V. The Unwiseman is Offended.In which the Old Gentleman takes his leave.]
"How do you like your lemonade?" asked Mollie, as she and the Unwisemanentered the pantry. "Very sour or very sweet?"
"What did you invite me to have?" the Unwiseman replied. "Lemonade orsugarade?"
"Lemonade, of course," said Mollie. "I never heard of sugarade before."
"Well, lemonade should be very lemony and sugarade should be verysugary; so when I am invited to have lemonade I naturally expectsomething very lemony, don't I?"
"I suppose so," said Mollie, meekly.
"Very well, then. That answers your question. I want it very sour. Sosour that I can't drink it without it puckering my mouth up until Ican't do anything but whistle like our elastic friend with the tootle inhis hat."
"You mean Whistlebinkie?" said Mollie.
"Yes--that India-rubber creature who follows you around all the time andsqueaks whenever any one pokes him in the ribs. What's become of him?Has he blown himself to pieces, or has he gone off to have himself madeover into a golosh?"
"Oh, no--Whistlebinkie is still here," said Mollie. "In fact, he let youinto the house. Didn't you see him?"
"No, indeed I didn't," said the Unwiseman. "What do you take me for?I'm proud, I am. I wouldn't look at a person who'd open a front door. Icome of good family. My father was a Dunderberg and my mother was a VanScootle. We're one of the oldest families in creation. One of myancestors was in the Ark, and I had several who were not. It would neverdo for one in my position to condescend to see a person who opened afront door for pay.
"That's why I don't have servants in my own house. I'd have to speak tothem, and the idea of a Dunderberg-Van Scootle engaged in any kind ofconversation with servants is not to be thought of. We never didanything for pay in all the history of our family, and we neverrecognize as equals people who do. That's why I have nothing to do withanybody but children. Most grown up people work."
"I don't see how you live," said Mollie. "How do you pay your bills?"
"Don't have any," said the Unwiseman. "Never had a bill in my life. Ileave bills to canary birds and mosquitoes."
"But you have to buy things to eat, don't you?"
"Very seldom," said the Unwiseman. "I'm never hungry; but when I do gethungry I can most generally find something to eat somewhere--apples, forinstance. I can live a week on one apple."
"Well, what do you do when you've eaten the apple?" queried Mollie.
"What an absurd question," laughed the Unwiseman. "Didn't you know thatthere was more than one apple in the world? Every year I find enoughapples to last me as long as I think it is necessary to provide. Lastyear I laid in fifty-three apples so that if I got very hungry one weekI could have two--or maybe I could give a dinner and invite my friends,and they could have the extra apple. Don't you see?"
"Well, you are queer, for a fact!" said Mollie, getting a large lemonout of the pantry closet and cutting it in half.
As the sharp steel blade of the knife cut through the crisp yellow lemonthe eyes of the Unwiseman opened wide and bulged with astonishment.
"What on earth are you doing, Miss Whistlebinkie?" he said. "Why do youdestroy that beautiful thing?"
It was Mollie's turn to be surprised.
"I don't know what you mean," she said. "Why shouldn't I cut the lemon?How can I make a lemonade without cutting it?"
"Humph!" said the Unwiseman, with a half sneer on his lips. "You'll goto the poor-house if you waste things like that. Why, I've had lemonadefor a year out of one lemon, and it hasn't been cut open yet. I drop itin a glass of water and let it soak for ten minutes. That doesn't use upthe lemon juice as your plan does, and it makes one of the bitterestsour drinks that you ever drank--however, this is your lemonade treat,and it isn't for me to criticize. My book of etiquette says that peopleout calling must act according to the rules of the house they arecalling at. If you asked me to have some oyster soup and then made itout of sassafras or snow-balls, it would be my place to eat it and say Inever tasted better oyster soup in my life. That's a funny thing aboutbeing polite. You have to do and say so many things that you don'treally mean. But go ahead. Make your lemonade in your own way. I've gotto like it whether I like it or not. It isn't my lemon you are wasting."
Mollie resumed the making of the lemonade while the Unwiseman lookedabout him, discovering something that was new and queer to him everymoment. He seemed to be particularly interested in the water pipes.
"Strange idea that," he said, turning the cold water on and off all thetime. "You have a little brook running through your house whenever youwant it. Ever get any fish out of it?"
"No," said Mollie, with a laugh. "We couldn't get very big fish througha faucet that size."
"Why don't you have larger faucets and catch the fish?"]
"That's what I was thinking," said the Unwiseman, turning the water onagain; "and furthermore, I think it's very strange that you don't fix itso that you can get fish. A trout isn't more than four inches around.You could get one through a six-inch pipe without any trouble unless hegot mad and stuck his fins out. Why don't you have larger faucets andcatch the fish? I would. If there aren't any fish in the brook you canstock it up without any trouble, and it would save you the money you payto fish-markets as well as the nuisance of going fishing yourself andputting worms on hooks."
A long hilarious whistle from the pantry door caused the Unwiseman tolook up sharply.
"What was that?" he said.
"Smee," came the whistling voice.
"It's Whistlebinkie," said Mollie.
"Is his real name Smee?" asked the Unwiseman. "I thought Whistlebinkiewas his name."
"So it is," said Mollie. "But when he gets excited he always runs hiswords together and speaks them through the top of his hat. By 'smee' hemeant 'it's me.' Come in, Whistlebinkie."
"I shall not notice him," said the Unwiseman, stiffly. "Remember what Isaid to you about my family. He opens front doors for pay."
"Donteither," whistled Whistlebinkie.
"You wrong him, Mr. Unwiseman," said Mollie. "He isn't paid for openingthe front door. He just does it for fun."
"Oh! well, that's different," said the proud visitor. "If he does itjust for fun I can afford to recognize him--though I must say I can'tsee what fun there is in opening front doors. How do you do,Whistlebinkie?"
"Pretwell," said Whistlebinkie. "How are you?"
"I hardly know what to say," replied the Unwiseman, scratching his headthoughtfully. "You see, Miss Mollie, when I got up my conversation forthis call I didn't calculate on Whistlebinkie here. I haven't anyremarks prepared for him. Of course, I could tell him that I am inexcellent health, and that I think possibly it will rain before theyear is over; but, after all, that's very ordinary kind of talk, andwe'll have to keep changing the subject all the time to get back to myoriginal conversation with you."
"Whistlebinkie needn't talk at all," said Mollie. "He can just whistle."
"Or maybe I could go outside and put in a few remarks for him here andthere, and begin the call all over again," suggested the Unwiseman.
"Oh, no! Dodoothat," began Whistlebinkie.
"Now what does he mean by dodoothat?" asked the visitor, with a puzzledlook on his face.
"He means don't do that--don't you, Whistlebinkie? Answer plainlythrough your mouth and let your hat rest," said Mollie.
"That--swat--I--meant," said Whistlebinkie, as plainly as hecould. "He--needn't--botherto--talk--toomee--to me, I mean. Ionly--want--to--listen--towhim."
"What's towhim?" asked the Unwiseman.
"To you is what he means. He says he's satisfied to listen to you whenyou talk."
"Thassit," Whistlebinkie hurried to say, meaning, I suppose, "that'sit."
"Ah!" said the Unwiseman, with a pleased smile. "That's it, eh? Well,permit me to say that I think you are a very wonderfully wise rubberdoll, Mr. Whistlebinkie. I may go so far as to say that in this view ofthe case I think you are the wisest rubber
doll I ever met. You like myconversation, do you?"
"Deedido," whistled Whistlebinkie. "I think it's fine!"
"I owe you an apology, Whistlebinkie," said the Unwiseman, gazing at thedoll in an affectionate way. "I thought you opened front doors for pay,instead of which I find that you are one of the wisest, most interestingrubber celebrities of the day. I apologize for even thinking that youwould accept pay for opening a front door, and I will esteem it a greatfavor if you will let me be your friend. Nay, more. I shall make it myfirst task to get up a conversation especially for you. Eh? Isn't thatfine, Whistlebinkie? I, Me, the Unwiseman, promise to devote fifteen ortwenty minutes of his time to getting up talk for you, talk withthinking in it, talk that amounts to something, talk that ninety-ninetalkers out of a hundred conversationalists couldn't say if they tried;and all for you. Isn't that honor?"
"Welliguess!" whistled Whistlebinkie.
"Very well, then. Listen," said the Unwiseman. "Where were we at, MissMollie?"
"I believe," said Mollie, squeezing a half a lemon, "I believe you weresaying something about putting fish through the faucet."
"Oh, yes! As I remember it, the faucets were too small to get the fishthrough, and I was pondering why you didn't have them larger."
"That was it," said Mollie. "You thought if the faucets were larger itwould save fish-hooks and worms."
"Exactly," said the Unwiseman. "And I wonder at it yet. I'd even gofarther. If I could have a trout-stream running through my house that Icould turn on and off as I pleased, I'd have also an estuary connectedwith the Arctic regions through which whales could come, and in that wayI'd save lots of money. Just think what would happen if you could turnon a faucet and get a whale. You'd get oil enough to supply every lampin your house. You wouldn't have to pay gas bills or oil bills, andbesides all that you could have whale steaks for breakfast, and wheneveryour mother wanted any whale-bone, instead of sending to the store forit, she'd have plenty in the house. If you only caught one whale amonth, you'd have all you could possibly need."
"It certainly is a good idea," said Mollie. "But I don't think----"
"Wait a minute, please," said the Unwiseman, hastily. "That don't thinkremark of yours isn't due until I've turned on this other faucet."
Suiting his action to his word, the Unwiseman turned on the hot-waterfaucet, and plunging his hand into the water, slightly scalded hisfingers.
"Ouch!" he cried; "the brook must be afire!"]
"Ouch!" he cried. "The brook must be afire! Now who ever heard of that?The idea of a brook being on fire! Really, Miss Whistlebinkie, you oughtto tell your papa about this. If you don't, the pipes will melt and whoknows what will become of your house? It will be flooded with burningwater!"
"Oh, no!--I guess not. That water is heated down stairs in thekitchen, in the boiler."
"But--but isn't it dangerous?" the Unwiseman asked, anxiously.
"Not at all," said Mollie. "You've been mistaken all along, Mr. Me.There isn't any brook running through this house."
"I?" cried the Unwiseman, indignantly. "Me? I? The Unwiseman mistaken?Never! I never made a mistake but once, Miss Mary J. Whistlebinkie, andthat was in calling upon you. I'm going home at once. You haveoutrageously offended me."
"I didn't mean to," pleaded Mollie. "I was only trying to tell you thetruth. This water comes out of a tank."
"I am going straight home."]
"Excuse me," said the Unwiseman, indignantly. "You have said that I havemade a mistake. You charge me with an act of which I have never beenguilty, and I am going straight home. You said something that wasn't inthe conversation, and we can never get back again to the point fromwhich you have departed."
"Oh! do stay," said Whistlebinkie. "You haven't seen the nursery yet,and the hardwood stairs, and all the lovely things we have here."
"No, I haven't--and I sha'n't now!" retorted the Unwiseman. "I had somedelicious remarks to make about the nursery, but now they areimpossible. I shall not even drink your lemonade. I am going home!"
And without another word the Unwiseman departed in high dudgeon.
"Isn't it too bad," said Mollie, as she heard the front door slam afterthe departing guest.
"Yes," said Whistlebinkie. "I wanted him to stay until it was dark. Ishould like so much to know what he'd have to say about gas."
Mollie and the Unwiseman Page 5
