his very own hands. There isn't much use
telling the colors in which it was painted, because you know the
Toyman was sure to put a lot of colors, and pretty ones, too, on all
the things he made for the Three Happy Children.
There is one good thing about all the animals in that Noah's Ark. They
are very cunning and look like the real thing, but, as the Toyman
said, "You can invite them to your house any time and they won't
fight, or bite, or scratch, or quarrel. They are very polite and
well-behaved."
Marmaduke had many a celebration for them, and made many a glorious
speech to them as well, and they listened to every word.
So the birthday party really lasted long after the seven candles had
gone out, and the cake had gone, too, every crumb.
IX
DR. PHILEMON PIPP, THE PATIENT MEDICINE MAN
Uncle Roger lived in town, quite a distance from the home of the Three
Happy Children. When they walked, Marmaduke's short legs took one
whole hour to reach it; Jehosophat's, forty-five minutes; though the
Toyman's long shanks could cover the ground in fifteen. But then he
could go ever so fast. However, they usually rode, and horses can
always go faster than men. Even Old Methusaleh could trot there in
twelve, and he was spavined and a little wind-broke, while Teddy and
Hal, who were young and frisky, could get there as quick as a wink.
On this particular day Uncle Roger and Aunt Mehitable had a family
party. It was a fine one, you may be sure, but we are not going to
tell you about it, when something even more interesting happened that
night.
At half-past eight the last horn sounded and the party was over.
Mother and Hepzebiah climbed in the surrey, and, with them, two
great-aunts, Sophronisba and Abigail. Aunt Phrony weighed more than
three hundred pounds, but Aunt Abby only a hundred; and they were
planning to visit the White House With the Green Blinds by the Side of
the Road--"for a week," they said, but the boys heard Father whisper
to Mother, as he piled their baggage under the tailboard,--"From the
size of those bags it looks like a year and a day." The boys wondered
what that extra day could ever be for--probably to move all that
baggage.
Now Teddy the Buckskin Horse was hitched to the surrey; and in the
shafts of the buggy stood Hal the Red Roan. And that night the boys
particularly wanted to ride behind Teddy. They liked to watch the
black stripe that ran down his yellow back skim ahead of them over the
road, just like a snake. And they liked the surrey, too. It had a
fringe all around the top, and high mudguards, and a whip with a
tassel and ribbon on it. But now that the great-aunts were in, Aunt
Abby's side rose way up in the air, she was so light, but Aunt
Phrony's sank down until the steel springs of the carriage groaned and
scrunched on the axles. The surrey looked like a boat when all the
passengers rush to one side to see who has fallen over.
There was no room for the boys, so they had to climb in the buggy.
But, after all, the Toyman was to drive, and that quite made up for
it. He might even let them drive, or tell them stories--about Ole Man
Pumpkin, or the stars, or the cowboys out West, or any one of a number
of wonderful things. So they were quite content as the Toyman said
"Gee-dap," and they drove off through the night.
They had gone but a short distance when they saw a light. It was
different from all the lights in the houses and the street lamps on
the corners, which shone steadily and all the while. This one
flickered and flared like a fire in the wind; and it smoked rather
badly, too.
Jehosophat and Marmaduke tried to guess what it was, but neither was
right. When they reached the corner of the street and got out of the
buggy, they saw a lot of boys, big boys and little boys, and men, too,
crowding around a wagon. The horses which had brought it there were
tied to a hitching post a little way off, and a man stood in the back
by the tailboard. The light which they had seen from afar shone over
his head, a strange sort of torch, and was fed with oil by a little
metal pan with a tube running to it. And it flickered oddly up and
down, and from side to side, throwing funny shadows on the man, who
looked queer enough himself.
He had long black hair like Buffalo Bill, and a long black
coat--_very_ long, with a fur collar on it.
Marmaduke whispered to the Toyman,--
"Can't you cure the man's coat? It's got the mange."
And the Toyman replied,--
"No, money is all that can cure that, and pretty soon he's going to
get plenty from these people's pockets."
Marmaduke's eyes bulged.
"Is he a robber?" he asked in an awed whisper.
The Toyman laughed.
"Well, some folks might call him that without being sued for libel,
but I 'spose he's within the law."
Marmaduke wondered how he could be in the law and in the wagon at the
same time, and the Toyman had to explain that he meant that the
strange man _ought_ to go to jail, but probably wouldn't. Just
why, he told them to "wait and see."
But, oh, we forgot--what was most important,--on the man's head was a
tall silk hat. It looked as if it needed the mange cure quite as much
as did the fur collar of his coat. And it was tipped on the side of
his head, like a crazy old mill Marmaduke had seen once, that was
about to fall in the river.
Behind the man was spread a banner with the man's name on it, Dr.
Philemon Pipp, and a big chart like those the teachers used in school.
"Whew!" whistled Jehosophat, "look at that ole bag of bones!"
For on that chart was a big picture of a skeleton, and, by the side of
the skeleton, other pictures, of a man with his skin taken off, which
showed his bones, and his muscles, and all his insides--very prettily
painted in blue and yellow and red.
That wasn't all there was on that wonderful wagon. Behind the chart,
they saw lots of bottles filled with nice black juice. It looked like
licorice water, and it made anyone's mouth water just to look at it!
But the man, Dr. Philemon Pipp, was talking.
And as he talked, he made queer gestures with his arms, as if he
wanted to scoop up all the people--or something the people had--into
his wagon. Perhaps it was their money he wanted to scoop up, though he
said nothing--as to that, just,--
"Now, gents, step up a little closer, pleeze."
Then he tilted his hat on the other side of his head, and put one hand
across his chest, the middle finger between the buttons of his vest,
and all in a very grand way.
"Tonight," he went on, "for youah entertainment, I will oferrr this
distinguished audience a marrvelous programme--an extrahorrrdinary
exheebeeshun of tricks and sleight of hand meeraculs such as nevah
befoh were puhfomed by human hands.
"Now watch, ladees, and keep yuh eyes peeled, gents--and mebbe youall
kin learn the secret."
Then he had to stop for a minute, for the small boys were climbing on
the hubs of the wheels.
"Heah, young man," he shouted, "have youall fohgot yuh mannahs? Do not
futhuh disturb muh discourse."
Of course, Jehosophat and Marmaduke couldn't understand all these
magnificent words, but they sounded quite splendid. No wonder the hat
was so big, when it had to cover a head with such long words inside.
Now Dr. Philemon Pipp had turned to the crowd.
"Have any of you gents got a quatah?--Thank you, sah," he said to a
man who handed him the money.
Then he took the silver quarter and asked a little boy to step up on
the wagon. Jehosophat wished he had been asked, so that he could have
learned the wonderful trick.
And now Dr. Pipp showed the coin to the little boy.
"You see it, young man?" he asked.
"Yes sir, yes sir," said the little boy, all excitement.
Ah, but the man was wiggling his hands through the air, saying,--
"Now you see it and now you don't."
And presto! he took that very same quarter which had been in his hand,
out of--where do you think?--why, right out of the boy's mouth. That
wasn't all, either, for next minute he took it out of his cap, then
out of his ears. There had been one quarter before--now in his hand
there were--five--shiny--quarters! It was a wonderful trick!
But now the strange man, Dr. Philemon Pipp, was speaking again.
"Now that you all understand the trick," he declared, "I will pefohm
another foh youah entahtainment."
The funny thing about it was that no one understood it at all--except
the Toyman.
"Do you really?" the boys asked him, and he replied,--
"Pshaw! that's easy, but watch, sonny, and see what he'll try next."
Meanwhile the man had taken off his tall silk hat.
"You see this hat, ladees an' gents? Just a simple piece of headwear
that has seen many suns and rains. No false bottom or top."
And he tapped the hat to show them it was just an ordinary hat. Still,
Marmaduke thought it was very much out of the ordinary. Never had he
seen such a grand one--not even on Deacon Smithers.
"Now peel yuh eyes--careful--watch--everybody ready? Presto,
chango--and here we are."
And believe it or not as you may, out of that hat he drew a white
rabbit--a real live white rabbit. He held it up by its ears for all to
see.
And again he said,--
"Now that youall undahstand this simple little trick, I will--"
And again no one understood how to do it but the Toyman.
However, they just had to listen, for it was a wonderful speech.
"Ladees an' gents and fellow citizens of--" the strange man paused,
coughed, then leaned down to his helper. "What's the name of this
burg, Jake?" he whispered to him. "Ah, yes, fellow citizens of the
glorious ceety of Five Corners--"
And Jehosophat whispered to the Toyman,--
"How does he know it's so glorious when he can't even remember the
name?"
The Toyman chuckled and replied,--
"Oh, he's a remarkable man, the Doctor, a very remarkable man. But
listen, boy, listen, you'll never hear the like again."
So of course they listened--with all their ears, and their eyes and
their mouths, too.
"I will introjooce to you," went on the grand speech, "the famous
Indian"--yes, that's just what he said,--"the famous Indian,
Chief-Afraid-of-a-Rat. Come on, Chief, don't scare the ladies, and
don't scalp the little boys as long as they're good."
[Illustration: "Out of that hat he drew a rabbit, a live white rabbit,
and held it up by its ears for all to see."]
Then up on that wagon stepped a big Indian with moccasins on his feet,
and a dress of deerskin with beads embroidered on it, and a headdress
of many feathers and many colors too. He opened his mouth wide, and said
something that sounded like a speech and yet like a song:--
"Ging-goo, ging goo, ging goo!
Tunk a tin, tunk a tin, tunk a tin!
Geegry goo, geegry goo,
All-a-man lissen!"
That's what the Red Indian with all the feathers said, and it sounded
very impressive.
As it was so hard for anyone who didn't know the real Indian language
to understand, the man with the long hair and tall silk hat, this wise
Dr. Philemon Pipp, explained it.
"The noble red man, the last of his tribe, Chief-Afraid-of-a-Rat,"
said he, "is a great medicine man. He says that from his native soil
he has distilled a wonderrful medicine that works like magic."
Then, wetting his lips, he leaned over and picked up one of the big
bottles that was full of black juice like the water the children used
to make from licorice sticks.
"If yuh have a pain or an ache, a misery in yuh back, if yuh suffah
from stomach-ache or tooth-ache, or an ache in the head; if yuh feet
burn and blister; if yuh tongue evah feels thick; if yuh feel a leetle
inclined to dizzyness--in fact, if yuh have any ache or trouble in the
world, this medicine will cure yuh, will bring instant relief."
Then he took another bottle and said some more:
"One bottle of this medicine is worth five dollahs. Who would not give
a paltry five dollahs for to be cured of his miseries? But--ladees and
gents, because I was once born in your beautiful ceety I will sell--"
"Why, he even forgot its name," whispered Jehosophat.
"Shush," whispered the Toyman right back at him, "don't give him
away."
But, instead, of Jehosophat giving him away, it seemed Dr. Pipp was
going to give something away himself, for he was saying in his
speech,--
"Because I was once born in your beautiful ceety, I will give
away--for this night only--a whole bottle of this magic medicine for
the trifling sum of fifty cents!"
That was very generous, thought the boys, and they said so to the
Toyman, but again he told them to "wait an' see."
And then Dr. Philemon Pipp turned to the crowd of men and boys and
hollered real loud like the minister at camp-meeting,--
"Who'll be the first to be cuhed? Who'll be the first to be happy
again?"
And one by one the silly people went down in their pockets, and
brought up their fifty-cent pieces, and handed them up to the man on
the wagon.
You see, every one must have had at least one of the kinds of pains
and aches Dr. Pipp talked about, for he mentioned every one in the
world.
Marmaduke thought that black medicine would be fine for the Toyman.
"Toyman," he said, "buy a bottle, an' it will cure you of that bad
rheumatism."
"No," replied the Toyman, "that won't cure even chilblains. That old
codger's not telling the truth. And the people are fools to believe
him."
But all this time Dr. Pipp was handing out the bottles with one hand,
and collecting the fifty-cent pieces with the other, and the Red
Indian was singing his funny song,--
"Ging goo, ging goo,
Hunk-a-tin, hunk-a-tin, hunk-a-tin,
Geegry goo, geegry goo,
All-a-man lissen!"
And the light nickered on the funny pictures of the skeleton and the
man with his skin off, and then on Dr. Philemon Pipp with his long
black hair and tall silk hat, and on the feathers of the Red Indian,
as he danced up and down singing that funny song.
At last something stranger still happened.
The Toyman had just muttered to himself,--
"They're fools, they are, but I guess I ought to stop him."
And just as he said this, Dr. Philemon saw him in the crowd. The
Doctor must have felt hurt because the Toyman hadn't bought any of his
bottles, for he pointed a finger with a great long nail right at the
Toyman and said:
"Yuh sah, aren't yuh willin' to be cuhed?"
Now the Toyman was forever saying funny and surprising things, but he
never said anything funnier and more surprising in his life than what
he told that patent-medicine man.
"No, thank you, Mr. Steve Jorkins"--that's just what he called him,
not Dr. Pipp at all--"that medicine of yours isn't magic. It wouldn't
even cure a chicken of the pip."
Then all the men crowded around the Toyman, calling him by his old
name.
"Do you know him, Frank? Is he fooling us?"
"You bet he is," replied the Toyman, "and he's got all your
hard-earned money in his jeans."
Then he called to the boys to "come quick," for he thought there would
be trouble, and there was.
For all those men and boys in the crowd climbed up on the wagon--and
they grabbed Dr. Philemon Pipp by his fine fur collar--and they made
him give back their money, every last cent of it. Then, while some of
them held him, the others smashed all his bottles until the black
juice ran over the tailboard like a dark waterfall, and they hurled
his high silk hat on the top of the lamp-post, yelling,--
"You git out of here, quick! Come, skedaddle!"
And since, in his fright, he didn't "skedaddle" fast enough to suit
them, they threw beets and all sorts of vegetables at him, vegetables
that had been ripe a very long time. So at last the tall Doctor with
his fine fur collar--but without his silk hat--hitched up his horses
with trembling fingers, and he and his helper Jake and the Red Indian
drove out of town "lickety-split." You could hear the wagon-wheels
rattling away long after he turned the corner.
Then the Toyman "tlucked" to Hal and they drove off, too.
"How did you know him?" Jehosophat asked, after they had trotted a
little way.
"Oh, I used to know him out West. He didn't remember me, but I did
_him_. I bought one of his bottles once."
"Is he a robber?"
"Well, he calls himself a patent-medicine man, but I'd call him a
'fakir.'"
"What's a 'fakir,' Toyman?" put in Marmaduke, very sleepily.
"Oh, a man who pretends to be something he isn't, and who sells folks
something that's no good, and takes all their money for nothing.
But"--and he laughed--"some folks like to be fooled."
"It's too bad!" sighed Marmaduke.
"What's too bad, sonny?"
"Why, to smash all those big bottles and waste all that lovely
licorice water."
But he soon forgot all about the bottles and the licorice water, and
the bad Doctor Pipp with the tall hat and the fur collar, and the Red
Indian, too, for, as they rode along by the River, the Moon was up,
and seemed to be riding along with them--never getting ahead or
behind, just keeping even with Hal the Red Roan. And Marmaduke loved
to go riding or walking with a great yellow moon. Besides, the Toyman
told them a story, as he had promised--and a nice one it was--so the
little boy fell asleep.
But I wouldn't say that they never dreamed about that fur collar, and
the tall hat, and the Indian, and all those bottles.
It's just possible that they did.
X
WHEN JEHOSOPHAT FORGOT HIS PIECE
There was much excitement in the Red Schoolhouse. Examinations were
over; books laid aside. And the walls re-echoed to thrilling
sounds,--to happy voices and shuffling feet, to poetry, marches, and
songs. They were practising for Commencement, for Closing Day. And at
home the parents were busy, too, making white dresses and sashes for
the girls, buying new suits for the boys in town, or making some over
from father's old trousers.
Marmaduke was to take part in the marches and songs, but Jehosophat
had to speak a whole piece, all alone too. It was a great honor, no
doubt about that, which Jehosophat didn't appreciate. He thought it a
bother.
Now their teacher was a patriot and fond of History. All through the
term she had told them tales of brave lads who were good and great.
Probably she wanted them to become good and great, too, and of course
it was the thing to be. That Jehosophat knew, but it was pretty hard
when one kept forgetting.
So he wasn't at all sure of himself, but of one thing he _was_
sure,--the stories were lost on Fatty. Try as he would he never could
think of _him_ as being "good and great," or exactly "a hero."
But that was the least of Jehosophat's worries. He had been given a
piece to learn--to recite before a big crowd!
It was poetry--all about a boy who had stuck by his ship and gone down
with it, too. The piece was called by the boy's name--a queer sort of
word--Casabianca. If the piece was as hard as its name, Jehosophat
thought he never would learn it.
"Well, Jehosophat," said his father that night, "how's the orator?"
But Mother said,--
"Don't tease him, Will, I'm sure he'll do us proud."
Jehosophat squirmed in his seat. He didn't want to "do anyone proud."
That was not his ambition. And he squirmed still more when she asked
him,--
"Have you learned it all, Jehosophat?"
He mumbled something that sounded like,--
"Donev'nknownameyet."
So next day when he came back from school he had to stay in the
parlour to study it.
After a while--not so long a while, either--he called to Mother,--
"Mother, I think I could learn it a lot better out doors than in this
dark room."
"All right, dear," she said, "if you're sure you won't let anything
distract you."
"No, Mother, I promise." And he went out by the big elm and stood
under the Oriole's nest. "The boy stood on the burning deck Whence all
but he had fled."
That is the way it began and he started:
"The boy stood on the burning deck"--then he had to stop, for Mr.
Stuck-up, the Turkey, was taking his afternoon parade right near him.
Mr. Stuckup didn't seem to like that piece at all. Neither did
Jehosophat, for that matter.
"'The boy'"--he began again.
"Gobble, gobble," shrieked the Turkey.
"'Stood on the burning--'"
"Gobble, gobble," again rudely interrupted Mr. Stuckup.
So Jehosophat went around to the side of the house by the Lilac Bush.
He stood up straight and tried it all over again.
"'The boy stood on the burning deck'--_get down, get down_!" he
yelled. Now that was strange. It sounded as if he were telling the boy
to get down off that deck. But it was only Wienerwurst he was talking
to. For, when he made that fine gesture which Teacher had shown them,
Wienerwurst, who had crept up behind him, thought his master was
playing some game, and jumped up at his outstretched fingers.
So once more Jehosophat picked up his reader, and walked over to the
Crying Tree, whose green willow branches trailed in the Pond.
He practised his fine bow for a while, then began. This time he
actually got through the first verse all right, and was quite pleased
with himself. But no sooner had he stopped than he heard behind him--
A loud
"HISS! HISS!"
Now it isn't pleasant to try to make a good speech, and have some one
hiss you when they ought to be clapping their hands. But that is just
what The Foolish White Geese were doing to Jehosophat.
Once more he picked up his reader, and marched way up the Brook. He
had just begun the lines all over again when Miss Cross Patch the
Guinea Hen ran out from behind the barn and screeched horribly--just
as he was making that fine gesture, too.
"GAWKE'E!--GAWKE'E!--GAWKE'E!"
Now to be called gawky when he thought the gesture was particularly
graceful, was indeed discouraging. And, to add to his discomfort, when
he tried it again--for the hundredth time, it seemed--the cows in the
pasture stretched their red muzzles over the bars and called:
"BOOOOOOO!"
--just as if they wanted him to stop. And the horses whinnied:
"FUNN-NN-NN-NNY!"
It was no use, so Jehosophat rushed into the house again, stuffed some
cotton in his ears, and went up in the attic, where he was sure he
wouldn't be disturbed.
Here he succeeded pretty well, and had learned two verses, and the
name--which was quite important--when the supper bell rang. So he felt
he had earned that nice glass of creamy milk, and the big slice of
gingerbread, especially the thick chocolate icing on top. It was an
extra thick piece, too, which Mother gave him, probably as a prize for
all his hard work.
Next morning, on the way to school, he was reciting Casabianca for
practice. He tried it on the Purple Crackles that flew in the fields
by the blackberry bushes; the little Gold Finches that swayed on the
grasses; and the topknotted Kingbirds on the telegraph wires overhead.
And he thought he was getting on pretty well with "The boy stood on
the burning deck," when a voice took the second line right out of his
mouth:
"Eating peanuts by the peck!!!!!"
Angrily he turned, and there were Fatty Hamm and Reddy Toms, Dicky
Means too, and Lizzie Fizzletree, all making faces at him and mocking
him with funny gestures. Surely no teacher ever taught gestures like
those.
They began it all over again, reciting together. And this is the piece
they made of it--you never would have recognized poor Casabianca at
all:
"The boy stood on the burning deck
Eating peanuts by the peck.
His father called, he would not go
Because he loved his peanuts so!!!"
"Stop," yelled Jehosophat, "that isn't it at all."
"'Tis, too," shouted Fatty and the others together, and they repeated
in one breath, as fast as they could:
"'Sfathercalled andewouldn'tgo
Causeeloved 'ispeanutsso."
Yes, every time Jehosophat tried to tell them what it _really_
was, they kept shouting in singsong voices, faster and faster:
"Fathercalled 'ewoodengo
Causeeloved 'ispeanutsso."
And every once in a while that little imp Lizzie Fizzletree would make
outrageous bows, almost down to the ground, in imitation of
Jehosophat.
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