Bikey the Skicycle and Other Tales of Jimmieboy

by John Kendrick Bangs

  With this the door was closed, and for a moment all was dark as pitch;but only for a moment, for hardly had Jimmieboy turned around when aflood of soft light burst forth from every corner of the room, and thelittle visitor saw upon every side of him the most wonderful books,toys, and musical instruments he had ever seen, each and all worked byelectricity, and apparently subject to the will of the Imp, who was thegenius of the place.

  III

  _ELECTRIC COOKING_

  "Hurrah!" cried Jimmieboy, in ecstasy. "This is great, isn't it?"

  "Pretty great," assented the Imp, proudly. "That is, unless you meanlarge. If you mean it that way it isn't great at all; but if you meangreat like me, who, though very, very small, am simply tremendous as asuccess, I agree with you. I like it here very much. The room isextremely comfortable, and I do everything by electricity--cooking,reading, writing--everything."

  "I don't see how," said Jimmieboy.

  "Oh, it's simply a matter of buttons and batteries. The battery makesthe electricity, I press the buttons, and there you are. You know whata battery is, don't you?"

  "Not exactly," said Jimmieboy. "You might explain it to me."

  "Yes, I might if I hadn't a better way," replied the Imp. "I won'texplain it to you, because I can have it explained to you in another wayentirely, though I won't promise that either of us will understand theexplanation. Let's see," he added, rising from his chair and inspectinga huge button-board that hung from the wall at the left of the room."Where's the Dictionary button? Ah, here--"

  "The what?" queried the visitor, his face alive with wonderment.

  "The Dictionary button. I press the Dictionary button, and theDictionary tells me whatever I want to know. Just listen to this."

  The Imp pressed a button as he spoke, and Jimmieboy listened. In aninstant there was a loud buzzing sound, and then an invisible somethingbegan to speak, or rather to sing:

  "She's my Annie, I'm her Joe. Little Annie Rooney--"

  "Dear me!" cried the Imp, his face flushing to a deep crimson. "Dear me,I got the wrong button. That's my Music-room button. It's right next theDictionary button, and my finger must have slipped. I'll just turn'Annie Rooney' off and try again. Now listen."

  Again the Imp touched a button, and Jimmieboy once more heard thebuzzing sound, followed by a squeaking voice, which said:

  "Battery is a noun--plural, batteries. In baseball the pitcher andcatcher is the battery; in electricity a battery is a number of Leydenjars, usually arranged with their inner coatings connected, and theirouter coatings also connected, so that they may be all charged anddischarged at the same time."

  "Understand that, Jimmieboy?" queried the Imp, with a smile, turning theDictionary button off.

  "No, I don't," said Jimmieboy. "But I suppose it is all right."

  "Perhaps you'd like an explanation of the explanation?" suggested theImp.

  "If it's one I can understand, I would," returned Jimmieboy. "But Idon't see the use of explanations that don't explain."

  "They aren't much good," observed the Imp, touching another button."This will make it clear, I think."

  "The Dictionary doesn't say it," said another squeaking voice, inresponse to the touch of the Imp on the third button; "but a battery isa thing that looks like a row of jars full of preserves, but isn't, andwhen properly cared for and not allowed to freeze up, it makeselectricity, which is a sort of red-hot invisible fluid that pricks yourhands when you touch it, and makes them feel as if they were asleep ifyou keep hold of it for any length of time, and which carries messagesover wires, makes horse-cars go without horses, lights a room betterthan gas, and is so like lightning that no man who has tried both cantell the difference between them."

  Here the squeaking voice turned into a buzz again, and then stoppedaltogether.

  "Now do you understand?" asked the Imp, anxiously.

  "I think I do," replied Jimmieboy. "A battery is nothing but a lot ofbig glass jars in which 'lectricity is made, just as pie is made in atin plate and custard is made in cups."

  "Exactly," said the Imp. "But, of course, electricity is a great dealmore useful than pie or custard. The best custard in the world wouldn'tmove a horse-car, and I don't believe anybody ever saw a pie that couldlight up a room the way this is. It's a pretty wonderful thing,electricity is, but not particularly good eating, and sometimes I don'tthink it's as good for cooking as the good old-fashioned fire. I've hadpie that was too hot, and I've had pie that was too electric, andbetween the two I think the too-hot pie was the pleasanter, thoughreally nothing can make pie positively unpleasant."

  "So I have heard," said Jimmieboy, with an approving nod. "I haven't hadany sperience with pie, you know. That and red pepper are two things Iam not allowed to eat at dinner."

  "You wouldn't like to taste some of my electric custard, would you?"asked the Imp, his sympathies aroused by Jimmieboy's statement that asyet he and pie were strangers.

  "Indeed I would!" cried Jimmieboy, with a gleeful smile. "I'd like itmore than anything else!"

  "Very well," said the Imp, turning to the button-board, and scratchinghis head as if perplexed for a moment. "Let's see," he added. "What iscustard made of?"

  "Custard?" said Jimmieboy, who thought there never could be any questionon that point. "It's made of custard. I know, because I eat it all upwhen I get it, and there's nothing but custard in it from beginning toend."

  The Imp smiled. He knew better than that. "You are right partially," hesaid. "But there aren't custard-mines or custard-trees or custard-wellsin the world, so it has to be made of something. I guess I'll ask mycookery-book."

  Here he touched a pink button in the left-hand upper corner of theboard.

  "Milk--sugar--and--egg," came the squeaking voice. "Three-quarters of apint of milk, two table-spoonfuls of sugar, and one whole egg."

  "Don't you flavor it with anything?" asked the Imp, pressing the buttona second time.

  "If you want to," squeaked the voice. "Vanilla, strawberry, huckleberry,sarsaparilla, or anything else, just as you want it."

  Jimmieboy's mouth watered. A strawberry custard! "Dear me!" he thought."Wouldn't that be just the dish of dishes to live on all one's days!"

  "Two teaspoonfuls of whatever flavor you want will be enough for one cupof custard," said the squeaky voice, lapsing back immediately into thecurious buzz.

  "Thanks," said the Imp, returning to the table and putting down thereceipt on a piece of paper.

  "You're welcome," said the buzz.

  "Now, Jimmieboy, we'll have two cup custards in two minutes," said theImp. "What flavor will you have?"

  "Strawberry cream, please," said Jimmieboy, as if he were orderingsoda-water.

  "All right. I guess I'll take sarsaparilla," said the Imp, walking tothe board again. "Now see me get the eggs."

  He pressed a blue button this time. The squeaky voice began to cackle,and in a second two beautiful white eggs appeared on the table. In thesame manner the milk, flavoring, and sugar were obtained; only when theImp signalled for the milk the invisible voice mooed so like a cow thatJimmieboy looked anxiously about him, half expecting to see a soft-eyedJersey enter the room.

  "Now," said the Imp, opening the eggs into a bowl, and pouring the milkand flavoring and sugar in with them, and mixing them all up together,"we'll pour this into that funnel over there, turn on the electricity,and get our custard in a jiffy. Just watch that small hole at the end ofthe funnel, and you'll see the custard come out."

  "Are the cups inside? Or do we have to catch the custards in 'em as theycome out?" asked Jimmieboy.

  "Oh, my!" cried the Imp. "I'm glad you spoke of that. I had forgottenthe cups. We've got to put them in with the other things."

  The Imp rushed to the button-board, and soon had two handsome littlecups in response to his summons; and then casting them into the funnelhe turned on the electric current, while Jimmieboy watched carefully forthe resulting custards. In two minutes by the clock they appeared below,both at the same
time, one a creamy strawberry in hue, and the otherbrown.

  THE ELECTRIC CUSTARD.]

  "It's wonderful!" said Jimmieboy, in breathless astonishment. "I wish Ihad a stove like that in my room."

  "It wouldn't be good for you. You'd be using it all day and eating whatyou got. But how is the custard?"

  "Lovely," said Jimmieboy, smacking his lips as he ate the soft creamysweet. "I could eat a thousand of them."

  "I rather doubt it," said the Imp. "But you needn't try to prove it. Idon't want to wear out the stove on custard when it has my dinner stillto prepare. What do you say to listening to my library a little while?I've got a splendid library in the next room. It has everything in itthat has ever been written, and a great many things that haven't. That'sa great thing about this electric-button business. Nothing is impossiblefor it to do, and if you want to hear a story some man is going to tellnext year or next century you can get it just as well as something thatwas written last year or last century. Come along."

  IV

  _THE LIBRARY_

  The Imp opened a small door upon the right of the room, and through itJimmieboy saw another apartment, the walls of which were lined withbooks, and as he entered he saw that to each book was attached a smallwire, and that at the end of the library was a square piece ofsnow-white canvas stretched across a small wooden frame.

  "Magic lantern?" he queried, as his eye rested upon the canvas.

  "Kind of that way," said the Imp, "though not exactly. You see, thesebooks in this room are worked by electricity, like everything else here.You never have to take the books off the shelf. All you have to do isto fasten the wire connected with the book you want to read with thebattery, turn on the current, and the book reads itself to you aloud.Then if there are pictures in it, as you come to them they are thrown bymeans of an electric light upon that canvas."

  "Well, if this isn't the most--" began Jimmieboy, but he was soonstopped, for some book or other off in the corner had begun to readitself aloud.

  "And it happened," said the book, "that upon that very night thePrincess Tollywillikens passed through the wood alone, and onapproaching the enchanted tree threw herself down upon the soft grassbeside it and wept."

  Here the book ceased speaking.

  "That's the story of Pixyweevil and Princess Tollywillikens," said theImp. "You remember it, don't you?--how the wicked fairy ran away withPixyweevil, when he and the Princess were playing in the King's gardens,and how she had mourned for him many years, never knowing what hadbecome of him? How the fairy had taken Pixyweevil and turned him into anoak sapling, which grew as the years passed by to be the most beautifultree in the forest?"

  "Oh, yes," said Jimmieboy. "I know. And there was a good fairy whocouldn't tell Princess Tollywillikens where the tree was, or anything atall about Pixyweevil, but did remark to the brook that if the Princessshould ever water the roots of that tree with her tears, the spell wouldbe broken, and Pixyweevil restored to her--handsomer than ever, and asbrave as a lion."

  "That's it," said the Imp. "You've got it; and how the brook said to thePrincess, 'Follow me, and we'll find Pixyweevil,' and how she followedand followed until she was tired to death, and--"

  "Full of despair threw herself down at the foot of that very oak andcried like a baby," continued Jimmieboy, ecstatically, for this was oneof his favorite stories.

  "Yes, that's all there; and then you remember how it winds up? How thetree shuddered as her tears fell to the ground, and how she thought itwas the breeze blowing through the branches that made it shudder?" saidthe Imp.

  "And how the brook laughed at her thinking such a thing!" put inJimmieboy.

  "And how she cried some more, until finally every root of the tree waswet with her tears, and how the tree then gave a fearful shake, and--"

  "Turned into Pixyweevil!" roared Jimmieboy. "Yes, I remember that; but Inever really understood whether Pixyweevil ever became King? My booksays, 'And so they were married, and were happy ever afterwards;' butdoesn't say that he finally became a great potteringtate, and ruled overthe people forever."

  "I guess you mean potentate, don't you?" said the Imp, with alaugh--potteringtate seemed such a funny word.

  "I guess so," said Jimmieboy. "Did he ever become one of those?"

  "No, he didn't," said the Imp. "He couldn't, and live happy everafterwards, for Kings don't get much happiness in this world, you know."

  "Why, I thought they did," returned Jimmieboy, surprised to hear whatthe Imp had said. "My idea of a King was that he was a man who could eatbetween meals, and go to the circus whenever he wanted to, and alwayshad plenty of money to spend, and a beautiful Queen."

  "Oh no," returned the Imp. "It isn't so at all. Kings really have a veryhard time. They have to be dressed up all the time in their bestclothes, and never get a chance, as you do, for instance, to play in thesnow, or in summer in the sand at the seashore. They can eat betweenmeals if they want to, but they can't have the nice things you have. Itwould never do for a King to like ginger-snaps and cookies, because thepeople would murmur and say, 'Here--he is not of royal birth, for evenwe, the common people, eat ginger-snaps and cookies between meals; werehe the true King he would call for green peas in wintertime, and bonedturkey, and other rich stuffs that cost much money, and are hard to get;he is an impostor; come, let us overthrow him.' That's the hard part ofit, you see. He has to eat things that make him ill just to keep thepeople thinking he is royal and not like them."

  "Then what did Pixyweevil become?" asked Jimmieboy.

  "A poet," said the Imp. "He became the poet of everyday things, and ofcourse that made him a great poet. He'd write about plain and ordinarygood-natured puppy-dogs, and snow-shovels, and other things like that,instead of trying to get the whole moon into a four-line poem, or todescribe some mysterious thing that he didn't know much about in aten-page poem that made it more mysterious than ever, and showed howlittle he really did know about it."

  "I wish I could have heard some of Pixyweevil's poems," said Jimmieboy."I liked him, and sometimes I like poems."

  "Well, sit down there before the fire, and I'll see if we can't find abutton to press that will enable you to hear them. They're most of 'emnonsense poems, but as they are perfect nonsense they're good nonsense.

  "It is some time since I've used the library," the Imp continued, gazingabout him as if in search of some particular object. "For that reason Ihave forgotten where everything is. However, we can hunt for what wewant until we find it. Perhaps this is it," he added, grasping a wireand fastening it to the battery. "I'll turn on the current and let hergo."

  The crank was turned, and the two little fellows listened very intently,but there came no sound whatever.

  "That's very strange," said the Imp. "I don't hear a thing."

  "Neither do I," observed Jimmieboy, in a tone of disappointment."Perhaps the library is out of order, or the battery may be."

  "I'll have to take the wire and follow it along until I come to the bookit is attached to," said the Imp, stopping the current and looseningthe wire. "If the library is out of order it's going to be a veryserious matter getting it all right again, because we have all the booksin the world here, and that's a good many, you know--more'n a hundred byseveral millions. Ah! Here is the book this wire worked. Now let's seewhat was the matter."

  In a moment the whole room rang with the Imp's laughter.

  "NO WONDER IT WOULDN'T SAY ANYTHING," HE CRIED.]

  "No wonder it wouldn't say anything," he cried. "What do you suppose thebook was?"

  "I don't know," said Jimmieboy. "What?"

  "An old copy-book with nothing in it. That's pretty good!"

  At this moment the telephone bell rang, and the Imp had to go see whatwas wanted.

  "Excuse me for a moment, Jimmieboy," he said, as he started to leave theroom. "I've got to send a message for somebody. I'll turn on one ofthe picture-books, so that while I am gone you will have something tolook at."

  The Imp then fastened a wire
to the battery, turned on the current, anddirecting Jimmieboy's attention to the sheet of white canvas at the endof the library, left the room.

  V

  _THE CIRCUS_

  The pictures that now followed one another across the canvas were betterthan any circus Jimmieboy ever went to, for the reason that they showeda water circus in which were the finest imaginable sea-monsters doingall sorts of marvellous things; and then, too, the book the Imp hadturned on evidently had some reading matter in it, for as the picturespassed before the little fellow's eyes he could hear verses describingwhat was going on, repeating themselves from a shelf directly back ofhim.

  First of all in the circus was the grand parade. A great big gildedband-wagon drawn by gayly caparisoned Sea-Horses went first, and thenJimmieboy could judge how much better electric circus books were thanthose he had in his nursery, for this book was able to do what his hadnever done--it furnished music to go with the band--and such music as itwas! It had all the pleasant features of the hand-organ; was as soft andsweet in parts as the music-box in the white-and-gold parlor, and oncein a while would play deliciously out of tune like a real circus band.After the band-wagon there followed the most amusing things thatJimmieboy ever saw, the Trick Oysters, twelve in number, and all onfoot. Next came the mounted Scallops, riding ten abreast on superblygroomed Turtles, holding the bridle of each of which walked Lobstersdressed as Clowns. Then came the menagerie, with great Sea-Lionsswimming in tanks on wheels; marine Giraffes standing up to their necksin water forty feet deep; four-legged Whales, like the Oysters, on foot,and hundreds of other queer fish, all doing things Jimmieboy had neversupposed they could do.