In all of which I am inclined to agree with him.
THE IMP OF THE TELEPHONE
I
_JIMMIEBOY MAKES HIS ACQUAINTANCE_
The telephone was ringing, of that there was no doubt, and yet no onewent to see what was wanted, which was rather strange. The cook had agreat way of rushing up from the kitchen to where the 'phone stood inthe back hall whenever she heard its sounding bells, because a greatmany of her friends were in the habit of communicating with her over thewire, and she didn't like to lose the opportunity to hear all that wasgoing on in the neighborhood. And then, too, Jimmieboy's papa was atwork in the library not twenty feet away, and surely one would hardlysuppose that he would let it ring as often as Jimmieboy had heard itthis time--I think there were as many as six distinct rings--withoutgoing to ask the person at the other end what on earth he was making allthat noise about. So it was altogether queer that after sounding sixtimes the bell should fail to summon any one to see what was wanted.Finally it rang loud and strong for a seventh time, and, although hewasn't exactly sure about it, Jimmieboy thought he heard a whisperrepeated over and over again, which said, "Hullo, Jimmieboy! Jimmieboy,Hullo! Come to the telephone a moment, for I want to speak to you."
Whether there really was any such whisper as that or not, Jimmieboy didnot delay an instant in rushing out into the back hall and climbing upona chair that stood there to answer whoever it was that was so anxious tospeak to somebody.
"Hullo, you!" he said, as he got his little mouth over the receiver.
"Hullo!" came the whisper he thought he had heard before. "Is that youJimmieboy?"
"Yes. It's me," returned Jimmieboy. "Who are you?"
"I'm me, too," answered the whisper with a chuckle. "Some people call meHello Hithere Whoareyou, but my real name is Impy. I am the Imp of theTelephone, and I live up here in this little box right over where yourmouth is."
"Dear me!" ejaculated Jimmieboy in pleased surprise. "I didn't knowanybody ever lived in that funny little closet, though I had noticed ithad a door with a key-hole in it."
"Yes, I can see you now through the key-hole, but you can't see me,"said the Imp, "and I'm real sorry you can't, for I am ever so pretty. Ihave beautiful mauve-colored eyes with eyelashes of pink, long and fineas silk. My eyebrows are sort of green like the lawn gets after a sunshower in the late spring. My hair, which is hardly thicker than thefuzzy down or the downy fuzz--as you prefer it--of a peach, is coloredlike the lilac, and my clothes are a bright red, and I have a pair ofgossamer wings to fly with."
"Isn't there any chance of my ever seeing you?" asked Jimmieboy.
"Why, of course," said the Imp. "Just the best chance in all the world.Do you remember the little key your papa uses to lock his new cigar boxwith?"
"The little silver key he carries on the end of his watch chain?"queried Jimmieboy eagerly.
"The very same," said the Imp. "That key is the only key in this housethat will fit this lock. If you can get it and will open the door youcan see me, and if you will eat a small apple I give you when we domeet, you will smallen up until you are big enough to get into my roomhere and see what a wonderful place it is. Do you think you can get thekey?"
"I don't know," Jimmieboy answered. "I've asked papa to let me have itseveral times already, but he has always said no."
"It looks hopeless, doesn't it?" returned the Imp. "But I'll tell youhow I used to do with my dear old father when he wouldn't let me havethings I wanted. I'd just ask him the same old question over and overagain in thirteen different ways, and if I didn't get a yes in answer toone of 'em, why, I'd know it was useless; but the thirteenth generallybrought me the answer I wanted."
"I suppose that would be a good way," said Jimmieboy, "but I reallydon't see how I could ask for the key in thirteen different ways."
"You don't, eh?" said the Imp, in a tone of disappointment. "Well, I amsurprised. You are the first little boy I have had anything to do withwho couldn't ask for a thing, no matter what it was, in thirteendifferent ways. Why, it's as easy as falling up stairs."
"Tell me a few ways," suggested Jimmieboy.
"Well, first there is the direct way," returned the Imp. "You say justas plainly as can be, 'Daddy, I want the key to your cigar box.' He willreply, 'No, you are too young to smoke,' and that will make your mammalaugh, which will be a good thing in case your papa is feeling a littlecross when you ask him. There is nothing that puts a man in a good humorso quickly as laughing at his jokes. That's way number one," continuedthe Imp. "You wait five minutes before you try the second way, whichis, briefly, to climb upon your father's knee and say, 'There are twoends to your watch chain, aren't there, papa?' He'll say, 'Yes;everything has two ends except circles, which haven't any;' then youlaugh, because he may think that's funny, and then you say, 'You have awatch at one end, haven't you?' His answer will be, 'Yes; it has beenthere fifteen years, and although it has been going all that time ithasn't gone yet.' You must roar with laughter at that, and then ask himwhat he has at the other end, and he'll say, 'The key to my cigar box,'to which you must immediately reply, 'Give it to me, won't you?' And soyou go on, leading up to that key in everything you do or say for thewhole day, if it takes that long to ask for it thirteen times. If hedoesn't give it to you then, you might as well give up, for you'll neverget it. It always worked when I was little, but it may have beenbecause I put the thirteenth question in rhyme every time. If I wanteda cream cake, I'd ask for it and ask for it, and if at the twelfth timeof asking I hadn't got it, I'd put it to the person I was asking finallythis way--
"I used to think that you could do Most everything; but now I see You can't, for it appears that you Can't give a creamy cake to me."
"But I can't write poetry," said Jimmieboy.
"Oh, yes you can!" laughed the Imp. "Anybody can. I've written lots ofit. I wrote a poem to my papa once which pleased him very much, thoughhe said he was sorry I had discovered what he called his secret."
"Have you got it with you?" asked Jimmieboy, very much interested inwhat the Imp was saying, because he had often thought, as he reflectedabout the world, that of all the men in it his papa seemed to him to bethe very finest, and it was his great wish to grow up to be as like himas possible; and surely if any little boy could, as the Imp had said,write some kind of poetry, he might, after all, follow in the footstepsof his father, whose every production, Jimmieboy's mamma said, was justas nice as it could be.
"Yes, I have it here, where I keep everything, in my head. Just glueyour ear as tightly as you can to the 'phone and I'll recite it for you.This is it:
"I've watched you, papa, many a day, And think I know you pretty well; You've been my chum--at work, at play-- You've taught me how to romp and spell.
"You've taught me how to sing sweet songs; You've taught me how to listen, too; You've taught me rights; you've shown me wrongs; You've made me love the good and true.
"Sometimes you've punished me, and I Sometimes have wept most grievously That yours should be the hand whereby The things I wished were kept from me.
"Sometimes I've thought that you were stern; Sometimes I could not understand Why you should make my poor heart burn By scoldings and by reprimand.
"Yet as it all comes back, I see My sorrows, though indeed most sore In those dear days they seemed to me, Grieved you at heart by far the more.
"The frowns that wrinkled up your brow, That grieved your little son erstwhile, As I reflect upon them now, Were always softened by a smile
"That shone, dear father, in your eyes; A smile that was but ill concealed, By which the love that in you lies For me, your boy, was e'er revealed."
Here the Imp stopped.
"Go on," said Jimmieboy, softly.
"There isn't any more," replied the Imp. "When I got that far I couldn'twrite any more, because I kind of got running over. I didn't seem to fitmyself exactly. Myself was too big for myself, and so I had to stop andsort of set
tle down again."
"Your papa must have been very much pleased," suggested Jimmieboy.
"Yes, he was," said the Imp; "although I noticed a big tear in his eyewhen I read it to him; but he gave me a great big hug for the poem, andI was glad I'd written it. But you must run along and get that key, formy time is very short, and if we are to see Magnetville and all the wirecountry we must be off."
"Perhaps if the rhyme always brings about the answer you want, it wouldbe better for me to ask the question that way first, and not bother himwith the other twelve ways," suggested Jimmieboy.
"That's very thoughtful of you," said the Imp. "I think very likely itwould be better to do it that way. Just you tiptoe softly up to him andsay,
"If you loved me as I love you, And I were you and you were me, What you asked me I'd surely do, And let you have that silver key."
"I think that's just the way," said Jimmieboy, repeating the verse overand over again so as not to forget it. "I'll go to him at once."
And he did go. He tiptoed into the library, at one end of which his papawas sitting writing; he kissed him on his cheek, and whispered the versesoftly in his ear.
"Why, certainly," said his papa, when he had finished. "Here it is,"taking the key from the end of his chain. "Don't lose it, Jimmieboy."
BEFORE HIM STOOD THE IMP.]
"No, I'll not lose it. I've got too much use for it to lose it," repliedJimmieboy, gleefully, and then, sliding down from his papa's lap, he ranheadlong into the back hall to where the telephone stood, inserted thekey in the key-hole of the little door over the receiver and turned it.The door flew open, and before him stood the Imp.
II
_IN THE IMP'S ROOM_
"Dear me!" ejaculated Jimmieboy, as his eye first rested upon the Imp."That's you, eh?"
"I believe so," replied the Imp, standing on his left leg, and twirlingaround and around until Jimmieboy got dizzy looking at him. "I was mewhen I got up this morning, and I haven't heard of any change since. DoI look like what I told you I looked like?"
"Not exactly," said Jimmieboy. "You said you had lilac-colored hair, andit's more like a green than a lilac."
"You are just like everybody else naming your colors. People are veryqueer about things of that sort, I think. For instance," said the Imp,to illustrate his point, "you go walking in the garden with one of yourfriends, and you come to a rose-bush, and your friend says, 'Isn't thata pretty rose-bush?' 'Yes,' say you; 'very.' Then he says, 'And what alovely lilac-bush that is over there.' 'Extremely lovely,' say you.'Let's sit down under this raspberry-bush,' says he. Well, now you thinklilac is a delicate lavender, rose a pink, and raspberry a red--eh?"
"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "That's the way they are."
"Well, maybe so; but that lilac-bush and rose-bush and raspberry-bushare all the same color, and that color is green, just like my hair; youmust have thought I looked like a rainbow or a paint shop when I toldyou about myself?"
"No," said Jimmieboy. "I didn't think that, exactly. I thought,perhaps, you were like the pictures in my _Mother Goose_ book. They havelots of colors to 'em, and they are not bad looking, either."
"Well, if they are not bad looking," said the Imp, with a pleased smile,"they must be very much like me. But don't you want to come in?"
"I'm not small enough," said Jimmieboy; "but I'll eat that apple youspoke about, and maybe it'll make me shrink, though I don't see how itcan."
"Easy enough. Haven't you seen a boy doubled up after eating an apple?Of course you have; perhaps you were the boy. At any rate there is noreason why, if an apple can work that way, it can't work the other. It'sa poor rule that won't work both ways, and an apple is pretty good, as arule, and so you have it proved without trying that what I say is true.Here's the apple; eat it as quickly as you can and give me the core."
Jimmieboy took the dainty piece of fruit in his hand and ate it withmuch relish, for it was a very sweet apple, and he was fond of that sortof thing. Unfortunately, he liked it so well that he forgot to give thecore to the Imp, and, when in a moment he felt himself shrinking up, andthe Imp asked for the core, he was forced blushingly to confess that hehad been very piggish about it, and had swallowed the whole thing.
"I've half a mind not to let you in at all!" cried the Imp, stamping hisfoot angrily upon the floor, so angrily that the bells rang out softlyas if in remonstrance. "In fact, I don't see how I can let you in,because you have disobeyed me about that core."
"I'm surprised at you," returned Jimmieboy, slightly injured in feelingby the Imp's behavior. "I wouldn't make such a fuss about an oldapple-core. If you feel as badly about it as all that, I'll run downinto the kitchen and get you a whole apple--one as big as you are."
"That isn't the point at all," said the Imp. "I didn't want the core formyself at all. I wanted it for you."
"Well, I've got it," said Jimmieboy, who had now shrunk until he was notaller than the Imp himself, not more than two inches high.
"Of course you have, and if you will notice it is making you grow rightback again to the size you were before. That's where the trouble comesin with those trick apples. The outside makes you shrink, and the coremakes you grow. When I said I wanted the core I meant that I wanted itto keep until we had had our trip together, so that when we got back youcould eat it, and return to your papa and mamma just as you were in thebeginning. Just run to the parlor mirror now and watch yourself."
Jimmieboy hastened into the parlor, and climbing upon the mantel-piecegazed into the mirror, and, much to his surprise, noticed that he wasgrowing fast. He was four inches high when he got there, and then as theminutes passed he lengthened inch by inch, until finally he foundhimself just as he had been before he ate the apple.
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" he asked, when he returned tothe telephone.
"I don't know," said the Imp. "It's really too bad, for that's the lastapple of that sort I had. The trick-apple trees only bear one apple ayear, and I have been saving that one for you ever since last summer,and here, just because you were greedy, it has all gone for nothing."
"I'm very sorry, and very much ashamed," said Jimmieboy, ruefully. "Itwas really so awfully good, I didn't think."
"Well, it's very thoughtless of you not to think," said the Imp. "Ishould think you'd feel very small."
"I do!" sobbed Jimmieboy.
"Do you, really?" cried the Imp, gleefully. "Real weeny, teeny small."
"Yes," said Jimmieboy, a tear trickling down his cheek.
"Then it's all right," sang the Imp, dancing a lovely jig to show howglad he felt. "Because we are always the way we feel. If you feel sick,you are sick. If you feel good, you are good, and if you feel sorry, youare sorry, and so, don't you see, if you feel small you are small. Theonly point is, now, do you feel small enough to get into this room?"
"I think I do," returned Jimmieboy, brightening up considerably,because his one great desire now was not to be a big grown-up man, likehis papa, who could sharpen lead-pencils, and go out of doors insnow-storms, but to visit the Imp in his own quarters. "Yes," herepeated, "I think I do feel small enough to get in there."
"You've got to know," returned the Imp. "The trouble with you, Ibelieve, is that you think in the wrong places. This isn't a matter ofthinking; it's a matter of knowing."
"Well, then, I know I'm small enough," said Jimmieboy. "The only thingis, how am I to get up there?"
"I'll fix that," replied the Imp, with a happy smile. "I'll let down thewires, and you can come up on them."
Here he began to unwind two thin green silk-covered wires that Jimmieboyhad not before noticed, and which were coiled about two small spoolsfastened on the back of the door.
"I can't climb," said Jimmieboy, watching the operation with interest.
"Nobody asked you to," returned the Imp. "When these have reached thefloor I want you to fasten them to the newel-post of the stairs."
"All right," said Jimmieboy, grasping the wires, and fastening them ashe was t
old. "What now?"
"Now I'll send down the elevator," said the Imp, as he loosened a hugemagnet from the wall, and fastening it securely upon the two wires, sentit sliding down to where Jimmieboy stood. "There," he added, as itreached the end of the wire. "Step on that; I'll turn on theelectricity, and up you'll come."
"I won't fall, will I?" asked Jimmieboy, timidly.
"That depends on the way you feel," the Imp answered. "If you feel safe,you are safe. Do you feel safe?"
"Not very," said Jimmieboy, as he stepped aboard the magnetic elevator.
"Then we'll have to wait until you do," returned the Imp, impatiently."It seems to me that a boy who has spent weeks and weeks and weeksjumping off plush sofas onto waxed hard-wood floors ought to be lesstimid than you are."
"That's true," said Jimmieboy. "I guess I feel safe."
"All aboard, then," said the Imp, pressing a small button at the back ofhis room.
There was a rattle and a buzz, and then the magnet began to move upward,slowly at first, and then with all the rapidity of the lightning, sothat before Jimmieboy had an opportunity to change his mind about hissafety he was in the Imp's room, and, much to his delight, discoveredthat he was small enough to walk about therein without having to stoop,and in every way comfortable.
"AT LAST," EJACULATED THE IMP.]
"At last!" ejaculated the Imp, grasping his hand and giving it anaffectionate squeeze. "At last you are here. And now we'll close thedoor, and I'll show you my treasures."
Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy Page 4
